TWO EVENINGS WITH BISMARCK.
IN TWO PARTS.—PART II.
Another week has elapsed. The month of May has arrived in all its glory and beauty. The magnificent trees in the park of the Diet House form a leafy arched avenue, and amid the branches of the venerable six hundred year old yew-tree, beneath which Mendelssohn composed the overture to his Midsummer Night’s Dream, feathered songsters of every kind hold their gay revels. The spring, that wonderful season of longing and restless desire, is, as usual, warring successfully against the stern duties of the members of parliament. Even the hardest workers among them, Prince Albrecht of Prussia, Moltke, and Steinmetz, ay, even those most persevering of deputies, Wachler and Count Rennard, can no longer remain indoors. The outcry about the bad ventilation of the House is only a pretext to cover their retreat with honour, and all gradually assemble beneath the giant yew, there to listen to the gay tales and rare bits of scandal with which Hennig and Unruh regale the assembly. Last year, when, during the intense heat, we sat out here in the cool pavillon, discussing the wine duties with the help of some bottles of rare old Rhenish, President Simson had a large telegraphic bell placed on the top of the kiosk, which by its sudden peal so startled our unconscious souls, like the voice of the last trumpet, that it completely scared away the god Bacchus from these precincts for ever.
It was therefore with intense relief that all looked forward to the legitimate parliamentary recreation of the week, Prince Bismarck’s Saturday evening. This time, no constables were visible. Immediately on entering the first reception room up-stairs, we saluted his lady, and were welcomed by Bismarck himself, who at once entered into conversation with us, only stopping occasionally to shake hands with some fresh arrival. The crush gradually began to lessen as the visitors dispersed into the various rooms. We were still standing in the anteroom, near the great sideboard; the moment seemed favourable for ascertaining the meaning of the stuffed hare; I therefore asked Bismarck why it was placed there.
‘Oh, have you not noticed that this hare is brunette?’
‘Brunette?’
‘Yes. Look here—he has a dark-brown head and back, whereas he ought by rights to be yellow. I ought to place an ordinary hare beside him to show off this natural curiosity. He was the only “brunette” hare among the fifteen hundred we killed that day.’
Most of the guests had gone to the billiard-room. There were not so many present on this Saturday evening; a festival in commemoration of the foundation of the Law Union had drawn nearly all the legal celebrities of the House to Charlottenburg.
But what interested me most was Bismarck’s own room, the door of which stood open.
‘May one enter?’ I ask of one of the house-servants.
‘Certainly, sir,’ is the reply.
And crossing the threshold, I glance round the room. In the centre, though somewhat nearer the two windows that lead on to the terrace, stands Bismarck’s writing-table, a sort of long desk, provided on each side with open pigeon-holes. The chair, without any lean, is a large round seat of massive oak, which turns either way. On the right-hand side are the shelves that hold the public documents. There were none there now, but on the floor below lay several locked portfolios. The light falls from the left, gently softened by white and crimson silk curtains. Innumerable white gloves, and swords enough to arm a whole division of generals, are piled up on a table facing the door through which we entered. On the escritoire beside it, the Chancellor’s various civil, military, and official head-coverings form quite a small exhibition. The other half of the wall is completely filled up by a couch of colossal dimensions, covered with blue brocade. It is almost as broad as it is long, without back or side cushions, only at the head a round bolster is placed, on which reposes an embroidered cushion with this inscription: ‘In Memory of the Year 1866.’
The pictures on the walls consist of life-size engravings, portraits of the great Kurfürst Frederick the Great, Frederick-William III., and King William. Beside this latter hangs an engraving of Murillo’s Madonna, looking somewhat surprised at her worldly companions. Finally, on the wall behind the writing-table hangs a charming Swiss cuckoo-clock; while just below the portrait of Frederick the Great, and so placed that Bismarck can see it when he reposes on the couch, hangs a small picture of his mother, whose memory, as is well known, he treasures above everything else. Even taken from the simple stand-point of man to man, it is satisfactory to find, by the various letters from among his private papers that have of late years been made public, such a fund of kindly feeling, such a bright and hearty nature, as one would hardly have looked for in this daring and indomitable combatant.
‘In spite of all the hunting and raking-up of anecdotes of Bismarck’s past life,’ said a Saxon deputy, ‘that has been going on now for some years both by Sunday and week-day sportsmen, from the big journals down to the tiny pamphlets, not one half of what he has really done, said, and written, will ever be collected together; while those who are at all honest will frankly admit that it would be impossible to reproduce faithfully the peculiar form and fresh originality of his sayings. Thus, I heard rather a characteristic anecdote of his meeting with Councillor P——, from the Saxon town of M——, at the Berlin Railway Station in Leipzig. Bismarck—it was in 1863—had been with the king in Carlsbad, and was travelling back to Berlin, viâ Leipzig, in strict incognito. It was noon, and there was more than an hour to wait before the next train started. Our friend Councillor P——, who had been told by the station-master who his travelling companion was, went into the reserved dining saloon—Bismarck did the same—and soon the two merged into amicable converse, while discussing their respective luncheons. Bismarck praised the beauty of Saxony and the bravery and industry of its people. Councillor P——, who did not belong to the blind worshippers of Herr von Beust, asked his vis-à-vis what he thought of the Saxon government and policy. His vis-à-vis continued his panegyric. P——, determined not to be outdone, launched forth into raptures about Prussia—not, however, including the Berliners.
“Well, you are quite right,” said Bismarck. “I daresay you have heard the story of the Alpine host, who, after pointing out the glories of his native land, asked a Berlin youth whether they had such mountains as that in Berlin. ‘No,’ he replied; ‘we have not got such mountains; but if we had, they would be far finer than these!’ Much the same thing happened to me. I was living in Hanover for some time, and one day I went, with a friend from Berlin, along the beautiful Herrenhauser Allee. ‘Look at those magnificent trees!’ I said. ‘Where?’ was the answer, as he looked round with contempt. ‘You mean these? Why, they are not to be compared to the Linden of Berlin!’ The following year, I walked with my friend Unter den Linden. They had their usual summer aspect, which, as I daresay you all know, is sufficiently dreary and melancholy. ‘Well, what say you now?’ I asked my companion. ‘Do you still maintain that this is superior to the Herrenhauser Allee?’ ‘Oh, leave me in peace with your Herrenhausers and Allees,’ he cried testily; ‘it always makes me savage when I am shown anything better than we have in Berlin.’ There you have a true picture of the Berliner.”
‘Bismarck then went on discussing the lower classes in Berlin, especially the porters, and lamented that it was found almost impossible to make them trustworthy. “You should do the same as we do,” replied the councillor—“swear the men in before they take service.”
“Oh,” replied Bismarck, laughing, “that would not hold water with us.”
‘Meanwhile, the doors of the reserved dining-room were thrown open to the great travelling public, who began to assemble preparatory to the starting of the train. Among others, the well-known Leipzig colporteur, Hartwig, utilised the moments to find a fresh market for his wares. He had evidently also another motive—which he kept out of sight—and that was to give the Prussian minister some unvarnished truths and a piece of his mind about his political views, for of course he knew Bismarck by sight.’
Now first I noticed the gigantic size of the bearskin that lay beneath the billiard-table—it is almost as long as the table itself. Bismarck shot the animal in Russia, after having watched and waited for it five nights running.
The mighty Nimrod now joined our party, and leant up against the billiard-table while talking. He then sat down on the table, and while keeping up a lively conversation with Hennig and the rest of us about various points on the interior economy of the Diet, he every now and then threw a billiard ball behind him, so that each time it hit the two others that were on the table. After the discussion had lasted some time, Bismarck said: ‘But come, gentlemen; I think it is time we had some refreshment.’ So saying, he led the way, and we again passed through the chamber with the yellow Gobelins, full of Chinese figures, animals, and pagodas, on to the dining saloon. On our way, we passed Deputy Kratz in deep confab with General von Steinmetz. They were still continuing the discussion on the theory of light, with which the worthy judge and the victor of Trautenau had entertained the House for over an hour a few days ago.
Close beside them stood the Hessian deputy Braun, talking to Admiral Jachmann. It is incredible what an inordinate desire this inland resident, who has never even heard the sound of the sea, has for occupying himself with naval matters. Perhaps these constant discussions with landsmen, who cannot know much of nautical affairs, are the cause of the somewhat stereotyped smile that curves the worthy admiral’s otherwise handsome lips. This time, however, he did not smile. Braun had asked him the following simple but weighty question: ‘The papers and telegraphs have just informed us of the arrival at Kiel, from England, of the König Wilhelm, the largest armour-plated ship of the North German navy. They write in such a cool, indifferent sort of manner, as if it were quite an everyday affair for us to pay out over three million dollars for such a vessel. Has Your Excellency already inspected the vessel?’ ‘No; I will do so to-morrow.’ And with this answer the deputy had to be satisfied.
As I passed on, I again came across Bismarck, this time in conversation with Albrecht, the town recorder of Hanover, who in the previous year had had a sharp tussle about his right to the ox with which the guild of butchers have, from time immemorial, every year presented the recorder. The much-vexed question, re the ox, was happily not now in dispute, Albrecht having manfully fought for and gained his cause. But the point under discussion was evidently nearly as delicate and intricate, for I heard Bismarck say: ‘Well, both you and I have lost some hair—we have therefore one very important point in common—and ought to understand one another all the better.’
The table in the dining saloon was again covered with all the cold delicacies of a true North German kitchen; and again, like last Saturday, a small side-table had been taken possession of by some of the deputies, among whom I noticed the gentlemanly police superintendent Devens of Cologne; the two noble sons of the soil, Evelt and Hosius; and the honest but somewhat moody Günther of Saxony.
Ere long, Bismarck came up and seated himself between Devens and Evelt, chatting pleasantly with them, while enjoying the cool and fragrant Maitrank.
‘How do you like my Maitrank?’ he asked.
‘It is perfect, Your Excellency!’
‘Yes; I rather pride myself on it. Curiously enough, during all my student days I never found any Waldmeister further south than Heidelberg. Our South German brethren were first initiated into the delights of the Maitrank by us northerners. You from Hohenzollern, for instance, have no Waldmeister, I suppose?’
‘O yes, Your Excellency,’ replied Evelt. ‘It grows splendidly with us. But I also may lay claim to the honour of having introduced the Swabians to its magic powers.’
‘You have to thank your sterile Alps for that,’ returned Bismarck. ‘Were they more sheltered, no Waldmeister would grow there.’
A group of deputies and several waiters with plates and glasses now separated me from the speakers. When I again rejoined the party, Bismarck was telling them the following story of General von Strotha: ‘He was at that time living quietly at Frankfort, in command of the allied garrison there, when one day he received a telegram from the then Minister President, Count von Brandenburg, to come at once to Berlin and report himself to the minister. Strotha starts for Berlin in hot haste, and thence immediately goes to Brandenburg.
“I have sent for Your Excellency to ask you to become War Minister,” said Brandenburg.
“Me!” exclaimed Strotha. “For heaven’s sake, Your Excellency, what made you think of such a thing? I am not in any way fitted for the post.”
“I am afraid that can’t be helped. See; here is the order from His Majesty the king, requiring that you shall be War Minister.”
‘Strotha reads the order, looking greatly troubled, and then says: “Of course, if His Majesty commands, I must obey.”
“Well, then, my dear colleague,” continues Brandenburg, “you will attend the cabinet council at ten to-day.”
“Oh, I could not possibly do that.”
“I am afraid you will have to. See; here is another order from His Majesty, expressly desiring you to undertake the War Department in the cabinet.”
“Then I must of course obey,” said the new War Minister, with a deep sigh of dejection.
‘He is just about to leave, in order to prepare himself for his presumable maiden speech, when Brandenburg stops him: “I suppose you know, general, that you must appear in mufti [plain clothes] at the council?”
‘Strotha stood speechless with amazement. This was the finishing stroke. “I have none!” he at last managed to stammer forth.
“Well, you will have to get yourself some by ten o’clock—such are the king’s commands.”
“Then of course I must obey,” replied Strotha, leaving the room in a very crestfallen manner.
‘But he faced his difficulty valiantly. Jumping into a cab, he drove off to the Mühlendamm, where all the old Jews congregate; and at ten o’clock precisely, a strange figure, with an enormously nigh collar and coat sleeves hanging right over his hands, was seated at the ministerial table—this was the new War Minister!’
Günther, who never could hide what he felt, and who generally looked at the dark side of most things, had followed the Chancellor’s story with undisguised amusement. The circle became every moment more gay and lively.
‘Take care, Günther,’ cried Mosig von Ahrenberg, holding up his finger in mock-threat; ‘I see plainly that Bismarck has completely bewitched you. I shall feel bound to make your apostasy known to a certain paper in Leipzig.’
Whilst this merry chaff was going on, Bismarck’s wife and her daughters had come in and had seated themselves at the table. The conversation now became more general; and soon after, as it was getting late, the party broke up. With a profound bow to the ladies, and a kindly shake of the hand from our genial host, we took our departure, well pleased with our second social evening at the hospitable dwelling of ‘Our Chancellor.’