At various times since my leaving the Berlin Embassy various friends have said to me, "Why not give us something definite regarding the German Emperor?" And on my pleading sundry difficulties and objections, some of my advisers have recalled many excellent precedents, both American and foreign, and others have cited the dictum, "The man I don't like is the man I don't know."
The latter argument has some force with me. Much ill feeling between the United States and Germany has had its root in misunderstandings; and, as one of the things nearest my heart since my student days has been a closer moral and intellectual relation between the two countries, there is, perhaps, a reason for throwing into these misunderstandings some light from my own experience.
My first recollections of the present Emperor date from the beginning of my stay as minister at Berlin, in 1879. The official presentations to the Emperor and Empress of that period having been made, there came in regular order those to the crown prince and princess, and on my way to them there fell into my hands a newspaper account of the unveiling of the monument to the eminent painter Cornelius, at Dusseldorf, the main personage in the ceremony being the young Prince William, then a student at Bonn. His speech was given at some length, and it impressed me. There was a certain reality of conviction and aspiration in it which seemed to me so radically different from the perfunctory utterances usual on such occasions that, at the close of the official interview with his father and mother, I alluded to it. Their response touched me. There came at once a kindly smile upon the father's face, and a glad sparkle into the mother's eyes: pleasing was it to hear her, while showing satisfaction and pride, speak of her anxiety before the good news came, and of the embarrassments in the way of her son at his first public address on an occasion of such importance; no less pleasing was it to note the father's happy acquiescence: there was in it all a revelation of simple home feeling and of wholesome home ties which clearly indicated something different from the family relations in sundry royal houses depicted by court chroniclers.
Not long afterward the young prince appeared at some of the court festivities, and I had many opportunities to observe him. He seemed sprightly, with a certain exuberance of manner in meeting his friends which was not unpleasing; but it was noticeable that his hearty salutations were by no means confined to men and women of his own age; he was respectful to old men, and that is always a good sign; it could be easily seen, too, that while he especially sought the celebrities of the Franco-Prussian War, he took pains to show respect to men eminent in science, literature, and art. There seemed a healthy, hearty life in him well befitting a young man of his position and prospects: very different was he from the heir to the throne in another country, whom I had occasion to observe at similar functions, and who seemed to regard the whole human race with indifference.
Making the usual visits in Berlin society, I found that people qualified to judge had a good opinion of his abilities; and not infrequent were prophecies that the young man would some day really accomplish something.
My first opportunity to converse with him came at his marriage, when a special reception was given by him and his bride to the diplomatic corps. He spoke at considerable length on American topics—on railways, steamers, public works, on Americans whom he had met, and of the things he most wished to see on our side the water; altogether he seemed to be broad-minded, alert, with a quick sense of humor, and yet with a certain solidity of judgment beneath it all.
After my departure from Berlin there flitted over to America conflicting accounts of him, and during the short reign of his father there was considerable growth of myth and legend to his disadvantage. Any attempt to distil the truth from it all would be futile; suffice it that both in Germany and Great Britain careful statements by excellent authorities on both sides have convinced me that in all that trying crisis the young man's course was dictated by a manly sense of duty.
The first thing after his accession which really struck me as a revelation of his character was his dismissal of Bismarck. By vast numbers of people this was thought the act of an exultant young ruler eager to escape all restraint, and this opinion was considerably promoted in English-speaking countries by an ephemeral cause: Tenniel's cartoon in "Punch" entitled "Dropping the Pilot." As most people who read this will remember, the iron chancellor was therein represented as an old, weatherbeaten pilot, in storm-coat and sou'wester, plodding heavily down the gangway at the side of a great ship; while far above him, leaning over the bulwarks, was the young Emperor, jaunty, with a satisfied smirk, and wearing his crown. There was in that little drawing a spark of genius, and it sped far; probably no other cartoon in "Punch" ever produced so deep an effect, save, possibly, that which appeared during the Crimean War with the legend "General February turned Traitor"; it went everywhere, appealing to deep sentiment in human hearts.
And yet, to me—admiring Bismarck as the greatest German since Luther, but reflecting upon the vast interests involved—this act was a proof that the young monarch was a stronger man than any one had supposed him to be. Certainly this dismissal must have caused him much regret; all his previous life had shown that he admired Bismarck—almost adored him. It gave evidence of a deep purpose and a strong will. Louis XIV had gained great credit after the death of Mazarin by declaring his intention of ruling alone—of taking into his own hands the vast work begun by Richelieu; but that was the merest nothing compared to this. This was, apparently, as if Louis XIII, immediately after the triumphs of Richelieu, had dismissed him and declared his purpose of henceforth being his own prime minister. The young Emperor had found himself at the parting of the ways, and had deliberately chosen the right path, and this in spite of almost universal outcries at home and abroad. The OLD Emperor William could let Bismarck have his way to any extent: when his chancellor sulked he could drive to the palace in the Wilhelmstrasse, pat his old servant on the back, chaff him, scold him, laugh at him, and set him going again, and no one thought less of the old monarch on that account. But for the YOUNG Emperor William to do this would be fatal; it would class him at once among the rois fatneants—the mere figureheads—"the solemnly constituted impostors," and in this lay not merely dangers to the young monarch, but to his dynasty and to the empire.
His recognition of this fact was, and is, to me a proof that the favorable judgments of him which I had heard expressed in Berlin were well founded.