Come not for dancing, but just to see.
Interior of Bismarck’s House at Berlin.—Arrival of Guests.—The King.—The Queen.—The Royal Princes.—The Generals.—Committee of Story-tellers in the Refreshment Room.—Supper.—The Ball.—Home.
We have entitled this chapter, “A Ball at Bismarck’s,” for reasons of brevity and alliteration, for in truth, at these great evening assemblies, with supper after midnight, the ball is a secondary object for the majority of the guests. This arrangement, entirely imported from England, pleases us as little as the English expression “rout,” for the principal peculiarity of it is that double the number of guests are invited than can find room in the apartments, and such a system is very much at variance with our old-fashioned notions of German hospitality. The institution of a “rout” is only tolerable when the greater number of the guests only come for a quarter of an hour, and then disappear to attend another “rout.” The continual arrival of fresh individuals, the continual variation in the faces, may then possess a charm of its own. But this does not take place at Bismarck’s, for when the “Minister-President and the Countess of Bismarck-Schönhausen” send out their invitations, no house in Berlin has the courage to vie with them and open its door on the same evening. The consequence of this is, that all the guests arrive early and stop as long as ever they can. Now, as we have already said, the apartments at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs are exceedingly small, and thus there is a crush of which it is impossible to form any idea unless one has seen it. Add to this the temperature of the dog-days in the brilliantly lighted saloons, and the impossibility of sitting down; an enjoyment only appreciated to its full extent by the members of the Reichstag and Deputies of the Diet, who here find ample opportunity, after their long plenary and committee sittings, to stand.
The guest reaches the first saloon by the stairs, through a forest of tropical plants and orange-groves, with livery servants sprinkled in, to the place where the Minister-President, in his white uniform, with the star and collar of his Order, aided by his wife, receives the guests, interchanging a few friendly expressions with them, and then they enter. But after this the guest literally founders in the ocean of dazzling light and crowds of people; it is only after a considerable interval that a person, unless accustomed for years to these parties, recovers his self-possession. At first he hears single words in the noise around him; gradually he learns to understand them; and then come long sentences which he is able to comprehend. Next comes the second stage; he observes that he is swimming between rosy red and pale blue, clouds of garments of various textures; he recognizes with absolute ecstasy the golden threads which pass through these clouds; the soft sounds of the yielding substances are varied by the sharp rustling of silk and the brilliant gleam of crackling satin; then he perceives rounded shoulders, shining necks, wavy locks, smiling faces—the happy man sees them all, for he is walking towards a group of ladies. He walks? No, he rather creeps, or pushes himself forward without lifting his feet. Beautiful Mother Nature in her wisdom has instinctively taught him that he must necessarily tread upon some lady’s train if he raise his foot a quarter of a line from the floor. Thus he shoves himself along on the left flank of the battalion, whence beautiful eyes are flashing in competition with gold and jewels. This danger he can encounter, for all this fire is not directed at him, the worn-out man of fifty. He is looking round in astonishment, and then comes a sudden block, for it is impossible to break through the new group standing right in front. Court gala uniforms, black coats with broad bands of various orders, civil uniforms with golden embroidery, and officers with silver—every place is taken up, and the wearers are standing shoulder to shoulder in humming conversation. Nothing but strange faces! Suddenly a very large hand, but of course in a delicate glove, certainly specially made for this great, good hand, is laid upon the arm of the anxious undecided one, a well-known face greets him in a friendly way, and a well-known voice says, “Good-evening, dear old fellow!” But he scarcely recognizes his tried patron and friend, for he had never seen him in full uniform with the orange and white sash. When, however, he sees who it is, a great feeling of satisfaction comes over him—he is no longer alone, and he is safe. Other acquaintances appear, remarks are interchanged, there is even recreation, but under difficulties. People push here and there, and are pushed in return; it is impossible to penetrate to the ball-room, but the music of the Cuirassier Guard Regiment can be heard very well, and sometimes a servant with a tray full of ices is captured by the more daring—a real grace in this heat. It is very comical to hear every one complaining of want of room and heat, and yet none of the complainants seem to have any idea of getting rid of these disagreeables in the simplest manner in the world, by going away!
Suddenly all the heads, decked with feathers, flowers, and jewels, bow slowly and then rise again; it is as if the evening breeze passed gently over the meadow, the flowers all bending up and down, hither and thither.
King William is entering, conducted by the Minister-President. The stately royal man bows with chivalrous politeness, now to this lady, now to that; he pronounces kind words, which are really more kind and fewer in number than is usually the case. Here he shakes hands with one general, there he nods to another gentleman—the path by which the King has passed is marked by proud and happy faces. Those who feel disposed to jeer, can not in the least know how a Prussian feels when the King’s hand touches his own, and the King’s eye looks so grandly and mildly into his.
But to enjoy a really heart-warming sight, King William and Bismarck must be seen together. The great hero, Prince Eugene, or Eugenio von Savoye, as he wrote it in Italian, German, and French, once said of the three Emperors whom he had served—“Leopold was my father, Joseph my friend, Carl is my sovereign!” In Bismarck’s conduct towards the King may be seen the reverence for a father, the attachment of a friend, and the fullest respect for a sovereign. An unique spectacle, this!
Now the Queen passes through the brilliant throng, dressed with royal simplicity; she speaks with several of the members of the Reichstag. When the sailing boat passes through the waves of the sea, when the swan glides over the shining mirror, a silver line marks the passage they have taken. Such a line denotes the path which the Queen had followed through the throng.
The whole Royal House is present.