With great respect, reverend sir, I remain faithfully,
Von Bismarck-Schönhausen, M. Sec. Ch.
Among the friends who about that time visited Bismarck’s hospitable though simple household in the Dorotheen-Strasse (afterwards in the Behren-Strasse, No. 60), we may name Von Savigny, André, and Von Kleist-Retzow.
Bismarck’s life in those days was almost entirely absorbed by politics: sessions of the Chambers, commissions, committees, clubs, and appointments of all kinds occupied him, and politics formed the theme of the conversations he held in the evening in the beer-saloon of Schwarz (corner of Friedichs and Leipziger Strassen), when he went in to drink a glass of Grünthaler beer. This beer-saloon—it is still existent, although in another locality and under other management—was a principal centre of the conservatives; it was jestingly said, that even the landlord’s little dog was so conservative that he barked at every democrat.
At another establishment, not that of Schwarz, Bismarck had a little adventure. He had just taken a seat, when a particularly offensive expression was used at the next table concerning a member of the Royal Family. Bismarck immediately rose to his full height, turned to the speaker, and thundered forth:—“Out of the house! If you are not off when I have drunk this beer, I will break this glass on your head!” At this there ensued a fierce commotion, and threatening outcries resounded in all directions. Without the slightest notice Bismarck finished his draught, and then brought it down upon the offender’s pate with such effect that the glass flew into fragments, and the man fell down, howling with anguish. There was a deep silence, during which Bismarck’s voice was heard to say, in the quietest tone, as if nothing whatever had taken place:—“Waiter, what is to pay for this broken glass?” At this exclamations were heard, but not against Bismarck; every one rejoiced and cried:—“That was right! That is the proper thing to do! The wretch richly deserved it!” This deed had its intended effect, and Bismarck went on his way unmolested.
There was something indescribably commanding in his firm countenance, with its close beard, and the cold glance which lay in his eyes, in his form and whole bearing, at this time. This a certain Herr Nelke (Pink) or Stengel (Stalk)—we are not certain of the name—one day learnt to his cost. Bismarck was returning from Potsdam with the venerable and worthy Lieutenant-Colonel von Wolden, who is still remembered in certain circles. In the coupé a silly bagman or something of that kind was making a violent political speech, and at last ventured to ridicule and libel the grizzly Lieutenant-Colonel to his face. Bismarck looked at the man, who was continuing his insults, for a time, until the train stopped at the station in Berlin. Bismarck paced along the platform at his full height, and advanced in the firmest attitude to the chattering gentleman, so that he involuntarily receded a step with alarm. Silently Bismarck approached and drove him to the wall, and then simply asked him,
“What is your name?”
“Nelke, my name is Nelke!” stammered the person addressed, with a pale and anxious face.