Bismarck and the Foundation of the German Empire

by James Wycliffe Headlam

"Not if I order it as your sovereign?" asked the Emperor.

"No. The commands of my King cease in my wife's drawing-room," answered Bismarck. The Emperor had forgotten that Bismarck was a gentleman before he was a Minister, and that a Prussian nobleman could not be treated like a Russian boyar.[^[14]]

No reconciliation or accommodation was now possible. The Emperor did all he could to make it appear that the resignation was voluntary and friendly. He conferred on the retiring Chancellor the highest honours: he raised him to the rank of Field Marshal and created him Duke of Lauenburg, and publicly stated his intention of presenting him with a copy of his own portrait. As a soldier, Bismarck obediently accepted the military honour; the new title he requested to be allowed not to use; he had never been asked whether he desired it.

No outward honours could recompense him for the affront he had

received. What profited it him that the Princes and people of Germany joined in unanimous expression of affection and esteem, that he could scarcely set foot outside his house for the enthusiastic crowd who cheered and followed him through the streets of Berlin? For twenty-four years he had been Prussian Minister and now he was told he was in the way. His successor was already in office; he was himself driven in haste from the house which so long had been his home. A final visit to the Princes of the Royal House, a last audience with the Emperor, a hasty leave-taking from his friends and colleagues, and then the last farewell, when in the early morning he drove to Charlottenburg and alone went down into the mausoleum where his old master slept, to lay a rose upon his tomb.

The rest he had so often longed for had come, but it was too late. Forty years he had passed in public life and he could not now take up again the interests and occupations of his youth. Agriculture had no more charms for him; he was too infirm for sport; he could not, like his father, pass his old age in the busy indolence of a country gentleman's life, nor could he, as some statesmen have done, soothe his declining years by harmless and amiable literary dilettanteism. His religion was not of that complexion that he could find in contemplation, and in preparation for another life, consolation for the trials of this one. At seventy-five years of age, his intellect was as vigorous and his energy as unexhausted as they had been twenty years before; his health was improved, for he had found in Dr. Schweninger a physician who was not only able to treat his complaints, but could also compel his patient to obey his orders. He still felt within himself full power to continue his public work, and now he was relegated to impotence and obscurity. Whether in Varzin or Friedrichsruh, his eyes were always fixed on Berlin. He saw the State which he had made, and which he loved as a father, subjected to the experiment of young and inexperienced control. He saw overthrown that carefully planned system by which the peace of Europe was made to depend upon the prosperity of Germany. Changes were made in the working of that Constitution which it seemed presumption for anyone but him to touch. His policy was deserted, his old enemies were taken into favour. Can we wonder that he could not restrain his impatience? He felt like a man who sees his heir ruling in his own house during his lifetime, cutting down his woods and dismissing his old servants, or as if he saw a careless and clumsy rider mounted on his favourite horse.

From all parts of Germany deputations from towns and newspaper writers came to visit him. He received them with his customary courtesy, and spoke with his usual frankness. He did not disguise his chagrin; he had, he said, not been treated with the consideration which he deserved. He had never been accustomed to hide his feelings or to disguise his opinions. Nothing that his successors did seemed to him good. They made a treaty with England for the arrangement of conflicting questions in Africa; men looked to Bismarck to hear what he would say before they formed their opinion; "I would never have signed the treaty," he declared. He quickly drifted into formal opposition to the Government; he even made arrangements with one of the Hamburg papers that it should represent his opinions. He seemed, to have forgotten his own principle that, in foreign affairs at least, an opposition to the policy of the Government should not be permitted. He claimed a privilege which as Minister he would never have allowed to another. He defied the Government. "They shall not silence me," he said. It seemed as though he was determined to undo the work of his life. Under the pretext that he was attacking the policy of the Ministers, he was undermining the loyalty of the people, for few could doubt that it was the Emperor at whom the criticisms were aimed.

In his isolation and retirement, the old uncompromising spirit of his ancestors once more awoke in him. He had been loyal to the Crown—who more so?—but his loyalty had limits. His long service had been one of personal and voluntary affection; he was not a valet, that his service could be handed on from generation to generation among the assets of the Crown. "After all," he would ask, "who are these Hohenzollerns? My family is as good as theirs. We have been here longer than they have." Like his ancestors who stood out against the rule of the Great Elector, he was putting personal feeling above public duty. Even if the action of the new Government was not always wise, he himself had made Germany strong enough to support for a few years a weak Ministry.

More than this, he was attempting to destroy the confidence of the people in the moral justice and necessity of the measures by which he had founded the Empire. They had always been taught that in 1870 their country had been the object of a treacherous and unprovoked attack. Bismarck, who was always living over again the great scenes in which he had been the leading actor, boasted that but for him there would never have been a war with France. He referred to the alteration in the Ems telegram, which we have already narrated, and the Government was forced to publish the original documents. The conclusions drawn from these disclosures and others which followed were exaggerated, but the naïve and simple belief of the people was irretrievably destroyed. Where they had been taught to see the will of God, they found only the machinations of the Minister. In a country where patriotism had already taken the place of religion, the last illusion had been dispelled; almost the last barrier was broken down which stood between the nation and moral scepticism.

Bismarck's criticism was very embarrassing to the Government; by injuring the reputation of the Ministry he impaired the influence of the nation. It was difficult to keep silence and ignore the attack, but the attempts at defence were awkward and unwise. General Caprivi attempted to defend the treaty with England by reading out confidential minutes, addressed by Bismarck to the Secretary of the Minister for Foreign Affairs, in which he had written that the friendship of England and the support of Lord Salisbury were more important than Zanzibar or the whole of Africa. He addressed a circular despatch to Prussian envoys to inform them that the utterances of Prince Bismarck were without any actual importance, as he was now only a private man. This only made matters worse; for the substance of the despatch quickly became known (another instance of the lax control over important State documents which we so often notice in dealing with German affairs), and only increased the bitterness of Bismarck, which was shared by his friends and supporters.