¶ French newspaper editors lashed themselves into insanity trying to invent new names for the man who had brought the downfall of the Empire, at Sedan; the man who at Versailles was arranging the hardest terms of peace ever conceived by a diplomatic Shylock, bent on having his pound of flesh.
¶ Paris journalists called him “the incarnation of the evil spirit,” “the Antichrist,” “the shrewd barbarian,” “crime-stained ogre, who was always thrashing his wife with a dog-whip,” “he kept a harem, from which no Berlin shopkeeper’s daughter was safe;” “once he became enamored of a nun and hired ruffians to kidnap her and bear her away to his castle;” “he is the father of many illegitimate children, in Berlin some say as many as fifty;” “he once lashed one of his Russian mistresses over the bare shoulders because he suspected her of looking at another admirer;” “he uses his confidential diplomatic knowledge to add to his huge private fortune by gambling on every Bourse in Europe.”
¶ How magnificent—if it were indeed only true! What a relief that would be over the tame details of average human life, and what a boon to biographers this grand wickedness! Alas, the tales are only important as specimens of French drawing room gossip of 1871!
¶ The fables never bothered Bismarck a moment. When he was ready, he repaid them in his own splendid coin; and certainly he was past-master of the gentle art of putting a razor-edge on an insult!
¶ Bismarck had his vituperative side. Egged on by his wife and his son, Bismarck became at times verbally ferocious. His wife, a descendant of those terrible Frankish women-warriors, stemming from barbarian times, could under stress exercise a barbarian’s stark freedom of speech; and when Bismarck, furious at some insult, was replying with a political cannonade, she would infuriate him to still greater exertions by suggesting:
¶ “Bismarck, hiss a little! Hiss a little!”
¶ And after seven hundred years, the Bismarck psychology behind the old Tower’s superstitious appeal remains substantially the same. We shall see at times as we sketch for you the life portrait of Otto von Bismarck a mysterious atavism; the self-same mental astuteness that stood his ancestors in such good stead, enabling them to frighten the peasants into providing the corn.
¶ Yes, blood will tell—and the Bismarck blood is rare juice!