He: “Yes, and he also knew how to get himself a rich wife, and to take advantage of the position which he acquired through the friendship of my wife and his own musical talent. Moreover, he knew how to impress people with his importance—through his silence. But there was nothing behind it. He is stupid, empty and incapable. He was unable even to manage the Pay Department properly.”
I: “On going to Constantinople it is said that he left a deficit of 80,000 thalers.”
The Chief then spoke of Hohenlohe, and appeared to think more highly of him than he did of Hatzfeldt. He also referred to Radowitz and afterwards to Radowitz’s father, alleging that the “Jesuitic attitude of the latter was responsible for Olmütz.” “You know what sort of a man the late King was,” he continued. “For years, during which something might have been done, Radowitz kept him occupied with all sorts of tailoring and ornamental matters, with mediæval questions of costumes, uniforms and coats of arms. He acted as Keeper of the Wardrobe to his fancies: whether such and such counts were or were not received, and the Knights of St. John, and the Wetterau bench of Counts, and the absurd question whether Saxony and Hanover should retain the right to appoint envoys,—as if a barber could not have intrigued successfully against our policy so long as they had the power. He amused the King with such trifles as these until it was too late.”
He then came to speak of Lady Bloomfield’s Memoirs, the Tauchnitz edition of which he brought in from the next room, and asked me to review it in the Grenzboten. He said I should find “the genuine English arrogance in the lady,” who was “much pleased at the opposition of the Crown Princess (the present Empress Augusta); and full of the profoundest aversion to everything Prussian and German.” In 1866 she “had been anti-Prussian to the backbone,” and had “libelled our officers as the French did in 1870 with their story of the clock.” In this connection he referred to the merino goats which the Prussians were alleged to have driven away with them from Bohemia. This led him to speak of the Crown Princess and her “English self-conceit,” whereupon I reminded him of the story of the silver plate of the English shopkeepers and of the Prussian nobility which he then repeated to me as before. On my remarking that the Queen, her mother, was also unfriendly to us Germans, and had always sided with the Belgian-Coburg clique, &c., he denied that this was the case, and said that, on the contrary, she had “on the whole been favourable to us.”
He then continued: “I wish you would some time or other refute the charge that I have acted inconsistently in the struggle with the Curia, and that I have changed my opinions and aims in the ecclesiastical question, and in others. That is the sort of criticism which can only proceed from some one who has never occupied the position of a leading Minister. Whoever has held such a post for any considerable time can never absolutely unalterably maintain and carry out his original opinions. He finds himself in presence of situations that are not always the same—of life and growth—in connection with which he must take one course one day, and then perhaps on the next another. I could not always run straight ahead like a cannon ball. (Doubtless a reminiscence of Schiller, ‘Piccolomini,’ I., 4.) Had I done so I should have knocked my head against a wall. When the situation changed I was obliged to alter my plans. Such changes in the situation were, moreover, chiefly due to the fickleness of parties, and, therefore, if any one is to blame they are. Their action, on the other hand, was in great part influenced by their envy. That is the national vice of the Germans. They cannot bear to see any one hold a high and leading position for any length of time. One of the most important changes was produced by the formation of the Catholic party, the founders of which might at the beginning have been expected to support the Government. Savigny, you know. It, however, weakened my position. The entire struggle with the Centre party would have taken another form, and have had a different issue, if I could have fought it out at the head of the Conservatives. I had risen from their ranks, but if I was to do justice to the requirements of the time it was impossible for me to continue in agreement with them on all points. This, and the long-suppressed hatred and envy of old comrades of my own class and faith, which very soon broke out, drove me over to the Liberal side. An understanding had to be come to with the latter if the Empire was to strike firm root, and so I was obliged to come to an agreement with the strongest party, a thing which I had tried in vain to do in 1866, when it was also desirable. It was particularly necessary in those years when Germany was threatened with a Triple Alliance like that of the Kaunitz period. The latest achievement of German diplomacy is to have prevented the formation of such a coalition against us for thirteen years. The Government was forced to appear at the head of the Liberals, at the head of the majority, in order to avert this coalition. The Conservatives fell away from me on that account. I would remind you of the Inspection of Schools Bill, and of the attitude of the Kreuzzeitung, and of the libels published in the Reichsglocke. And just as the situation was thus altered at that time, so it was again changed in 1878, through the defection of the Liberals. Here, too, it was envy and self-importance, and the desire to rule. I was no longer supported, or only in a lukewarm fashion. They were not sorry to see me weakened by the opposition of the Centre party, so that I should be forced to negotiate with them. The Progressists combined with the Centre against me. The Secessionists acted in very much the same way. From this time forward the National Liberals were silent in the struggle with Rome. They were pleased at the embarrassments to which it gave rise, and wished to have a weaker Government in order that they might appear stronger. When the Government had to strike the Liberals out of its reckoning, it naturally followed that I had to slacken my opposition to Rome. I cannot speak any longer now, or the faceache will return.”
He then rose, but continued to speak of his illness for a while as he walked up and down, describing it as very painful, “like shingles.” I further asked if I might in a few months send him the proofs of my book. “What book?” he said. I answered: “That which your Serene Highness has already twice promised me to read through.” He then thought for a moment, and promised once more to do so, whereupon I took my leave, with wishes for his speedy recovery. He said he had no longer any hope, and only expected to grow worse. (...)
On the 11th of July, after the Chancellor had left Berlin for Friedrichsruh, Grunow sent him the first sheets of my book, Unser Reichskanzler, to read through before they were sent to press. On the 16th of July, Count Bill returned me these proofs, with the following lines:—
“Friedrichsruh, 16/7, 1883.
“Dear Sir,
“I enclose the proofs herewith. All that has been struck out is a passage in a private conversation. It would be better to omit altogether expressions of a similar character made in conversations of a confidential nature. (Of course, here and in what follows it is not the writer, but the Chancellor who speaks.) Many things may be said that are not suitable for publication; among these are animadversions upon Imperial institutions, such as the Constitution, for example.