Bismarck

by Moritz Busch

With regard to the ten million francs contribution imposed upon the district of Fontenay for the destruction of the railway bridges, Henckel declared, as an expert, that that was an impossible demand—they could not squeeze even two millions out of the people. “Probably not one million,” remarked the Chief. “But that is our way of doing things. All sorts of terrible threats are constantly uttered, and then afterwards they cannot be carried out. The people end by seeing through that sort of thing, and get accustomed to the threats.”

Then followed a highly interesting and detailed review of the various phases in the development of the scheme for the accession of the South German states to the Northern Confederation. “While we were still in Mainz,” related the Chancellor, “the King of Bavaria wrote a letter to our most gracious master in which he expressed a hope that he would not be mediatised. As a matter of course, his mind was set at ease on that point. But the King did not want the answer to be quite so categorical. That was the first conflict between the King and myself during the war. I told him that King Lewis would probably in that case withdraw his troops, and that he would be within his right in doing so. I remember it was in the corner room. It was a hard struggle, and finally he left me still in doubt as to what he was going to do. After the first great victories and before Sedan, there was another idea, namely, that of a military revolution and a military Emperor of Germany, who should be proclaimed by the troops, including the Bavarians. That idea was not to my liking. Subsequently, when Bray came here, they had thought out a plan of their own in Munich. They felt themselves to be safe, and wished for something more. Bray brought with him the plan of the alternating imperial dignity. As Bray said to me, an agreement could be come to between the North German Confederation and Bavaria or between Germany and Bavaria. In the meantime we might very well conclude treaties with Baden and Würtemberg, and afterwards come to an understanding with Bavaria. I was quite satisfied with that. But when I told it to Delbrück, he looked as if he were going to faint. I said to him, ‘For Heaven’s sake, why not accept it? It is exactly what we want.’ And so it was too. For when I informed Suckow and Mittnacht, they were beside themselves with rage, and immediately came to terms with me. Later on, however, the King (of Würtemberg) was induced to strike out again in a new line. It was through Frau von Gasser, who had great influence at the Court in Stuttgart. He wanted to act once more with Bavaria. The Ministers, however, remained firm, and assured me they would rather resign, and thus it came about that the Treaty with Würtemberg was not concluded until afterwards in Berlin. Finally, after all sorts of difficulties on both sides, the arrangement with Bavaria was also settled. Now there was only one thing wanting—but that was the most important of all! I saw a way, and wrote a letter—and after that the credit belongs to a Bavarian Court official. He achieved an almost impossible feat. In six days he made the journey there and back, eighteen German miles, without a railway, to the palace in the mountains where the King was staying—and in addition to that his wife was ill at the time. It was really a great deal for him to do. He arrives at the palace, finds the King unwell—suffering from a tumour in the gum, or from the after effects of an operation under chloroform. He is not to be seen. Well, but he had a letter from me to deliver—very pressing. In vain; the King will not be disturbed; he will do no business to-day. At last his Majesty’s curiosity is aroused, and he wants to know what I have to communicate to him—and the letter is well received. But there is no ink, no paper, no writing materials. They send off a groom, who ultimately comes back with some coarse letter paper; the King writes his answer, just as he is, in bed—and the German Empire is made!”

Jacoby’s arrest having been mentioned, the Chief observed: “Otherwise, Falkenstein acted quite sensibly, but thanks to that measure of his and to his refusal to release Jacoby when I requested him to do so, we were unable to convoke the Diet for a whole month. As far as I am concerned, he might have had Jacoby carved up for himself into rhinoceros cutlets, but he ought not to have locked him up! All he had to show for his pains was the possession of a dried up old Jew. The King, too, would not at first listen to my representations. We were accordingly obliged to wait, as the Diet would have been within its right in demanding his liberation.”

Jacoby’s name brought up that of another congenial mind, viz., Waldeck (the Radical leader in the Prussian Diet), of whom the Chief gave the following description: “Something like Favre, always consistent, his views and decisions cut and dried in advance, and, in addition to that, a stately presence and a venerable white beard, fine speeches delivered with the earnestness of deep-toned conviction, even on trifling matters, that is so impressive! He makes a speech in a voice throbbing with devotion to principle in order to prove to you that this spoon is in the glass, and he proclaims that any one who refuses to accept that statement is a scoundrel! And all the world believes him, and praises him for his staunchness in every key from treble to bass.”

Tuesday, January 31st.—The King of Sweden has delivered a bellicose speech from the throne. Why, ye gods? I write two paragraphs under instructions from the Chief, and then a third, which calls attention to the sufferings during the bombardment of a number of inoffensive German families who, for various reasons, remained behind in Paris after the expulsion of their fellow countrymen, and commend Washburne, the United States Minister, for the efforts he made to alleviate the lot of these unfortunate people. In this respect he has really acted in a manner that deserves our warmest thanks, and has been loyally assisted by his subordinates.

The Parisian gentlemen are again here, including Favre, who has sent a telegram to Gambetta urgently requesting him to yield. It is to be feared he will not do so. At least the Prefect of Marseilles is showing his teeth and snarling at poor Favre with the patriotic declaration: “Je n’obéis plus le capitule de Bismarck. Je ne le connais plus.” Proud and staunch—but danger is best at a distance.

At tea I hear from Bucher that the Chief has been speaking very strongly about Garibaldi, that old dreamer, whom Favre declares to be a hero.

Subsequently Duparc had an interview with the Minister. Shortly after ten the Chief joined us at tea. He first spoke of the unpractical character of the Frenchmen who have been working with him during the past few days. Two Ministers, Favre and Magnin, the Minister of Finance who has accompanied him this time, spent half an hour to-day worrying over one telegram. This led him to speak of the French in general and of the entire Latin race, and to compare them with the Germanic peoples. “The Germans, the Germanic race,” he said, “is, so to speak, the male principle throughout Europe—the fructifying principle. The Celtic and Slav peoples represent the female sex. That principle extends as far as the North Sea and then across to England.” I ventured to add: “And also as far as America and the Western States of the Union, where some of our people form the best part of the population and influence the manners of the rest.” “Yes,” he replied, “those are their children, the fruit they bear.” “But that was to be seen in France while the Franks had still the upper hand. The Revolution of 1789 was the overthrow of the Germanic element by the Celtic. And what have we seen since then? And this held good in Spain so long as the Gothic blood predominated. And also in Italy, where in the North the Germans also played a leading part. When that element had exhausted itself, there was nothing decent left. It was much the same thing in Russia, where the Germanic Waräger, the Ruriks, first bound them together. As soon as the natives there prevail over the German immigrants and the Germans of the Baltic Provinces, they fall asunder into mere communes.” “It is true that the unmixed Germans are not of much account either. In the south and west where they were left to themselves, there were only Knights of the Empire, Imperial Towns, and Immediate Villages of the Empire, each for itself, and all tumbling to pieces. The Germans are all right when they are forced to unite—excellent, irresistible, invincible—otherwise each one will act according to his own ideas.” “Really, after all, an intelligent absolutism is the best form of government. Without a certain amount of it everything falls asunder. One wishes this thing and another that, there is eternal vacillation, eternal delays.” “But we have no longer any genuine absolutists—that is to say, no kings. They have disappeared. The variety has died out.” “A Republic is perhaps after all the right form of government, and it will doubtless come in the future; but I dislike our Republicans. Formerly things were different, when princes still appeared in brocaded coats and covered with stars. They are declining everywhere, and that decline will be much greater in future. One sees that in the younger generation. It is the case with us also. No more rocher de bronce. They no longer want to govern, and are glad when some one relieves them of the trouble. All they care for is to be praised in the newspapers, and to get as much money as possible for their personal requirements. The only one who still conducts his business properly is the old King of Saxony.” “And when they sit at the table d’hôte in the Hôtel des Reservoirs, here near the Palace of Louis XIV., and every one sees that they are ordinary human beings—and how ordinary!—why, the halo is quite lost. And then one fine morning three Grand Dukes pay their respects to me, and find me in my dressing gown!”

I ventured to relate that as a little child I pictured to myself the King of Saxony, who was the only monarch I knew of at that time, as resembling the king in the pack of cards—clad in ermine, and wearing a crown with orb and sceptre, stiff, gorgeous, and imperturbable: and that it was a fearful disappointment for me when my nurse once pointed out to me a gentleman in the passage between the palace and the Catholic church in Dresden, and told me that that little, crooked, frail, old man, whose uniform became him so badly, was King Anton. The Chief said:—“Our peasants also had very curious conceptions, and the following story was current amongst them. It was to the effect that on one occasion, when a number of us young people were gathered together in some public place, we said something against the King, who happened to be close to us, but was unknown to us. He suddenly stood up, opened his mantle and showed the star on his breast. The others were terrified, but it did not affect me, and I pitched him down the stairs. I received ten years imprisonment for it and was not allowed to shave myself. As I wore a beard at that time, a habit which I had acquired in France (1842) where it was then the fashion, it was said that the executioner came once every year on St. Sylvester’s night to shave it off. Those who told this story were rich peasants and otherwise not at all stupid, and they repeated it, not because they had anything against me but quite in a friendly way, and full of sympathy for a young man’s rashness. The pitching down stairs was rather a coarse invention, but I was pleased all the same that it was only to me they gave credit for not being intimidated by the star.”

I thereupon asked the Chief if there was any truth in the story of the beer glass he was said to have broken on some one’s head in a Berlin restaurant because he had insulted the Queen or refused to drink her health. “It was quite different,” he replied, “and had no political significance whatever. As I was going home late one evening—it must have been in the year 1847—I met some one who tried to pick a quarrel with me. As I pulled him up on account of his language, I discovered that he was an old acquaintance. We had not seen each other for a long time, and on his proposing to me, ‘Come, let’s go to ——’ (he mentioned a name), I went with him, although I really had had enough already. But after getting our beer he fell asleep. Now there were a lot of people sitting near us, one of whom had also taken more than he could carry, and who was attracting attention by his noisy behaviour. I quietly drank my beer, and this man got angry at my being so quiet and began to taunt me. I took no notice, and that made him only the more angry and his language grew more and more violent. I did not want to have any quarrel, nor did I like to go away, as people would have thought I was afraid. At last, however, he came over to my table and threatened to throw the beer in my face. That was too much for me. I stood up and told him to go away, and as he made a motion to throw the beer at me, I gave him a blow under the chin, so that he fell backwards, breaking the chair and the glass, and rolled across the room right on to the wall. The landlady then came and I told her she need not worry, as I would pay for the chair and the beer glass. I said to the others: ‘You are witnesses, gentlemen, that I did not seek a quarrel, and that I endured it as long as possible. But I cannot be expected to allow a glass of beer to be poured on my head simply because I was quietly drinking my glass. If the gentleman has lost a tooth in consequence I shall be sorry. But I was obliged to defend myself. Besides, if anybody wishes to know more, here is my card.’ It turned out that they were quite sensible people and took my view of the case. They were annoyed with their comrade and acknowledged that I was in the right. I afterwards met two of them at the Brandenburg Gate. I said: ‘I think, gentlemen; you were present when I had that affair in the beer house in the Jägerstrasse. What has happened to my adversary? I should be sorry if he had been hurt.’ I must explain to you that he had to be carried away on that occasion. ‘Oh,’ they replied; ‘he is all right, and his teeth are quite sound again. He is altogether subdued, and extremely sorry for what he did. He had just entered the army to serve his year, as he is a doctor, and it would have been very unpleasant for him if people had heard of the affair, and especially if it had come to the knowledge of his superiors.’”