The defence put forward by the Luxemburg Government in reply to our complaints respecting breaches of neutrality is insufficient. It perhaps shows the good will of that Government, but certainly the facts prove that they are not able to maintain their own neutrality. They have been again warned, further evidence being given in support of our charges. If this does not prove effective, we shall be obliged to occupy the Grand Duchy, and hand over his passports to the Grand Ducal Minister in Berlin. A communication to the same effect has been made to the Powers that signed the Treaty of 1867. According to a memorandum in which the Chief proposed to the King that, the statesmen who concluded the treaties providing for the accession of Baden and Würtemberg to the North German Confederation should receive decorations, an exception was to be made in the case of Dalwigk, because he had constantly intrigued and worked against Prussia and the cause of German unity, and only finally gave way on the compulsion of necessity; and his decoration would, therefore, have a bad effect upon public opinion, which had frequently urged the exercise of Prussian influence to secure his dismissal.
Monday, January 9th.—It is reported from London that Prince Napoleon has a plan under consideration for concluding on his own authority a peace satisfactory to us, and then after the capitulation of Paris convoking the two Chambers to ratify the treaty, and to decide upon the future form of government, and eventually upon the future dynasty. This plan would be supported by Vinoy and Ducrot. The Orleanists are also active, and hope to win over Thiers to their side. Bernstorff reports that it has been ascertained from a servant of Dr. Reitlinger, Favre’s secretary, that he has endeavoured to hatch a democratic conspiracy in South Germany. Gladstone has received Reitlinger, and promised to support him in every possible way.
In the afternoon I drafted a telegram as to the further successful progress of the bombardment. On submitting it to the Chief, he struck out a passage in which it was mentioned that our shells had fallen in the Luxemburg Gardens, as being “impolitic.” He also instructed me to telegraph to the Foreign Office in Berlin to omit this passage from the report of the general staff.
The following pretty story is making the round of the newspapers. It is taken from the private letter of a German officer, and was first published in the Leipziger Tageblatt. “One day the aide-de-camp, Count Lehndorff, visited Captain von Strantz at one of the outposts at Ville d’Avray, near Paris. In reply to the Count’s question as to how he was getting on, the Captain said: ‘Oh, very well; I have just been dining for the sixty-seventh time off roast mutton.’ The Count laughed, and after a while drove off again. Next day a policeman called upon the captain with the following message: ‘It having come to the knowledge of his Excellency Count Bismarck, Chancellor of the Confederation, that Captain von Strantz would doubtless be dining to-day off his sixty-eighth joint of roast mutton, his Excellency sends him herewith four ducks as a change of menu.’” This anecdote has the advantage over most of those appearing in the press, that it is in the main correct. But the policeman did not call on the next day. Count Lehndorff dined with us a few days before Christmas.
The Chief was shaved as usual on coming to dinner to-day. He first mentioned that Count Bill had received the Iron Cross, and seemed to think that it should more properly have been given to his elder son, as he was wounded in the cavalry charge at Mars la Tour. “The wound was an accident,” he went on, “and others who were not wounded may have been equally brave. But it is, after all, a distinction, a kind of compensation for the wounded.” “I remember when I was a young man that one Herr von Reuss went about Berlin also wearing the Cross. I thought to myself what wonders he must have done; but I afterwards ascertained that he had an uncle who was a Minister, and he had been attached to the general staff as a kind of private aide-de-camp.”
The Chancellor suddenly remarked; “It must be three weeks since I saw Serenissimus.[20] It is not so long since I saw Serenior.[21] I cut the Sereni.” The Chancellor then continued, obviously with reference to the Sereni, that is the Princes at the Hôtel des Reservoirs, or one of them, but without any connecting sentence: “I remember at Göttingen I once called a student a silly youngster. (Dummer Junge, the recognised form of offence when it is intended to provoke a duel.) On his sending me his challenge I said I had not wished to offend him by the remark that he was a silly youngster, but merely to express my conviction.”
While we were discussing pheasant and sauerkraut some one remarked that the Minister had not been out shooting for a long time, although the woods between Versailles and Paris were full of game. “Yes,” he replied, “something has always happened to prevent me. The last time was at Ferrières, the King was away and he had forbidden shooting, that is to say, in the park, just as he has now given orders that Ferrières must be spared, merely because it belongs to a rich Jew. We did not go into the park, and there was plenty of game, but not much of it was shot as the cartridges were bad.” Holstein, who, by the way, turns out to be exceedingly amiable, hard-working and helpful, remarked: “This is the account given of the affair, Excellency. You were aware of his Majesty’s orders, and of course desired to obey them. But it unfortunately happened as you were taking a walk on one occasion you were suddenly set upon by three or four pheasants and were obliged to shoot them down in self-defence.”
The French Rothschild recalled the German one, of whom the Chief related a very amusing story. He said: “When the members of the Reichstag were here recently, I was seated next to Rothschild at the Crown Prince’s. The Prince sat next to me, and on his other side was Simson. Rothschild smokes a grew deal, and smelt of that and other things, and so I thought I would play a little practical joke before we sat down. But it did not succeed. It is only after dinner that stewards of the household begin to be sensible and listen to a body. I had my revenge however, by letting my neighbour have the benefit of my remarks. I said to him, ‘You should have a house in Berlin, and invite people to see you, and so on.’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, in a loud and almost angry voice. ‘Am I to give dinners in a restaurant?’ ‘Well, you might do that too,’ I replied, ‘but to other people, not to me. In my opinion you owe it to the credit of your house. But the best thing would be to have a place of your own in Berlin. You know there is nothing to be expected any longer from the Paris and London Rothschilds, and so you ought to do something in Berlin. People are constantly surprised that you have not yet got into the Almanach de Gotha. Of course, what has not been done up to now may yet happen, but I am afraid you are not going the right way to work.’”
Finally polite literature came to be discussed, and Spielhagen’s “Problematische Naturen” was mentioned. The Chancellor had read it, and did not think badly of it, but he said: “I shall certainly not read it a second time. One has absolutely no time here. Otherwise a much-occupied Minister might well take up such a book and forget his despatches over it for a couple of hours.” Freytag’s “Soll und Haben” was also mentioned, and his description of the Polish riots, as well as the story of the bread-and-butter miss and the ball, were praised, while his heroes were considered insipid. One said they had no passion, and another no souls. Abeken, who took an active part in the conversation, observed that he could not read any of these things twice, and that most of the well-known modern authors had only produced one good book apiece. “Well,” said the Chief, “I could also make you a present of three-fourths of Goethe—the remainder, certainly—I should like to live for a long spell on a desert island with seven or eight volumes out of the forty.” Fritz Reuter was then referred to, and the Minister remarked, “‘Uit de Franzosentid,’ very pretty but not a novel.” “Stromtid” was also mentioned. “H’m,” said the Chief, “Dat is as dat ledder is (that’s just how it is, a favourite expression of one of the characters in the book)—that, it is true, is a novel, and it contains many good and others indifferent, but all through the peasants are described exactly as they are.”
In the evening I translated for the King a long article from The Times on the situation in Paris. Afterwards at tea Keudell spoke very well and sensibly of certain qualities of the Chancellor, who reminded him of Achilles, his great gifts, the youthfulness of his character, his quickness of temper, his tendency to Weltschmerz, his inclination to withdraw from great affairs and his invariably victorious action. Our times could boast a Troy, and also an Agamemnon, shepherd of the nations.