As I passed on, I again came across Bismarck, this time in conversation with Albrecht, the town recorder of Hanover, who in the previous year had had a sharp tussle about his right to the ox with which the guild of butchers have, from time immemorial, every year presented the recorder. The much-vexed question, re the ox, was happily not now in dispute, Albrecht having manfully fought for and gained his cause. But the point under discussion was evidently nearly as delicate and intricate, for I heard Bismarck say: ‘Well, both you and I have lost some hair—we have therefore one very important point in common—and ought to understand one another all the better.’
The table in the dining saloon was again covered with all the cold delicacies of a true North German kitchen; and again, like last Saturday, a small side-table had been taken possession of by some of the deputies, among whom I noticed the gentlemanly police superintendent Devens of Cologne; the two noble sons of the soil, Evelt and Hosius; and the honest but somewhat moody Günther of Saxony.
Ere long, Bismarck came up and seated himself between Devens and Evelt, chatting pleasantly with them, while enjoying the cool and fragrant Maitrank.
‘How do you like my Maitrank?’ he asked.
‘It is perfect, Your Excellency!’
‘Yes; I rather pride myself on it. Curiously enough, during all my student days I never found any Waldmeister further south than Heidelberg. Our South German brethren were first initiated into the delights of the Maitrank by us northerners. You from Hohenzollern, for instance, have no Waldmeister, I suppose?’
‘O yes, Your Excellency,’ replied Evelt. ‘It grows splendidly with us. But I also may lay claim to the honour of having introduced the Swabians to its magic powers.’
‘You have to thank your sterile Alps for that,’ returned Bismarck. ‘Were they more sheltered, no Waldmeister would grow there.’
A group of deputies and several waiters with plates and glasses now separated me from the speakers. When I again rejoined the party, Bismarck was telling them the following story of General von Strotha: ‘He was at that time living quietly at Frankfort, in command of the allied garrison there, when one day he received a telegram from the then Minister President, Count von Brandenburg, to come at once to Berlin and report himself to the minister. Strotha starts for Berlin in hot haste, and thence immediately goes to Brandenburg.
“I have sent for Your Excellency to ask you to become War Minister,” said Brandenburg.