Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/forsceptreandcr00samagoog
2. Gregor Samarow is pseudonym of Johann Ferdinand Martin Oskar Meding.
3. Translator of this work is Fanny Wormald. This is per an advertisement for this book given on page xii. in "The Academy and literature, Volume 10," December 16, 1876.

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN

A ROMANCE OF THE PRESENT TIME.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

GREGOR SAMAROW.

IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I.

HENRY S. KING AND CO.
65, Cornhill, and 12, Paternoster Row, London.
1875.

(All rights reserved.)

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

The success which "Um Szepter und Kronen" has met with on the Continent justifies an English translation. The author, who writes under the nom de plume of Gregor Samarow, is, if report speak truly, himself one of the characters described in his work as the friend and confidant of the chivalrous and unfortunate sovereign who is its principal hero. This explains the ease and familiarity with which the various courts and cabinets are described, the author's personal acquaintance with the statesmen and diplomatists he has pourtrayed, and it accounts for the value of the work as a clever and interesting political sketch. It is as a political sketch, and not as an ordinary novel, that it is offered to this country.

Although the great events of 1870 and 1871 have almost swept from memory the history of preceding years, yet the struggle of 1866--the Seven Weeks' War--must ever be memorable; it was the prelude to the great Franco-German War, and its immediate result was that immense increase in the power of Prussia which placed her in her present position of supreme leader in Germany.

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.

CHAPTER I.

[BISMARCK AND MANTEUFFEL].

About nine o'clock on a dark April evening in the year 1866, a Berlin cab drove up the Wilhelmsstrasse with the trot peculiar to those vehicles, and stopped between the two lamps illuminating the door of No. 76, the house of the Minister for Foreign Affairs. The ground floor of this long two-storeyed house was well lighted up, and any one who peeped through the green blinds could see into many office-like rooms, well-filled with industrious writers, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The windows of the upper storey were only faintly lighted here and there.

From the cab which drew up before this house stepped a middle-sized man, dressed in a dark paletot and black hat; he came close to the gas-lamp to look in his purse for the right coins with which to pay the fare, and as soon as he had settled with the numbered Automedon he rang loudly at the door-bell.

The door opened almost immediately, and the person demanding admittance entered a spacious porte-cochère, at the end of which, between two large sleeping stone lions, ascended the flight of steps leading to the interior of the house. On one side of the doorway a window opened into the porter's lodge, and at the window appeared the porter's face, wearing that peculiarly stolid expression common to the door-keepers of all great houses.

The porter looked at the new-comer inquisitively through the half-open window, but he only gave him a hasty glance as he walked on with quiet, measured tread to the flight of steps.

As he moved forwards, the light fell brightly on his face, and showed the features of a man of about sixty years of age, of a rather dark and healthy complexion. The quick, animated dark eyes looked piercing and bright, even through gold-rimmed spectacles, though they also expressed calmness and benevolence. His well-chiselled, regular nose was slightly bowed over the small, firm, beardless mouth, and an energetic up-turned chin completed a countenance so characteristic, that when once beheld it was seldom forgotten.

No sooner did the look darted through these gold spectacles reach the window of the porter's lodge, than the porter's face changed as if by magic.

The expression of indifference and easy condescension vanished instantly, the countenance assumed the look befitting a zealous servant, and its possessor hastened from the door of his lodge leading to the steps, and at last stood in a precise attitude, proving him to be an old soldier, before the visitor, who in the meantime had gained the entrance hall on the ground floor, to which the large stone steps led.

"Is the minister at home?" he inquired, with simple politeness, which, equally unlike the over-strained courtesy of the petitioner and the haughty nonchalance of the parvenu, proved him to be a man accustomed to move with ease in the highest society.

"At your command, your Excellency," replied the porter in his official manner. "The French Ambassador has just gone, and no one is here. The minister is now alone."

"And how do you get on? still sound and fit for service?" asked the visitor, kindly.

"Most humble thanks for your Excellency's gracious inquiries. I still get about, although somewhat weaker. Everyone does not wear so well as your Excellency."

"Well, well, we all get older, and draw nearer to the end. Keep a brave heart, and God be with you!" With these kind words, heartily spoken, the grave-looking man walked up the broad staircase towards the first storey, while the old door-keeper watched him with respectful pleasure, and then returned to his lodge.

In the ante-room on the upper floor "his Excellency" found Herr von Bismarck's valet-de-chambre, Schönhausen, and was at once conducted through a large, dimly-lighted apartment to the cabinet of the minister. The door was thrown open by the servant, who announced for his master's benefit, "His Excellency von Manteuffel!"

Herr von Bismarck sat at a large writing-table, piled with acts and papers. It was placed in the middle of the room, and lighted by a tall lamp with a dark shade. An arm-chair stood on the other side of the table, in which the minister usually seated his visitors. Herr von Bismarck rose at his servant's announcement and walked towards his visitor, whilst Manteuffel took in the whole room with one glance from his quick eyes; then, with a slight half-melancholy smile, he seized the president-minister's outstretched hand.

It was a picture of the deepest interest. In the half-second during which these two men stood opposite each other, the present touched the past and the future--the old, the new Prussia.

Both the men were sensible of this impression. They stood opposite one another for a moment in silence.

Herr von Manteuffel we have already described whilst he was entering the Foreign Office. It is only needful to add that the removal of his hat showed hair which was grey and thin, and cut very short. He stood quite still, his right hand clasped in Bismarck's, whilst the slender white fingers of his left held his hat. His features maintained perfect calmness; his mouth was firmly closed, and a guarded reserve appeared to stamp its seal upon the whole being of the man.

Herr von Bismarck, almost a head taller, stood towering above him. The bearing of his powerful form showed he was accustomed to wear uniform; his massive, strongly-marked countenance spoke in its decided features of a vehement, passionate soul; the clear, penetrating grey eyes turned boldly, with a cold gaze, upon the object they wished to watch; and the broad, high brow, which from being somewhat bald appeared even higher than it was, showed immense power of forcing, by an iron will, thoughts and ideas to logical arrangement.

"I thank you for your kind visit," said Bismarck, after a few moments.

"You preferred coming to me here, instead of receiving me as I requested."

"It is better so," replied Manteuffel. "Your visit to me would have excited curiosity. Here, too, we are safe from eavesdroppers; and, I suppose, an important subject is to be discussed."

"Yes, unhappily, only a grave and extraordinary occasion can procure me the happiness of hearing the experienced counsels of my old chief. You know how often I long for your advice, and yet you always avoid every expression of opinion," said Herr von Bismarck, with a slight accent of reproach.

"What good would it do?" returned Herr von Manteuffel, politely but coldly. "To act for myself, to answer for myself, was my rule when I occupied the position you now fill. If once a leading statesman begins to ask advice right and left, he loses the power of advancing resolutely on the path which his reason and his conscience point out to him as the right one."

"Now, truly, it is not my way to listen to every one, and no want of resolution prevents my choosing my own path," cried Bismarck, warmly; "and," he added, with a slight smile, "my friends the members of the Diet cast it daily in my teeth that I do not sufficiently heed their good advice; yet you will own that there are moments when the strongest brain may long to hear the views and the advice of a master mind, who can look back, my honoured friend, upon such actions as yours."

"And such a moment has now come?" asked Manteuffel, quietly, whilst his piercing eyes rested on Bismarck's animated face, his own features not in the least responding to the compliment just paid him. "If ever there was a time in which the strongest mind must be assailed by doubt, it is the present moment. You know the position of Germany and of Europe, and you know that the mighty crisis must come, upon which the fate of centuries depends," said Herr von Bismarck.

"I believe it will come, whether it must come or not; but," added Herr von Manteuffel, after a short pause, "our conference will touch upon subjects of the highest importance, and you know my profound dislike of officious meddling in things which do not concern me. May I then ask, does the king know of this conversation, and of its subject?"

"His Majesty knows, and desires I should ask your advice," answered Bismarck.

"Then it is my duty to express my humble opinion so far as it is formed in my own mind," said Manteuffel, quietly, as he seated himself in the arm-chair near the writing-table, while Bismarck took his usual place.

"Before, however, I can speak on the present situation, I must know what your intentions are, what is the aim of your policy, and by what means you intend to attain that end. Permit me," he continued, as with a slight movement of the hand he politely repressed a remark from Herr von Bismarck--"permit me to state, from my private and remote observations, what I believe your intentions to be. You must then honestly tell me if I am right or mistaken."

Herr von Bismarck bowed in silence, and fixed his candid eyes with a look of the greatest attention upon Herr von Manteuffel.

"Your aim is," continued the latter, quietly, "according to the conviction I feel from the progress of events, to solve, or rather to end, the great German question; your aim is to place Prussia at the head of the political and military power of Germany, and to turn the edge of the sword against any who shall oppose you. In a word, you wish to bring that long, chronic sickness, called 'the German Question,' to an acute crisis, and to cure it for ever by the arcanum of blood and iron."

"I do," replied Bismarck, without moving or raising his voice; but it vibrated so strangely that these two words rang through the room like the clash of arms, and his eyes, which were still fixed on Herr von Manteuffel, seemed to emit an electric stream. Thus, when Laocoon's lance touched the horse of Troy, there rang from within, the low, faint clang of the Grecian arms, the first note of that terrible harmony, before which the walls of Pergamus were destroyed, and which, echoing back from the strings of Homer's lyre, for two thousand years has thrilled the hearts of men.

"You do not deceive yourself as to the strong opposition you will encounter," continued Herr von Manteuffel; "the crisis is come, and the struggle will take place, and before long, for unless I am quite deceived, the other side is equally anxious to bring matters to an issue."

"I know it," replied Herr von Bismarck.

"Well," added Manteuffel, "we must then consider the means we can employ in this struggle. There is, to begin with, the Prussian army--a thing of great preponderance, which will weigh heavily in the balance, and the importance of which I do not undervalue for a moment. This army possesses advantages which I do not understand, but which are very important in a military point of view: the needle-gun, the artillery, and the general staff. But in this struggle other powers must be taken into consideration; our allies, and public opinion. Our allies seem to me doubtful--France? You must know better than I, your position with the Man of Silence; England will wait for the success of one side or the other; Russia is safe. As to public opinion----"

"Is there such a thing?" interrupted Bismarck.

Herr von Manteuffel smiled slightly, and continued, "Under ordinary circumstances, public opinion is the result of an effective bit of decoration, which makes a lively impression on the crowd, now lighting up Fiesco's restless sea, now throwing a flood of heavenly glory into Egmont's dungeon. To those behind the scenes, it is the result of machinery, and is produced by pulling the right string at the right moment. I believe we understand both scenes and machinery. But there is another kind of public opinion that rises like the wind, incomprehensible, unmanageable, and terrible as the wind when it rouses itself to a storm. The strife that lies nearest in the lap of Fate is a strife of German against German, a civil war, and in such a war Public Opinion claims her right: she is a powerful ally and a terrible foe, terrible above all to the vanquished, against whom she calls up relentlessly the væ victis. Public opinion, however, is against war, less perhaps in Germany than in Prussia itself, and honestly considering the composition of the Prussian army, that is no subject for indifference."

Herr von Bismarck exclaimed warmly, "Do you believe it possible that----"

"The Prussian army should forget its duty, and refuse to march?" concluded Herr von Manteuffel. "No, never; certainly not! Single instances of irregularity might occur in the Landwehr; they would be unusual, most unusual. The army will do its duty, it is the incarnation of a perfect sense of duty, but you will not deny there is an immense difference between duty performed with heartiness and enthusiasm, or with ill-will and aversion?"

"Heartiness and enthusiasm will come with success," said Bismarck.

"But until then?"

"Until then the spirit of duty must be kept firm, and the management must be good."

"Well," said Manteuffel, "I do not doubt it will be so. I only wished to point out, that in this strife a mighty and important power will be not for, but against you."

"You are right as to the present moment," replied Herr von Bismarck, after a short pause; "to-day public opinion, which you so aptly compared to the wind, is against me; but it changes as easily as the wind itself. And yet I cannot allow you are altogether right. It is true the superficial world, composed of the shallow liberalism of the tea-gardens and the ale-houses, prating of a Germany which exists only in its own brain, speaks of a civil and fratricidal war against Austria, but believe me, this does not go down with the Prussian people. The heart of Prussia goes at the head of her army, and through the army rings the 'Hohenfriedberg March,'--the Prussian people regards the country of Maria Theresa as the foe of that Prussian spirit which old Fritz breathed into the nation. And these orators and speechifiers? Oh, I fear them not, with their public opinion, which will change like a weather-cock in the wind, at the first breath of success."

"I, too, will own that you are partly right, but not quite," said Herr von Manteuffel; "but success--is it certain? Is it prepared beforehand? We have touched upon two powers, let us come to the third, perhaps the most important--allies. What is your position with France and Napoleon III.?"

At this direct and sharply-uttered question, which was accompanied by a look quite as cutting as the tone of voice in which it was asked, Herr von Bismarck's lips trembled slightly for a moment, and something of uncertainty, doubt, and mistrust, perhaps a mixture of all three, appeared in his eyes; but all this quickly vanished, and he answered calmly, in the same clear, ringing voice as before,

"Good--at least as good as it can be with this mysterious sphinx."

"Have you agreements, treaties,--or, far better than these, have you a personal promise from Napoleon?" inquired Manteuffel.

"You catechise closely," replied Bismarck, "but I stand before my master; hear then what has happened in that quarter, and how the question now stands.

"More than two years ago, in November, 1864, I spoke to the emperor on the Danish question. He was eager for the restitution of North Schleswig to Denmark. I spoke on the sad and critical situation of Prussia, split into two distinct halves; I stated how great an error it would be to erect a new small state in the north, and how much more advantageous it would be to Denmark to have a great and powerful neighbour, than to have on her borders the little court of a prince who sets up claims to the Danish crown. The emperor listened to everything, and from the few words he said seemed to agree with me on the need of better boundaries for Prussia, though as usual it was impossible to make him say anything clear and decided; but he was evidently much displeased with Austria, and complained of the great insincerity of the Court of Vienna."

"And did you promise him North Schleswig if he supported your views?" asked Manteuffel.

"He may think I did," replied Bismarck, smiling a little; "as he confined himself to listening and nodding his head, I thought it only necessary to make vague remarks."

Herr von Manteuffel bowed his head in silence, and Herr von Bismarck continued.

"At the Gastein conference some explanations took place, but I could not succeed in obtaining any positive declaration, and in November, 1865, I went to Biarritz; but there, too, it was impossible to draw the Man of Silence from his resolute reserve. I knew that important negotiations were going on with Austria for the solution of the Italian question; perhaps this was the cause of the cold reserve shown to me; perhaps, too----you know Count Goltz?"

"I know him," said Manteuffel, with a meaning smile.

"You know, too, that at that time a rumour was circulated that Count Goltz would take my place. What was going on in Paris was not clear to me; but things did not go as I wished, and as I thought they should. I acted for myself. On my return from Biarritz I spoke to Prince Napoleon."

"Seriously?" asked Herr von Manteuffel.

"Quite seriously," answered Bismarck, with a slight smile upon his lips, "and I saw that Italy was the bait with which the imperial policy must be caught. Good Prince Napoleon was fire and flame. I got up an agitation in Florence, and in a short time firm negotiations were established, the result of which I will lay before you."

Herr von Manteuffel expressed by a movement, his intense interest in this communication.

Herr von Bismarck turned over a small bundle of papers which lay on the writing-table close to his hand, and went on.

"Here is the Italian treaty, negotiated with General Govone; it undertakes to attack Austria on the south, with the sea and land forces of Italy."

"And France?" asked Manteuffel.

"The emperor concedes," replied Bismarck, "our acquisition of Holstein and Schleswig, without the province of North Schleswig; he acknowledges the necessity of connecting the two divided portions of Prussia, to do which part of Hanover and Hesse Cassel must be obtained; neither will he oppose the Prussian command of the 10th army corps of the confederacy."

"And what does he want?" asked Manteuffel.

"Venetia for Italy."

"And for himself, for France?"

"For himself," returned Bismarck, "nothing."

"Nothing?" said Herr von Manteuffel, "nothing? But have you no clue to his unspoken thoughts? As far as I remember he wanted nothing, when he took Savoy and Nice after the Italian war."

"As to his thoughts," said Bismarck, "I believe I guess correctly when I say he regards the possession of Luxemburg as highly desirable, and in the far horizon the acquisition of Belgium by France seems feasible to him. You know that in Brussels the wind often blows strongly to Orleans."

"And what does Napoleon think about you in connection with these desires?" further inquired Manteuffel.

"What he pleases," returned Bismarck, indifferently. "If he wanted nothing, I had no occasion to promise him anything, and as to his wishes,--well,--it certainly was not my business to point out to him that they were foolish and unattainable."

"I understand," said Manteuffel, with a nod.

"Hanover must receive compensation for what she cedes to us in Lauenburg and Holstein," added Bismarck.

"Did the Emperor Napoleon require it?" inquired Herr von Manteuffel, with some surprise.

"Certainly not," replied Bismarck; "after the traditions of his family he loves not the Guelphs, and, as you see, the basis of the whole arrangement is Prussian supremacy in North Germany; what goes on there is to him a matter of complete indifference. No, our own gracious master is most anxious that Hanover should stand by us in the approaching struggle, and that the old family ties which exist between the two houses should be continued in the future."

"And you yourself," inquired Herr von Manteuffel, "what do you think about the 'Hanoverian question?'"

"Simply from a political point of view," replied Bismarck, candidly, "I certainly wish Hanover did not exist, and I regret that at the Congress of Vienna our diplomacy was not exerted to persuade the royal family of England to give up this hereditary possession. I think we might have succeeded. Hanover is a thorn in our flesh, and even with the best intentions towards us, cripples us greatly. When she bears us ill-will, as for some time past has been the case, she is really dangerous. If I were the complete Machiavelli I am accused of being, I should direct my whole attention to the acquisition of Hanover. Perhaps it would not be so difficult as it appears," he added, following, though half unwillingly, the thoughts which arose in his mind; "neither the English nation, nor the royal family in England, would trouble themselves much about it, and--but as you know, our gracious king is highly conservative, and has a deep respect for the connection between Prussia and Hanover, embodied in Sophia Charlotte and Queen Louise,--and I--well--I am not less conservative; this connection is not less sacred to me, and I follow the ideas of the King from my heart and my head, and I will endeavour to make the future existence of Hanover possible. But things cannot go on as they are at present--we must have guarantees; the more our country enlarges and consolidates its possessions, the more our commerce increases, so much the less can Prussia permit, in her body, so near to her heart, a foreign element, which in any crisis may turn into a hostile element. I can then reply to you with the greatest truth: I will honestly and earnestly strive to win over Hanover, and if on her side she stands by her old traditions, and is true to us, I will endeavour to create her a safe and honourable, nay, a brilliant position in North Germany. But of a truth she must cease to make us feel she is an encumbrance."

"And have you any prospect of succeeding in arranging a firm alliance with Hanover?" asked Herr von Manteuffel.

"I hope so," replied Bismarck, after a moment's pause. "Count Platen was here; you know him?"

Herr von Manteuffel smiled.

"Well," added Herr von Bismarck, "we spared nothing; we overwhelmed him with compliments of every kind. He received the Grand Cross of the Red Eagle."

"Why not of the Black Eagle?" asked Manteuffel.

"Bah! Some powder must always be reserved; he was overjoyed as it was. I propounded to him the family connection which his Majesty himself earnestly desires, and through which, perhaps, the whole question may be settled in the most friendly manner."

"I know of this casually," interrupted Manteuffel; "do you think the project will succeed?"

"They seem favourable in Hanover," replied Bismarck; "in Norderney as well as in Marienburg--time will show; for the present, I place more reliance on our policy."

"And what has Count Platen promised us?"

"Neutrality, as he already promised Count Ysenburg!"

"And is the treaty concluded?"

"Count Platen could not, of course, conclude it himself, and he wished the whole matter to be a profound secret, that the suspicions of France and Austria might not be prematurely aroused. He made me the most distinct promises, and spoke so bitterly of Beust, and of the ministry of Vienna, that I could not but believe him."

"Forgive me," exclaimed Herr von Manteuffel, "for being on this Hanoverian question,--I consider it of the greatest importance; in short, forgive me for being still sceptical. It seems to me negotiations have been carried on without any definite result, beyond assurances and promises from Count Platen. Would it not have been better to take some decided step in Hanover itself? George V. is no Louis XIII., and Count Platen no Richelieu."

"I thought of that also," remarked Herr von Bismarck. "You know Herr von Stockhausen, accredited here by Hanover, is related to the Baudissins. One of the Baudissins, an author and writer in newspapers, of whom you may have heard, has, through young von Stockhausen, his father's secretary, formed a great friendship with Keudell; perhaps through that channel we may influence the King of Hanover. I must, however, repeat that I sincerely desire friendly relations with Hanover, and the maintenance of the throne, and that I will do all in my power to obtain this result, contrary to the opinion of many Prussians, as you know. Hanover and Hesse Cassel always hang together; the Prince of Hesse follows in the footsteps of the King of Hanover. This question causes me little uneasiness, however; their forces are small, and in any encounter we must be victorious."

"And," added Herr von Manteuffel, "will it be possible to engage Bavaria and Wurtemberg to remain neutral during a war with Austria?"

"No," replied Herr von Bismarck, "the Austrian party is all-powerful in Munich; and Prince Reuss writes me word that since a rumour has been heard of the Italian alliance, all hopes of Bavarian neutrality are gone. The only thing we may attain is a lukewarm war. The real difficulty will be with Bohemia. I believe I have now candidly laid before you the whole of our present position. If you wish any particular point to be more clearly stated, question me upon it; and now I beg your opinion en connaissance de cause."

Herr von Manteuffel looked for a moment on the ground in silence; then he raised his eyes to the animated face opposite to him, and began to speak in the soft melodious voice, and flowing, impressive language which always, though he was never a great public orator, produced so powerful an effect in private intercourse.

"I see, certainly, that you have considered every point which will influence the approaching struggle, and in many respects the chances of success are in your favour; but only one point is fully prepared, complete, and sure: this point is the Prussian army. Everything else in the building is tottering and unsafe. The relations with France are neither clear nor certain; Germany appears to me hostile; then, to speak candidly, I do not believe in the neutrality of Hanover; the king's character makes a safe and prudent policy very improbable, and, I repeat it, Hanover may be very dangerous. Remember the Kalik brigade is still in Holstein; remember Hanover and Hesse combined, possess a tolerably large army, and you would have no troops to spare for operating against them. Italy? Her alliance is certain, you tell me; well, I will believe she holds to her promises. Do you think an Italian army can reckon on success? I do not think so. However miserable Austria's military organization may be, let Italy be the theatre of war in the district of those square fortresses, and Austria will always win; the Austrian general-staff know all that district as well as a chess-board: they have been educated, so to speak, drilled by it. I foresee only defeat for Italy."

"But," interrupted Bismarck, with some warmth, "the very fact of Austria's being compelled to carry on two wars at once will weigh heavily against her. How many troops will be opposed to us? Austria, I have been informed, hopes to obtain from the different German States 800,000 men; I know for certain there will not be half that number."

"Well," said Manteuffel, "let us leave off calculating the chances; I acknowledge they are in your favour, chiefly through the excellence of the army. But another grave question arises; Is war necessary? Is the position such, that all the horrors, all the great dangers of a mighty struggle must be encountered? You know I too desire to see Prussia at the head of Germany; I desire it as a Prussian, I wish for it from conviction as a German, and as a minister I laboured for it to the best of my ability. I believed, however, it would be the result of organic growth, developed by time, and I dreaded, as the greatest foe to Prussian leadership, the mistrust of Germany. This mistrust, the fear of the princes for their sovereignty and the future of their dynasties--the fear of the different races lest their individuality should be stamped out by Prussia, has been skilfully used by Austria, who is secured from this mistrust by her greater complexity. I held it should be the endeavour of Prussia (for which I worked myself) to obtain the confidence of the princes and people of Germany. That gained, the leadership is ours, and Austria's part played out; for were it not for this mistrust, the German spirit--the spirit of creation and enlightenment--the spirit of progressive national life, would turn to us. I have besides my own views about a Prussian war. Our power is great, but it is peculiar and especial; for when it is fully used it sends the whole nation to the field of battle, and with one unfortunate defeat we should be nearer an extreme catastrophe than any other nation. So long as our power threatens, it is strong; it diminishes when action commences. Whilst we stand 'on guard,' the world must dread us. I think," added Herr von Manteuffel, with a shade of satisfaction in his voice, "the Peace of Paris speaks in favour of my maxim. Where is the need of destroying this feeling, greatly endangered by the events with which the century commenced? where is the need of risking Prussia's powerful position of reserve in the uncertain game of war? You will perhaps think me a cowardly, narrow-minded pedant; but you asked my opinion, and I am justified in giving it to you fully."

While Manteuffel spoke, Bismarck's face expressed lively emotion. Increasing impatience trembled over his features, but he did not interrupt by word or movement. As Manteuffel ended, he stood up, approached his guest, and seized his hand, exclaiming:

"Oh, my honoured friend! I know your opinions; I know the noble ideas which guided you while you held the rudder of the Prussian state; I know your conscientiousness and wisdom, and believe me, I too am far from wishing to risk the safety of the Prussian state, which it has required a century of genius and industry to create. Believe me, it is not I that provoke this war; I find myself forced to it by necessity, and if I have not the king's pious horror of measuring myself against perfidious Austria, yet I would never, unless obliged, drive matters to extremity. But I know they have resolved on war in Vienna; they will not allow us to take our rightful position. Yes, they have determined to entangle and destroy us in the machinery of the Confederation, as you know from the trouble and anxiety you yourself have experienced. That Saxon Beust, and his friends in Vienna--the sanguine Meysenbug, the ambitious pedant Biegeleben, and the fine gentleman Max Gagern, dream of a new German empire, and of a parliament of their own making, which is to place the Emperor Francis Joseph upon the imperial throne of Germany; and the emperor himself lives and moves in these dreams; they really turned his brain with that comedy at Frankfort. The fools did not remember," he cried energetically, as he paced the room with large strides, "that in Frankfort he was not emperor who roasted whole the bœ uf historique, to the immense joy of the crowd, and who roused the unhappy German princes from their beds in the early dawn," he added, with a bitter smile, "to listen, at a matinée politique, to Beust's lukewarm-water eloquence. No, truly he was not the emperor. Another rather, before whose cold refusal and quiet absence the whole apparition vanished into thin air! And I am to wait quietly until they perhaps find a more favourable moment for effecting their grand designs? But, my revered friend," he continued, as he again approached Herr von Manteuffel, who listened to him with the same calmness as before, "but are there not moments in which bold resolution, rash action, is needful to obtain great success and avert impending danger? Does not the history of Prussia record more than one such moment? What would have become of Prussia if Frederick the Great had waited until the plans of Austria and Saxony--greatly resembling those of to-day--had had time to ripen, if he had not, with the quick bold gripe of his strong hand, destroyed the web of envy and wickedness they were spinning around him? Where would Prussia have been without York's bold decision? Oh! my honoured friend," exclaimed Bismarck, with emotion, while his form seemed to expand, "my heart tells me, and my reason does not contradict the feeling, that the spirit of the great Frederick, and the spirit of 1813, is the breath of life which inspires Prussian history; that the hand of the world's great time-piece points to an hour in which this spirit must live again, and again urge Prussia onwards: not to go onwards now is to turn back--back into unknown paths. With this conviction in my heart, shall I sit still and let misfortune come; wait," he added, in a lower voice, "until a hand perhaps less strong than mine, a heart less courageous than my own, is called upon to face the danger?"

Herr von Manteuffel, his arm resting on the writing-table, and his eyes cast on the ground, had until now listened without moving. He rose and looked straight into the prime minister's eyes, who waited for him to speak with great excitement and anxiety.

"Herr von Bismarck," he said in his calm voice, in which a warmer tone was heard than before, "you touch a string which vibrates through every Prussian's heart. Who can deny that there are moments in which bold action leads to safety? who can deny that by seizing such moments with firm resolution, Prussia has become what she is? Whether the present is such a moment no mortal can say with certainty, and I will not argue the question with you. To act according to their judgment and their conscience is the duty of those who stand upon the steps of the throne. You stand there now, and I thank God that I do not; for what occurs you must answer to history, your country, and your king. You must decide on what you ought to do, and for nothing in the world would I throw a doubt on your decision. Yet one more question; be patient, it shall be the last, perhaps it is the most important."

Manteuffel came a step nearer to Herr von Bismarck, and in a low tone, which made even a greater impression on his hearer, said:--

"What if the game of war goes against you? what if the chances are wrongly reckoned? We are all liable to error; if the victorious foe gains the power of carrying out the plans so long prepared, embittered by the strife, and haughty with success, what scheme have you framed, what preparation have you made to shield Prussia from danger, even from destruction? You know I have always held the maxim, that a good general must be prepared for a retreat, you will therefore think my question natural, and know how important I deem it."

Herr von Bismarck's face, hitherto so animated, assumed an expression of calm pride; his lips were firmly compressed, and his eyes flashed like rays of light from naked swords. With the metallic vibration which at certain moments rang through his voice, he replied,

"If I deemed it possible, or could believe that a Prussian army would be beaten by Austria, I would not be the Prussian minister."

He uttered these words in a tone of inmost conviction, and Manteuffel slowly stepped backwards, and gazed with amazement at the prime minister's enthusiastic face, as though he scarcely understood him. Then he turned leisurely away, seized his hat, and bowing politely to Bismarck, he said quite in his ordinary manner:

"I believe our conversation is concluded; we have exhausted the subject, and I must no longer waste your valuable time."

The excitement faded from Bismarck's countenance, and melancholy took its place, as he answered, sadly:

"The subject is not exhausted,--say rather, you will discuss it no longer, since, as I plainly perceive, we move in eccentric circles which have not a single point in common."

"If such be the case," said Manteuffel, "any further revolutions on our separate orbits would be useless, but I think," he added, smiling slightly, "on one point we shall agree; time is too precious to be lost in useless words."

"Then farewell," said Bismarck gravely, as he pressed Manteuffel's hand; "you leave me by one hope poorer, by one support weaker."

"You need no support," returned Manteuffel, "and if your convictions prove true, my most earnest wishes for the increase and development of Prussia's greatness will be fulfilled."

He bowed slightly, and left the room.

Bismarck accompanied him to the ante-room, and then seated himself at his writing-table; for some moments he was lost in thought.

"They all, yes, all!" he suddenly cried at last, as he sprang from his chair and paced the room with hasty stops, "they all sing the same song; they all talk of the responsibility, of the danger, of the horrors of war. But do I not feel the responsibility? do I not see the danger? does not my heart grow cold at the thought of the horrors of war? But while I see the danger, I cannot withdraw from the necessity, and while I am convinced of the necessity, I must undertake the responsibility. I understand why most of them would withhold me from bold action, the Liberals in the parliament fear the clash of arms; yes, they dread even victory, and all those weak-minded creatures who prefer to cling in cowardly submission to the present rather than face the future, they are always the same through all the centuries of history: but he--he is a man of courage and action, he knows danger and does not fear it, yet he warns me back. This is serious; in comparison to a word from this man, all the privy councillors, diplomatists, and bureaucratists in the whole world are but a feather weight in the scale: and he desires me to prepare for a retreat!"

He stood still for a moment and looked thoughtfully on the ground.

"And is he not right?" he said, sadly and gloomily. "If success fails me, if the enemy is powerful enough to bow down, to break Prussia, what could I do? walk away, like a careless gambler, judged by all, handed down in all future history as a jest to the common herd; but then," he cried, casting a glowing look upwards, "there is the other side, to draw back, with a conviction of victory in my heart, to lose the opportunity, perhaps for ever, of accomplishing for Prussia the great and glorious future, which I see so brilliantly before me--

'The moment comes, but if it is not seized,
Not all eternity will bring it back.'"[^[1]]

Again he stood still and gazed before him in deep thought.

"Oh, for light in this darkness!" he cried, "I must have the sky above me, and the fresh air must cool my blood." He seized his hat and left the room, descended the stair which led from his house to the courtyard, walked through the courtyard with long strides and plunged into the dark walks of a large garden, where trees of ancient growth shaded the back of the hotel and Office for Foreign Affairs.

* * * * *

The same evening, in the same building, in an elegant and cheerfully lighted drawing-room sat an elderly and a young lady, busied with some light feminine work. On one side stood the tea-table, and the tea-kettle sang that peculiar song, which is thought by the English, when joined by the chirping of the cricket, to be the music of the hearth, a greeting from home.

The two ladies were the wife and daughter of the president minister, and von Keudell the minister of legation, the most intimate friend of his chief, sat with them.

They spoke of several events in Berlin society, of the theatres, and various other subjects of interest, but Madame von Bismarck frequently looked with an expression of uneasiness and anxiety towards the door. "Do you know if my husband has a visitor?" she asked, turning to von Keudell; "I am always uneasy lest his excessive work should seriously injure his health, and I feel quite bitter towards any visitor who shortens the few moments he spends with us in the evening, to rest his brain and refresh his nerves."

"I believe," replied Herr von Keudell, "no one is with him, but he has a few things to conclude."

The door opened, and Bismarck entered. He greeted his wife and daughter affectionately, shook hands with von Keudell, and seated himself in the small family circle.

The minister's daughter poured out tea, whilst a servant handed him a cut-glass of Bavarian beer, which he half emptied at one draught.

"Field Marshal Wrangel came to see me," said Madame von Bismarck; "he wished to pay you a visit, but I prevented him, I told him you were extremely busy."

"I thank you," replied her husband, "I certainly had no time to-day for friendly visits. Affairs become more and more involved, and I need solitude to arrange my thoughts,--and concentrate my will," he added, as the preoccupied look, perceptible when he entered the room, increased.

"The field marshal brought me something very delightful," continued Madame von Bismarck, as she took up an envelope which lay on a little table before her; "I had a good laugh with him at this very original idea."

So saying, she drew out a little card and presented it to her husband.

"Ah!" he cried, "my likeness, with little Lucca--have they published it already? Well, with all my heart; we are both in excellent company!" He laughed as he examined the little picture, and added: "I met her lately Unter den Linden, and walked with her a little way, she complained bitterly of ennui.

"'I know not what there is to do,
Unless I'm photographed; do you?'

she cried, impatiently. I offered to join her in this singular amusement, and the result is this comical little carte--which they will talk about, no doubt. Tant mieux, a case of the dog of Alcibiades." Madame von Bismarck looked at the funny little picture, and laughed merrily, but her husband was again lost in gloomy thought.

After a few minutes, during which conversation languished, he raised his head, turned to Herr von Keudell, and said:--

"Will you give us a little music, dear Keudell?"

Keudell seated himself directly at the open piano, which stood on the other side of the drawing-room.

He struck a few chords, and then began to play a kind of prelude, with his wonderfully clear and powerful touch; it progressed irregularly, sometimes by unexpected dissonances, which seemed to accord with the minister's feelings.

Bismarck rose and walked slowly up and down the room, stepping lightly that he might not interrupt the music, nor disturb the impression it made upon him.

Keudell played on and on, sinking ever deeper into the world of sound. Suddenly some powerful chords shook themselves free from all dissonance, and after an easy transition he began to play softly Beethoven's "Sonata in A major."

He had scarcely began the simple yet affecting air, when Bismarck paused, and the expression of his eyes and the smile on his lips showed that Herr von Keudell's choice consoled and solaced him.

He again paced the room during the glorious variations evoked from this simple air by the immense genius of the poet of sound; as their wonderful sound pictures were unrolled, the minister's face expressed a mighty inward struggle. Now he paused for a moment as if undecided, whispering half-spoken words, then again he walked on rapidly, his eyes gazing into an unseen distance, oblivious of everything around him.

Madame von Bismarck watched her husband with uneasy sympathy; she saw his restless, agitated expression, but she did not disturb von Keudell's playing by a word.

He had now come to that wonderfully beautiful part of the sonata called by Beethoven, "Marcia funebre sulla morte d'un eroe," and his masterly execution made the grand chords of the march resound through the room.

Bismarck stood still. His powerful hand grasped the back of a chair, his eyes were directed upwards, and he looked as if an inspiration passed through his mind as he listened to the impressive tones.

Then followed a representation of the muffled drums, the blast of the trumpets resounded, and von Keudell, carried away by the beauty of the composition, rendered it so as to surpass himself.

Madame von Bismarck had laid down her work and was listening thoughtfully.

The president minister stood motionless. His chest heaved higher, the powerful muscles of his arm grew stiffer, his eyes seemed to shoot out light, as their upward gaze sought in imagination the dark sky bestrewn with stars.

Once more the trumpet blast arose, then the clear sounds died away, and after a short pause Herr von Keudell went on to the finale of the sonata.

Bismarck looked around as if waking from a dream. He stood still for a moment, and then half unconsciously whispered these words:

"And when I go to rest, upon such sounds my soul shall rise. Would a poet ever have felt at a hero's grave all that those sounds reveal, if there were not men who dared to banish the doubts that assail the heart? Jacta est alea!"

And without noticing anyone he quietly left the room. Keudell played to the end of the sonata. Madame von Bismarck put down her work and looked anxiously after her husband.

When the music had ceased she turned to Keudell, who had left the piano and had again approached her, and said:

"I am convinced my poor husband is ill, try to find an opportunity of persuading him to take more care of his health."

"I will do what I can, dear lady," he returned; "but you know he is difficult to persuade on this point. Besides, I do not believe he is unwell; thoughts often come to him when he hears music, probably something has occurred to him now, and he has gone to write it down at once."

Herr von Bismarck had returned to his cabinet with a firm step, and had seated himself at his writing table. All trace of indecision and emotion had left his face, the cold calm of his features was now lighted up by the clear expression of a firm unbending will.

He seized a pen and wrote, without pause or hesitation, a number of notes on some foolscap which lay ready on his table.

After writing for about half an hour he rang the hand bell beside him.

The groom of the chambers appeared.

"Is Herr von Keudell still in the house?"

"At your excellency's command."

"Request him to come to me for a moment."

A few minutes later the minister of legation entered.

"Dear Keudell," said Bismarck, "here are some notes of instruction to the ambassadors in Vienna, Frankfort, and Paris, will you have the goodness to attend to their immediate transmission? Abeken, with his usual talent, will complete the composition quite in my style. Usedom must receive the same instructions, with the additions I have written on the margin."

"I will take care everything is done immediately," said Keudell, bowing, "and to-morrow they shall be sent off."

He glanced at the paper he held in his hand.

"Your excellency," he said with horror, "this is war!"

"It is," said Bismarck. "And now good night. Adieu, dear Keudell, until to-morrow; we must sleep, I am really tired, and my nerves require rest."

Herr von Keudell withdrew.

Half an hour later, perfect silence prevailed throughout the Foreign Office; it was as completely shrouded in the darkness of night as the fate of the future was veiled by the hand of Providence.

CHAPTER II.

[FAIR WENDLAND].

Around the town of Lüchow, in Hanover, lies the fertile and peculiar country, called, without regard to official subdivisions, by the general name of "Wendland." It is one of the portions of Germany where the old Wend race have preserved themselves tenaciously from any admixture of blood, and where their own especial manners and customs still survive.

This Wendland is a beautiful, rich, and luxuriant country, not beautiful from picturesque views, where hills and valleys unexpectedly arrest the eye, but delightful from the peaceful abundance which clothes its broad plains. Groups of tall and beautiful trees alone vary the even surface of the fields and pastures, but the trees here are remarkable for their grand and stately growth, and from amongst them, gilded by the golden sunlight, here peeps the church of some quiet village, there the old roof of some nobleman's seat; in the distance the outline of a little town appears; and the traveller feels how peaceful it must be to live there, far from the noisy world, the faint echo of whose turbulent waves can scarcely reach the quiet dwellings of the peace-loving inhabitants. Sometimes large sandy plains stretch out with their enormous pine woods; monotonous in colour, and solitary, they have somewhat of the beauty of the sea; a broad sandy road leads through them; the wild animals approach with little shyness, an inquisitive daw accompanies the carriage; the strong horses go on slowly, but easily; nothing is to be seen but the sky, fir trees, and sand, unless another carriage appears going in the opposite direction; it is seen a long way off, the travellers greet one another, exchange a few words, and are glad of the incident. When the end of the pine forest is reached, and the shadow of the luxuriant deciduous trees falls on the head of the traveller wearied with the sun; when the rich abundance of the cultivated land greets his eye, and he breathes the mild but invigorating air, he feels the refreshing influences, the horses shake their heads and begin to trot of their own accord, and the coachman with the skilful cracks of his whip, brings out all the dogs from the village inns.

In short, it is a country where travelling still has its troubles and difficulties, and where its old poetry still exists; in the small towns the old manners and curious customs survive, and the door of the nobleman's house is still hospitably opened to the traveller, who seems to bring with him a breath from the great world, the doings, of which, with all its pursuits, sound only like sagas to the inhabitants of these quiet homes.

Such is old Wendland, simple, beautiful, and true. The inhabitants are like the country--healthy and strong as the nature around them, simple as the land in which they live; rich, because they have what they want, and make no wants they cannot satisfy; strong in their affections, clear in their simple faith, full of natural unexpressed poetry, with hearts full of warm pure blood.

Through one of these large solitary pine woods, as the sun was setting on one of the first evenings in April, 1866, there rode along the sandy way a young officer in the uniform of the Hanoverian Cambridge dragoons. He left his beautiful thorough-bred horse to find its own way, which it appeared to know perfectly, whilst he sat carelessly and dreamily in the saddle. A fair moustache covered the young man's upper lip, his blue eyes gazed thoughtfully into the distance, as if he sought in the golden evening clouds surrounding the setting sun, the pictures which filled and occupied his mind. His light hair, though cut very short, contrived to curl coquettishly beneath the small military cap, and his face was rather pale, and though perfectly healthy, showed the peculiar delicacy which young people who have grown very fast frequently retain for a few years after they have reached manhood.

For a quarter of an hour the young officer rode on slowly and dreamily through the pine wood, the shadow of his horse, as it fell behind him, growing longer and longer, and the voices of the birds telling they were fluttering to their nests.

Then the road turned, the wood suddenly opened and a venerable castle appeared at some little distance, surrounded by tall old trees, the last rays of the sun making its large windows appear to stream with light.

At the end of the wood the village began; it was built sideways from the castle, in the form of a semicircle, as is usual in Wendland villages.

The dogs barked. The young officer awoke from his reverie, and straightened himself in the saddle. The horse felt the movement and wanted no other urging; he quitted his walk, and trotted with pointed ears through the village on the road to the castle.

The houses stood open on the warm beautiful spring evening. On their gables were seen the characteristic horses' heads, which in all Low Saxon countries play so important a part; their worship was formerly accepted by the Wends here, and the figures are still carefully retained.

Peasant women, both old and young, sat before their doors, occupied with their needles; inside the open houses the women were seen finishing their work at the loom, and as they worked, they sang the strange, melancholy, monotonous songs which are peculiar to the Wend race.

At every house the young officer was greeted, and he returned the salutations in a friendly way, speaking to most of the peasants by name, in a manner that showed he was well known, and near home.

On one side of the semicircular village, not far from the road leading to the castle, stood a plain old church, and near to it, in a pretty, well-kept garden, the quiet, cheerful-looking vicarage.

There was a foot-path from the garden to the broad road leading to the castle, and on this path two persons walked towards the highway.

One was an old gentleman of nearly sixty years of age; his black coat buttoned up to his throat, his dazzlingly white cravat of fine folded cambric, as also that remarkable tall square biretta of black velvet, made on the exact pattern of those handed down to us in portraits of Luther and Melanchthon, and still preferred by the Hanoverian clergy, showed at a glance that he was the village pastor.

His full, strongly-marked face, with its healthy colour, expressed, besides benevolent cheerfulness, a great deal of energetic character, and a decided, cultivated mind, which, separated from the great stream of life, had developed wonderfully in seclusion, framing a world of its own, where it found both peace and happiness.

It was Pastor Berger, who for more than twenty years had lived here amongst his flock.

Beside him walked his only daughter; for the last ten years, ever since her mother's death, she alone had shared her father's quiet life, and he had bestowed upon her education great and loving care; avoiding the common taste for amusements only to be found in the great world so far off, and teaching her to enjoy the quiet happiness which so completely satisfied himself.

The young girl's dark dress had a certain elegance, notwithstanding its country simplicity. She was not tall, but slender and graceful; her glossy chestnut hair appeared beneath the black velvet hat which shaded her delicate oval face, the slightly parted fresh lips smiled as if they breathed in happiness, whilst the brilliant though soft and thoughtful eyes, showed depths of intense poetic feeling.

The young officer perceived them, reined in his horse, and raising his hand to his cap for a military salute, exclaimed, "Good evening, Herr Pastor; good evening, Miss Helena!"

The clergyman called out "Good evening" loudly and cheerfully, and he too saluted with his hand; his daughter only slightly bowed her head without uttering a word, but the smile trembling on her lips, the joyful look beaming in her eyes, proved her greeting to be as hearty as her father's.

They both hastened on, and in a few moments they overtook the young man who awaited them on the high road; he sprang from his horse as the pastor and his daughter approached, and held out his hand.

"You were expected yesterday, Herr von Wendenstein," said the pastor; "your brother arrived the day before, and your father began to fear your leave had been refused."

"I could not come sooner--I was on duty yesterday," replied the young officer; "but that will enable me to stay two days longer. I can have some more lessons in natural history from my little mistress," he added, turning to the girl with a smile; she meanwhile was patting and caressing the horse's neck and head.

"If you are not more attentive and diligent than you were last time, you will make very little progress," said the pastor's daughter; "but give me Roland's bridle, he likes me to lead him best, and make haste to the castle; we were going there, and we shall be much more welcome if we bring you with us."

She took the horse's bridle, stepped aside, and followed the two gentlemen to the castle, leading the horse and speaking a coaxing word to him from time to time.

The approach to the castle was through a massive gateway leading into a paved court-yard, surrounded by low walls, which evidently had replaced the ancient bulwarks.

In the midst of this large enclosure stood a single linden-tree of great age; to the right and left were stables and domestic offices, apparently modern, in two large low buildings. On the further side of the court-yard was the dwelling-house itself, the remains of an edifice evidently once of immense extent. Without any architectural beauty, without even belonging to any particular period, the castle made the impression which a large and ancient mass of stone-work of vast dimensions, placed in the open country and surrounded with trees, always produces.

The enormous oaken door of the house stood open; it led into a large stone hall lighted by two great windows on the right and left of the doorway. Against the walls of this hall stood many of those immense oak chests, black with age, in which our forefathers from generation to generation stored their household treasures of linen, silver plate, their family papers, and whatever else they considered valuable and worthy of preservation.

These old coffers tell us almost as much as a family chronicle, or as some old Saga; they disappear in these modern times--there is no room for them in our modern tiny drawing-rooms, or in the boudoirs crowded with knick-knacks of the housewives of the present day. They are no longer needed; who would now dream of beginning a collection of fine linen for a daughter's trousseau as soon as she was born? it can be bought good, cheap, and above all, in the newest style at the shops. What need is there now for such deep, broad shrines to contain the silver plate of the house, when electro-plate is so beautiful, and can be changed with the fashion? However, these venerable old coffers still stood in the place of honour, and cared nothing about the generation of console-tables and tiny brackets which had taken the world by storm; above them hung dark old oil-paintings, hunting pieces with wonderfully stiff gentlemen riding equally stiff steeds, then came shepherdesses leading their flocks through very flowery meadows to the shade of woods, with long straight alleys strongly resembling Versailles; there were family portraits of old gentlemen in enormous wigs and velvet coats, in long-forgotten uniforms, and in black robes; there were smiling ladies with ruffs, fontanges, or sacks. And the old times seemed to live and breathe here quite naturally, as if it would always be the same to-day as it was yesterday, and the same to-morrow as it was to-day.

Right and left of this lofty and spacious hall, old oaken doors led to the principal sitting-rooms; opposite to the entrance was a large apartment, which in a modern house would be called the drawing-room, but here its simple and massive furniture corresponded with the rest of the castle. The only modern thing in the room was a beautiful piano; it stood open, and the music lying about it showed it was constantly used.

A large high-backed sofa stood against the wall, behind an enormous table of dark mahogany supported on column-like legs; a lamp with a large ground-glass globe and a tall, slender green lacquered stand, was already lighted, and struggled against the mild twilight which entered the room through two large windows and an open glass door. Beyond the glass door was a broad terrace, which extended along the whole length of the house on the garden side, and ended at the right corner in a round platform resting on stone foundations, evidently the spot on which in former times a large round tower must have stood.

High trees enclosed the terrace, but there were well-arranged vistas allowing the light to enter the windows freely, and opening out distant glimpses of the rich country extending on every side. Flower-beds edged with box adorned the well-kept lawn, already gay with variegated crocuses and snowdrops.

Such was the old castle of Blechow, where for the last eighteen years the worthy President von Wendenstein had administered the law after the patriarchal fashion of Hanover, where formerly the large landowners were also the chief magistrates, and the golden fruit of the tree was more highly prized than the grey theory of administrative form.

Herr von Wendenstein was not the autocrat his forefathers had been; a more severe standard had been raised, and the government of the country was different--more unbending, more bureaucratic; but the old office had devolved upon him with the castle of Blechow, and a considerable fortune permitted him to live in the style of former Hanoverian high sheriffs[^[2]] and chief magistrates; his clear understanding and knowledge of the law enabled him to satisfy the new authorities, while he maintained the old order of things as much as possible, the personal respect and esteem he inspired greatly strengthening his authority.

In the large family sitting-room, on the big sofa, before the table, now brightly lighted by the lamp as the twilight decreased, sat the mistress of the house, Madame von Wendenstein, the worthy mistress of this great old echoing castle, with its enormous doors, bewitching coffers, and venerable portraits. A snow-white tulle cap, with carefully-plaited frills and silver grey ribbons, surrounded the old lady's delicate-featured, somewhat pale face, which, although she was only a few years younger than her husband, still bore traces of great beauty in the well-formed mouth and the large almond-shaped blue eyes. The hair, still abundant, though almost white, was smoothly parted, and hung in carefully-curled locks on either side her face; these the old lady frequently stroked back with her slender white fingers, and arranged beneath the borders of her cap. Her features expressed unusual mildness and gentleness, and at the same time such extreme repose and unassuming dignity, that no stranger could have seen her, as she sat in her simple black silk dress, made in no French fashion, either old or modern, with its exquisitely white collar and cuffs, her hands resting in her lap with the white embroidery on which they had been occupied, her eyes fixed upon the evening sky with a look of thankful happiness,--no stranger could have seen her without feeling that a spirit of order, gentleness, and hospitality would greet all who entered the house. No speck of dust, no ill-cooked dish, no deviation from the regular times and hours would be permitted; but no trouble could assail a member of the family, no body or heart could suffer without the quick, true eyes of the mother and wife perceiving it, without a kind, good word from her mouth endeavouring to alleviate and console.

Such was the mistress of the old castle of Blechow. Her daughters, two young girls, sat beside her, pretty, blooming creatures of fifteen and eighteen, the latter possessing the beauty of the grown-up maiden, the former the charm of childhood. Their toilettes were very simple, but their beautifully-embroidered lingerie and tastefully arranged hair, gave them an appearance of great refinement.

With the ladies sat the auditor von Bergfeld, the assistant granted to the president, who, according to old-fashioned custom, was received as a guest in the family.

President von Wendenstein walked up and down the terrace with his eldest son, who was employed by the Ministry of the Interior in Hanover as a government assessor and reporter. He had come to Blechow to keep his father's birthday, which had for some years past always been observed by the family.

President von Wendenstein had a pleasing and dignified appearance. His thick close-cut grey hair surrounded a broad forehead, with thick, arched eyebrows, beneath which were dark grey eyes, so clear, sharp and severe, yet with such an expression of jovial cheerfulness, such sparks of fiery animation, it was impossible not to imagine him twenty years younger than he really was. His long, well-shaped nose, his broad mouth, with full red lips and excellent teeth, his fresh complexion, formed altogether a picture of mental power and physical enjoyment of life commanding sympathy and respect.

He had, according to the old fashion, no beard, and he wore clothes of a light grey woolens material, with a light cap. His strong right hand grasped an ivory-handled stick, with which he supported his steps, for he suffered from gout, the only weakness that appeared in the healthy, energetic old gentleman.

His eldest son walked by him, in features unmistakeably resembling his father, in every other respect totally unlike him.

His dress, even to his hat, was that of a dweller in cities--glossy, simple, and faultless; his face, paler than his father's, expressed both polite civility and official reserve. His hair was smooth and carefully parted, his whiskers cut after the newest fashion, and his movements were quiet, gentle, and studied.

Such had his father never been in his youth--that could be seen at a glance, but he had grown up in very different times: the father was a character, the son a type.

"And you may say what you like," cried Herr von Wendenstein with animation, as he stood still and planted his stick firmly on the ground, "this new method of administration which is continually progressing, will not answer, and will lead to nothing good. These everlasting inquiries compel us to make reports, which take up an endless time, and seldom give a clear account of the matter; these orders on every possible subject (they often just miss knocking the nail on the head) take from the immediate governors of the country all self-reliance, all responsibility, and turn organization into machinery. The people and the country, however, continue living flesh and blood, and will not fit into the machine, hence the government is estranged from those governed, the magistrates become mere scribes, and stand helplessly by when an occasion arises requiring decision and judgment. Ever since the most humble reports to every inquiry and the most exact compliance with every order emanating from the boards of green cloth have become essential, human beings, who cannot be shut up and put away with law acts, have got on as they could, and," he added with a jovial laugh, "that is the least evil, for folks often get on best alone. The good old times--well, they had their faults, but in this they were better. The magistrates knew the people, and lived amongst them; they acted according to the law and their own consciences, and the government supported them. The minister travelled through the country once a year, and knew much better what went on, and on whom he could depend, than they will ever discover now from the most lengthy reports. But," he said laughingly, after a moment's pause, "I have no right to complain. If they require reports they give me an auditor to write them, and the orders I receive with due respect, but I give judgment after the old laws, and my subjects are quite contented. I think they will find everything in my jurisdiction in perfect order, more so than in many others where the modern method is more fully established."

His son listened with the respect always shown to his father in this family, but he could not prevent a half impatient, half compassionate smile from curling his lip. As his father ceased, he replied in the measured, half pathetic, half monotonous voice peculiar to the eloquence of the green board, and known throughout the world wherever tables covered with green cloth, reports, and acts of parliament exist.

"It is only natural, my dear father, that you should love and defend old times; but you will agree with me, when I say the developments of time require alterations in government. The power of the landowners, the basis of the national economy of former generations, made them despotic, and divided the country and the people into isolated groups; individuals and acquaintances composed these almost domestic societies; they lived their own separate lives, and it was then right and suitable that the government should be equally individual. Now the national economy struggles for concentration; the great means of locomotion in our day, always rapidly increasing, destroys the boundaries of time and space, those powers which separated different societies. The individual group now forms part of the comprehensive whole, and it is needful for the government to follow out this development of life in the people and the country, by quick changes and rapid concentration; a strong principle, a pervading system, is required throughout the administration, or the machine will stand still. Believe me, dear father, the government does not force a new element into our life, it is life itself in its irresistible development which obliges the government to adopt a quicker and more precise form, of administration. Besides," he added, "I do not believe our views are so very different; with all your love for the past, you are quite equal to the present. The minister told me lately the punctuality, order, and quickness in your jurisdiction were admirable, and always remarked by the authorities."

The old gentleman smiled, visibly flattered by his son's compliment, and said good-humouredly:

"Well, I manage to keep pace with the present, but I love the past best; and notwithstanding all you have said, I think matters might have been managed with less system, paper, and ink. But we will not argue about it any more," he said, as he patted his son's shoulder; "I am a child of my own generation, you live in yours;--men always bear the stamp of the times in which they live, whether they will or no. It is a pity the Present takes it so easily, and that all her children are stamped after the same pattern: they are made at a manufactory, and no longer bear signs of good home-made work. But let us go in, your mother is at the door calling us, and my old enemy," pointing to his foot with his stick, "conspires with the evening air a new attack upon my old bones."

He turned slowly to the glass door of the drawing-room where his wife stood looking as if framed, as she gazed after him anxiously.

He had reached her side followed by his son, when the barking of the dogs in the courtyard was heard, and soon afterwards voices sounded in the hall.

An old servant in a neat green livery opened the door, and the pastor Berger with his daughter Helena entered. The president, who had the greatest esteem for the clergyman, welcomed him warmly, and shook hands with him most heartily before he had time even to greet the lady of the house: and his daughters seized on Helena.

"We come," said the pastor, "according to our custom at the close of another year of your life, to return thanks to you for all the kindness you have shown us during that period, and we bring the lieutenant with us; we fell in with him on the road, and like a true cavalry soldier he has gone first to the stable to look after his horse."

"He has come," said Madame von Wendenstein with joy. "I feared he might not get leave."

The door opened hastily, and with quick steps and jingling spurs Lieutenant von Wendenstein hastened to his mother, who embraced him warmly, whilst he kissed her hand. He then went to his father, who kissed him on the cheeks and gazed with pride on the handsome young man as he stood before him with his upright military bearing.

"I am late," said the lieutenant, "because we have so much to do. My comrades desire me to say they will all come to congratulate you to-morrow, dear father, if possible, but we have an immense amount of work of all kinds. The yearly exercises are to take place earlier, the order has come quite suddenly, and you can imagine how much extra work this has given us."

After the lieutenant had shaken hands affectionately with his brother, he turned to his sisters and the pastor's daughter, and began a lively conversation with the three young girls and the auditor von Bergfeld, which was frequently interrupted by merry laughter, while the pastor with the president and his eldest son, joined Madame von Wendenstein at the large table before the sofa.

"It is very unusual," said the president, "this hastening of the exercises, of which my son spoke, and which I had before seen in the newspapers. Foreign affairs are not my province, and I generally trouble myself little about them, but how this measure can assist in the present grave crisis I do not understand."

"It is an exceptional means," replied his son, with the air of one of the initiated, "used to meet a complicated embarrassment. The quarrel between Prussia and Austria grows sharper every day, and the German governments desire a mobilization of the confederacy's contingencies. Prussia on the other hand requires strict neutrality, and the manœ uvres have been hastened to avoid the mobilization, and yet to have the troops in readiness should war break out."

"With all respect for your ministerial wisdom," replied his father, jokingly, "I cannot see what good it will do. If Prussia requires neutrality she will be as much hurt and disquieted by this irregularity as by mobilization itself, though the military preparations for actual war are much less complete, and Austria and her allies will see in this a withdrawal from their common interests. My opinion is, a decision should be made one way or the other. If war does not break out--as I still hope--nothing is lost, and if it comes, we have at least on one side a support and a strong position. What troubles me," he added thoughtfully and gravely, "I do not love the Prussians; we Hanoverians, from old wounds, feel little sympathy with Prussia. I regret that our army has been taken out of the old Hanoverian uniform, and put into a Prussian-like one; I regret still more that Herr von Beningsen and his national unionists have so completely brought us under Prussian ideas; but still I should prefer that we remained on a good footing with our great and dangerous neighbour, and that we joined in no hare-brained enterprise with Austria, in whom I have no confidence, and who has never done us or Germany any good; above all things, I would not that we, in our dangerously-exposed position, should sit upon two stools, and yet," he said, pausing, "that is what our rulers are doing. Our foreign minister, Count Platen, I do not know; I met him once in Hanover, and he appeared to be an affable and agreeable man, but Bacmeister I do know, and I know his character and his intellect,--what does he say to this measure?"

The government assessor cleared his throat and replied, "These things belong entirely to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the War Office. I do not know whether the measure has been discussed in a general council, certainly I have not heard my chief express his opinion, but he is always careful not to commit himself on any subject. In Hanover they quite believe hostilities will not really take place."

"God grant they may be right," cried the pastor with a sigh, "a German war! what a frightful misfortune, and I know not on which side my sympathy would lie; however the war ended, one of the two great German rivals would preponderate. I cannot wish for papist Austria with her Croatians, Pandurs and Sclaves; my own personal feeling draws me to our northern brothers, with whom we have so much in common, but that Prussian influence should be all-powerful in Germany without any counterpoise, I cannot certainly desire; from Berlin came the Rationalism now threatening the whole Protestant Church with its dangerous indifference. May God direct and enlighten our king that he may choose aright, and preserve the pure Lutheran church in our beloved Hanover."

"Yes, God grant us peace! for this I pray daily," said Madame von Wendenstein, looking anxiously at her youngest son, whose merry laugh had just been heard from the group of young people established in the window. "What sorrow, what misery war brings to every family, and what end is to be gained? Greater weight in the political scale for one or another power: I think if everyone would strive to make his own household and his own immediate circle better and happier the world would be more improved than by struggling after things which can give no true happiness to a single human being."

"There we have my true housewife," laughed the president; "what does not concern her house, her cellar, and her kitchen, is useless and pernicious, and according to her views statesmen should turn into a large family circle, and politics be thrown into the lumber room."

"And is not my honoured friend right?" said the pastor, smiling at Madame von Wendenstein; "is it not woman's duty to work for peace, and to cherish the seed we sow in the Lord's temple, that it may flower and bring forth fruit in the house? God gives to the mighty ones of the earth the right to draw the sword he has placed in their hand, they must do their duty and answer for it afterwards; but I believe the Eternal Father has more joy in the peaceful happiness of a united home than in the most talented combinations of policy, or the bloody laurels of the battle-field."

"Well," said the president, "we cannot alter the course of events, so let us think of nourishing our own bodies; that will, I am sure, do us all good."

The old servant had thrown open two large folding-doors on one side of the drawing-room, and the spacious dining-room, with a table ready laid and lighted with massive silver branches, appeared, whilst a most appetizing odour of cookery invited everyone to enter and partake.

The president rose. The pastor gave his arm to the lady of the house, and led her to the dining-room, followed by the rest of the party, who were soon seated around the table in the plainly-furnished room ornamented with stags' antlers and deer's heads, enjoying the excellent dinner provided by the house steward, and the choice specimens of the treasures in the cellars. There was plenty of cheerful conversation, but nothing was said about politics.

In the meantime there was great excitement in one of the principal houses of the semi-circular village, usually so quiet. The large hall, the door of which was wide open, was brightly lighted and filled with different groups of young peasant men and maidens in their best Sunday costumes; the strongly-built young fellows wore jackets and hats trimmed with fur, the maidens short, close-fitting dresses and white handkerchiefs, with bright-coloured ribbons in their thick plaits of hair.

Fresh guests continually arrived and joined the young people already assembled, while the other inhabitants of the village, the older peasants and children, walked up and down, and looked in at their young friends.

Old farmer Deyke, one of the principal farmers of the Blechow estate, a widower for some years, inhabited the large farm-house with his only son Fritz. He went from group to group, and his old rigid, sharply-marked countenance, with its cunning, piercing dark eyes, beneath bushy eyebrows, showed itself capable of very different expressions. Now it assumed jocular good nature, as he pressed the hand of a rich farmer's son and whispered in his ear some tale of his own youth; now his face expressed benevolent condescension, as he said an encouraging word to a poorer neighbour; now cold reserve as he returned the salutation of some young man not quite in good repute in the neighbourhood, but whom he was too hospitable not to entertain on such an occasion.

His son Fritz went about amongst his friends with much less dignity. He was a slight but strong young man, with kind, true blue eyes, and flaxen hair cut short in the military fashion. He joked with the girls, and must have said very merry things, for they put their heads together, and laughed and tittered, until they got red in the face, long after the old farmer's merry son had left them and gone on to another group; and then he went up to the young men, and seizing two of them under the arms, led them to the table at one end of the hall covered with a white cloth, and crowded with beer-jugs, hams, bread, and cold beef. It was evident that Fritz was immensely popular.

He was very good-looking, beloved by young and old, and as the only son and heir of the rich Deyke, the holder of the largest farm in the neighbourhood, all the pretty girls belonging to the best peasant families looked after him with beating hearts and unspoken hopes, and there was no father or mother in the village but would have received him as a son-in-law with the greatest joy.

But he was unscathed amongst all these pretty peasant girls; he joked and laughed with them all, danced with them all at country festivities, gave first one and then another a bouquet from his father's well-kept garden, or a ribbon or a picture from the store of some travelling dealer, and these gifts raised the hopes of the pretty Blechow girls; but he never went any further, or seemed to see the kind looks of the daughters, or to notice the encouraging hints of the fathers and mothers. None of the young men felt jealous of him, he was never a rival, he took every opportunity of treating his young friends, and spent the thalers, with which his father plentifully supplied him, quite as much on their pleasures as on his own.

The young people all made way, and left the centre of the hall free as the village schoolmaster entered, a simple-looking old man, in a black coat and a black cocked hat.

The elder Deyke greeted him in a manner that showed he respected the position and character of his guest, but felt himself a person of much greater importance, but his son hastily seized his old master's hand, and cried: "We are all ready, Herr Niemeyer, and it is time to go to the castle; the president sat down to dinner half an hour ago, and it will be another half hour before we are all there and prepared, so forwards! forwards!"

He quickly arranged all the young people in couples, first the young men, then the girls, and to each young man he gave a pine-wood torch from a large heap which lay ready on one side of the hall, and some matches for lighting them. He then seized the arm of the schoolmaster, and with his father they headed the procession, which silently moved towards the castle, whilst the older villagers looked on with interest, and then followed, whispering together.

The president's cheerful dinner had come to an end. The old butler removed the cover of an enormous Saxony china bowl standing on a side table, from which came the delightful aroma of Scharzhofberger Moselle, mingled with the perfume of the pine-apple slices floating in the wine. He uncorked some bottles of Champagne, poured the contents into the bowl, put in the large silver ladle, and placed it on the table before the president, who, after tasting and approving the mixture, filled large glasses for all his guests.

The pastor raised his glass, inhaled the delicious fragrance for a moment with visible respect, admired the light bright yellow colour, and then spoke in a way happily combining the clergyman with the old friend of the family:

"My dear friends! our worthy president, around whose hospitable board we are now assembled, enters to-morrow upon a new year of his active and useful life. To-morrow we shall greet the new year; to-day let us take leave of the past. The cares and troubles it brought our friend are over, and have only led to good; the happiness he has bestowed on so many, the cheerful hours he has caused, should be remembered to strengthen and refresh him in the evil moments the future will bring even to him, as to all the dwellers on the earth, as long as darkness and light wrestle together. May the remembrance of the past year urge us all to continue true to one another in love and friendship. Let us dedicate this quiet glass to the memory of the past year of our dear president's life." And putting his glass to his lips, he emptied it to the dregs.

They all followed his example, the ladies not excepted, for from the simple, healthy life they led, they did not fear a glass of generous wine as the more delicate specimens of the fair sex usually do in large cities.

"God grant, my friends, that at the close of the next year, which looks so threatening, we may all be sitting here as happy and as cheerful as we are now," said the president, with emotion in his face and voice; "and now," he added cheerfully, as he felt general conversation could not be again resumed, "let us rise and smoke the pipe of peace. John, bring the bowl, we will have another word with that."

The whole party rose and returned to the drawing-room. They found the doors leading into the hall set open; the enormous house-door was also thrown wide open, so that they saw right into the courtyard, with the old linden-tree in the midst. It was lighted up with dark red flames, and amidst the masses of smoke which here and there interrupted the fiery waves, groups of men appeared, their movements looking strangely fantastic in the reflections of the flames, and from them came the sound of whispering voices.

The president was amazed and even alarmed, for his first idea was that a fire had broken out in his stables; but the old servant stepped up to him and whispered: "The young people from the village wish to serenade you, sir, the evening before your birthday."

The president, who had been about to hasten into the courtyard, paused, a look of happy emotion shining in his eyes. The pastor, who was prepared for the surprise, exchanged a smile with the lady of the house, and the young people gazed inquisitively into the courtyard.

After the president appeared, there was a moment of deep silence; then strong, clear voices raised the simple touching chorale, "Oh! God, our help in ages past."

"Wer nun den lieben Gott läszt walten."

The full ringing sounds, and the dark red light of the torches streamed through the large hall and entered the room where the family stood, while from the large window on the garden side the full moon shone brightly in from the dark evening sky, and shed long streams of light upon the floor.

The president stood still, surrounded by those he loved in his quiet home, the calm light of the moon falling upon him, as if it were the farewell greeting of the past year. Was the uncertain, blood-red light filling the courtyard the picture of the coming year? Yet from the fiery light came the old pious hymn which has so often strengthened and comforted men's hearts. Let the Future come; if she brings strife and sorrow, she will also bring strength and consolation.

Such thoughts as these passed through the mind of the president. His wife, who had placed herself beside him, had folded her hands together and slightly bowed her head.

"O God, our help in ages past,

Our hope in years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home,"[^[3]]

resounded. The old lady gazed at her soldier-son, whose eyes shone with pleasure at the picturesque effect produced by the torchlight on the groups of peasants, and on the buildings around the court. Her hands were more tightly clasped, her lips moved in silent prayer, and a tear ran slowly down her cheek; then she bent her head lower, and listened without moving to the end of the chorale.

When the sounds had quite died away, a general movement commenced. Old Deyke and the schoolmaster entered; and the former said, in his most important and dignified manner, the schoolmaster standing meekly behind him: "Herr President, the young people have had the honour of welcoming your approaching birthday by a serenade; the schoolmaster has instructed them"--(he looked round, and the poor man bowed shyly, trying not to feel as if all eyes were upon him). "They came and consulted me, and I saw no objection; for, Herr President, you are well aware the whole village feels interested in your family festival; yes, and we know you rejoice that we should show how much we have your happiness and that of your worthy family at heart. My only anxiety was lest the sudden commotion before the house might"--and he turned to Madame von Wendenstein--"alarm your honoured lady; but the schoolmaster said it must be a surprise, or the whole point would be lost."

"Thank you--thank you all from my whole heart. My good old Deyke!" exclaimed the president, warmly shaking his hand, "you have given me the greatest pleasure, and such an alarm as this will never injure my wife."

"Certainly not," said Madame von Wendenstein, whose face had recovered all its quiet cheerfulness. She offered the old peasant her small white hand, which he took with a certain amount of care, and added: "I thank you heartily for your affection to my husband."

"But where is Fritz?" cried the lieutenant. "I have been surprised not to see him; eh! old Deyke, where is my old playmate?"

"Here, Herr Lieutenant," cried young Deyke's cheerful voice, as the handsome young peasant stepped from a dark corner of the hall and entered the sitting-room. "I am very glad you are here, sir, and that you remember me."

Whilst the lieutenant warmly greeted the young peasant, his elder brother shook hands with old Deyke, with a certain stiff politeness, and the president cried:

"Now, every one must eat and drink in the courtyard. It is the young people's turn to be pleased. It must never be said that my friends, after giving me so much pleasure, went away with empty mouths." Madame von Wendenstein gave her eldest daughter a sign, and soon all the servants in the house were hastily carrying tables, white cloths, plates, jugs, and bottles into the courtyard.

The schoolmaster, however, whispered something to old Deyke, who said, "Herr President, the schoolmaster begs your kind entertainment may be put off until the other songs are sung, as he fears the voices will not be in such good order afterwards!"

"Are you going to sing to us again?" cried the president, with pleasure. "Pray go on then, Herr Niemeyer. Sit down with us, my dear Deyke, and let us drink a glass to old times!"

He had some arm-chairs rolled into the middle of the room, and made the old peasant sit with the pastor and himself. The lieutenant fetched some cigars; the eldest son filled the glasses. The old peasant moistened his cigar with his lips, and smoked it with carefully screwed-up mouth. He knocked his glass against the president's and the pastor's, half emptied it, with a satisfied nod at its contents; then he sat very upright on his chair, with a look which showed he was sensible what a high honour it was to sit in such company, as well as the conviction that he was quite the man on whom such honour should fall.

The schoolmaster and young Deyke had hastened out again, and soon the simple but beautiful volkslied of the country commenced.

Madame von Wendenstein returned to her place on the sofa, and listened thoughtfully to the melodious sounds; her eldest son stepped, with Herr von Bergfeld, into a window-niche; the president's youngest daughter had followed her sister; the lieutenant walked up and down the room, listening to the singing with some impatience; for he longed to go out to the young peasants, whom he had known from childhood, and joke and laugh with them.

The pastor's daughter, forsaken by her young friends, stepped out on to the terrace. She leant against the stone balustrade and looked up at the moon; its silvery rays fell on her thoughtful, beautiful face, and lighted up her large clear eyes.

After the lieutenant had paced up and down the room several times, he, too, went on to the terrace. He breathed in the fresh evening air, looked at the well-known plain below as it lay in the moonlight, and then perceived the young girl, whom he hastened to join.

"Are you indulging in romantic dreams in the moonlight, Miss Helena?" he cried, jokingly. "May I share them, or is it needful to be quite alone?"

"The moon always makes me come out, whether I will or not," said Helena, "and the singing sounds even better here. But I was dreaming a little," she said, laughingly, as she raised herself from the stone balustrade; "my thoughts were far away from here, up in the clouds," and she pointed with her hand to a black bank of clouds, stretching from the horizon towards the moon, whose light touched their edges with silver. They looked like a black mantle with a brilliant hem.