"nobody is afraid; when you say 'Bismarck,' everybody trembles."
Reports about the ill health of the Iron Chancellor were, two or three
years ago, possibly exaggerated, but doubtless they had some
foundation in fact. Previous to the great debate on the Army Bill, it
had been said that his physical health was a mere wreck. No sign of
this appeared, however, when we saw the great Diplomatist in his seat
in the Reichstag on that memorable occasion. His speech, though
occasional cadences lapsed into indistinctness in that hall of poor
acoustic properties, was in the main easily heard in all parts of the
house. The yellow military collar of his dark blue coat showed his
pallid face not to advantage, but that fierce look was unsubdued, the
broad brow loomed above eyes before which one instinctively quails,
and the pose and movements were those of vigorous health. Every
afternoon in the ensuing spring, his stout square-shouldered figure
might be seen, in military uniform and with sword rattling in its
scabbard, accompanied by a single aid, on horseback, trotting through
the shaded riding-paths of the Thiergarten,--for the sake of health,
doubtless, but evidently with no little pleasure. On his birthday in
April he received, at his palace in the Wilhelm Strasse, the greetings
of his regiment, to whom he distributed wine and cake and mementos,
and also saw many other friends. At his country-seats in Pomerania and
Lauensburg most of his time is spent, divided between the cares of
State and the enjoyments of a rustic life. On the occasion referred to
in the Parliament, speaking of the Army Bill which the Opposition
professed a willingness to grant for three years but not for seven, he
said, "Three years hence, I may hope to be here; in seven, I shall be
above all this misery." The three years have not yet passed. For the
glory of Germany, many will hope that twice seven may find the name of
Bismarck still inspiring with dread the enemies of his country.
* * * * *
General Von Moltke, the Grant of Germany, might often be seen, by
those who knew when and where to look for him, in plain dress, walking
along Unter den Linden, or through the city edge of the Thiergarten,
near the building of the General Staff, of which he was long the Chief
and where he lives. This most eminent student of the art of war lives
a seemingly lonely life since the death of his wife, whose portrait is
said to be the chief adornment of his private room. He is fond of
music, and an open piano is his close companion in hours of leisure.
His plain carriage is seen but seldom by sojourners in Berlin. His
words need not to be many to be weighty, and his influence was great
with Emperor William I. and Crown Prince Frederick, whose tutor he had
been. No scene after the death of Frederick III. was more affecting
than Von Moltke in tears over his bier. "Never before," said an
officer who had long known the great general, "have I seen Von Moltke
so broken up."
* * * * *
General Von Waldersee has, by the recent retirement of Von Moltke,
become Chief of the German Army Staff. The Countess Von Waldersee,
closely related by her first marriage to the present Empress, is a
devout Christian lady, an American by birth, and has much influence in
the German Court. Her most romantic history is known to many since,
the daughter of a wealthy New York merchant, she went abroad some
twenty-five years ago, met and married a wealthy Schleswig-Holstein
baron, by which marriage she became related to more than one royal
house in Europe; was soon left a youthful widow with great wealth, and
after a few years, in which she maintained the estate and title of an
Austrian Princess also bequeathed her by her first husband, married
the German nobleman who is now the head of the German army. She is
devoted to her home, her husband and children, and to quiet ways of
doing good. Her dazzling history is her least claim on the interest of
American women. A noble character, devoted consistently in her high
station to the service of God and to even the humblest good of her
fellow-creatures, gives regal lustre to her name, which is a synonym
for goodness to all who know her.
VIII.
THE NINETIETH BIRTHDAY OF EMPEROR WILLIAM.
To those who are fond of pageants and who linger lovingly with past
ages, such a spectacle as Berlin witnessed on the 22d of March, 1887,
must have extraordinary attractions. Never in the long life of the
aged Emperor, whose ninetieth birthday it was, had there been in
splendor a rival to that day, although his whole career was prolific
of great scenes and dramatic situations. Eighty-five royal personages
had accepted the invitation to visit the Emperor on that occasion; and
they came in person, or sent special envoys, each accompanied by a
more or less imposing retinue. As guests of the Imperial family, they
were lodged in the various palaces of Berlin and Potsdam, and
entertained with most thoughtful and sumptuous hospitality. The
arrivals began on Friday, March 18, and continued through the three
following days, until the list included the Prince of Wales; the Crown
Prince of Austria; the Grand Duke and Duchess Vladimir and the Grand
Duke Michel of Russia; the Crown Prince and Princess of Sweden; the
King and Queen of Roumania; the King and Queen of Saxony; the Prince
and Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein; the Grand Duke of Hesse
and his daughter the Princess Irene; the Grand Duchess of Baden; the
Duke of Saxe-Meiningen; the Hereditary Prince and Princess of
Mecklenburg-Strelitz; the Duke of Waldeck-Pyrmont, father of the Queen
of the Netherlands and the Duchess of Albany; the Dowager Grand
Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin; the Grand Duchess Marie, and a host
of other royal notables. Costly presents and beautiful flowers had
been pouring in to the Emperor for days before, from the members of
his own large family, the various diplomatic corps, from royal
friends, from learned societies, industrial and philanthropic
associations, with gifts from China, Turkey, and other distant
countries. Many of the presents were arranged in a room in the
Kaiser's palace, the centre-piece being a portrait of his favorite and
eldest great-grandson painted by the Crown Princess, and surrounded by
an elegant display of flowers. This palace was reserved for the calls
of the distinguished guests, and for a State dinner of a hundred
covers, given to the visiting royalties on the eve of the birthday by
the Emperor and Empress. The palace of the Crown Prince was decorated
about the entrance with palms and other exotics. Here the Crown
Princess entertained the Prince of Wales and the Princess Christian
with her family,--three children of Queen Victoria under the same
roof. The Grand Duchess of Baden, only daughter of the Emperor, was
entertained in the Dutch Palace, connected with the Emperor's by a
corridor. One of those dramatic touches in real life of which Emperor
William was fond, was the betrothal of the Princess Irene, daughter of
the Grand Duke of Hesse and the late Princess Alice of England, to her
cousin Prince Henry, second son of the Crown Prince. It was announced
by the Emperor on his birthday, standing in the midst of the assembled
family, with the foreign princes grouped in a semicircle around, the
bride-elect leaning on her father's arm and blushingly receiving the
congratulations of all present. In the two days preceding his
birthday, the Emperor received not only his royal visitors, but the
representatives of Spain, Portugal, Turkey, Servia, Japan, and China.
The Old Schloss, with its six hundred apartments and reception-rooms,
was used for the entertainment of royal guests. All the sunny south
windows facing the Schloss Platz rejoiced for days beforehand in open
draperies and freshly cleaned plate glass, giving an unwonted look of
cheer and human habitableness to the majestic and venerable pile
through which we had walked, a few weeks before, with hushed voices
and muffled footsteps, gazing on the rich decorations of the public
rooms, the glittering candelabra, the silver balustrades, the ancient
plate, the historic paintings and monuments which recall past
centuries and vanished sovereigns.
But the streets witnessed the most memorable scenes. On the eve of the
birthday a torchlight procession of more than six thousand students
represented the Universities of Berlin, Bonn, Heidelberg, Jena,
Königsberg, Leipzig, Marburg, Munich, Strasburg, and others; the
Polytechnic Schools of Berlin, Brunswick, Darmstadt, Dresden, Hanover,
Karlsruhe, and Stuttgardt; the Mining Academies of Berlin, Clausthal,
and Freiberg; and the Agricultural Schools of Berlin, Eberswalde, and
Tharandt. Opposite the Imperial Palace stands the University,--formerly
the palace of Prince Henry,--amid old trees and gardens, and with the
fine colossal statues of the brothers Humboldt in white marble, sitting
on massive pedestals on either side the main gateway. This was the
starting-point of the great procession, which was led by two mounted
students in the garb of Wallenstein's soldiers. Five abreast the
torch-bearers approached the Emperor's palace, and before his windows
the Ziethen Hussars wheeled in and out in mystic evolutions. A
labyrinthine series of movements, marked in the darkness only by the
flaming torches, was executed in perfect silence; then a simple hymn of
the Middle Ages was sung with singular effect by these thousands of
young and manly voices; and from the silence which succeeded, at the
call of a student standing in the midst and waving his sword above his
head, there arose a "Three cheers for the Emperor!" while six thousand
torches swung to and fro, and hundreds of flags and ancient banners
waved in the evening air. Again there was silence, when one struck the
National Anthem, which was sung with all heads uncovered, the aged hero
bowing low at his window in acknowledgment until emotion obliged him to
withdraw. An incident soon on every tongue was the Emperor's sending
for a deputation of the students to wait on him, his kind reception of
and conversation with them, and their elation at the honor,
notwithstanding their mortification at the contrast of the smoke-soiled
hands and faces of the torch-bearers with the brilliance of the
Imperial chamber and the full dress of distinguished visitors. Leaving
the Emperor's palace, the procession passed through Unter den Linden
and the Brandenburg Gate to the Thiergarten, where amid a dense and
surging throng the students threw their burning torches in a heap and
sang over the expiring flames, "Gaudeamus igitur juvenes dum sumus."
Deputies from all the Universities, dressed in black velvet coats, high
boots, and plumed hats, and bearing fine swords, brought up the rear of
the procession in thirty carriages, with the flags of the old German
towns and Universities floating above them. I watched this torchlight
procession from a second-story window-seat on Unter den Linden, and was
much impressed with the general view, extending from the equestrian
statue of Frederick the Great before the Emperor's palace, where the
entire area was filled with reflected light, for nearly a mile to the
Brandenburg Gate, the various forms of the waving torches on the long
line seeming the very apotheosis of flame. Many of the young men were
dressed in the picturesque taste peculiar to German students. Gay
feathers and unique caps set off to advantage the fine features and
fair complexions which render some of the students remarkable, though
the faces are too often disfigured by tell-tale sabre-cuts. After the
passing of the procession, we drove through a portion of the Potsdamer
Strasse where the lamps were rather infrequent and the overarching
branches of the trees shut out the starlight from the handsome street.
Crowds were hurrying to and fro,--but to this we had become
accustomed,--when suddenly we met a company of mounted students
returning from the park. In white wigs and high-peaked caps,
close-fitting white suits embroidered with gold, brilliant sashes, and
top-boots, they looked, in the dim light, like knights of the Middle
Ages returning from some quest or tournament; and as they slowly filed
by, bowing to the greetings of the passers, it was hard to believe for
the moment that they were other than they seemed.
The morning of the birthday dawned bright and beautiful. "Emperor's
weather this," the Germans fondly said. Before we left our
breakfast-room the sound of chimes was calling all the children of the
city to the churches for their share of the celebration. From my
window I saw at one time three large processions of children passing
in different directions through diverging streets. All were marshalled
by teachers from the public schools in strictest order, and with fine
brass bands playing choral music as they entered the church. Here the
pastor, after prayer, addressed the children on the blessings of peace
and the life of the good Emperor, and the children sang, as only
German children can, the patriotic songs of their country. No more
touching sight was seen that day than these thousands of boys and
girls passing into the churches, with the sound of solemn music, to
thank God for the blessings of Fatherland and Emperor,--a scene which
caused tears to roll down the cheeks of many a spectator. It will be
hard to uproot German patriotism while its future fathers and mothers
are thus trained.
While the children were marching, another procession was also passing,
composed of the magistrates and city officials, going to the Nicolai
Kirche (the oldest church in Berlin) for a similar service. Every one
was astir early, and before ten o'clock a dense crowd filled the
streets. Horses, omnibuses, and tram-cars were garlanded and decorated
with flags, and the house fronts were bewildering in color and
decorations. The double-headed eagle, signifying in the heraldry of
Germany the Empire of Charlemagne and that of the Cæsars, was
everywhere intermingled with the German tri-color of red, white, and
black, with the black and white of Prussia, the green of Saxony, the
blue of Bavaria, and the orange, purple, and other colors of the
various principalities and powers of the German Empire; hardly a house
lacking some brilliant flutter of symbolic colors. Only an American in
a foreign land can know how welcome was the sight of "the stars and
stripes" floating majestically from two or three points on the route;
though in one case it was flanked by the crescent and star of the
Turkish Empire, and in another contrasted with the blue dragon on a
yellow ground which formed the triangular flag of China. Miles of
business thoroughfares showed glittering and artistic arrangements in
the shop windows; nearly every one having its picture, bust, or statue
of the Emperor,--some with most elaborate and expensive designs.
Between ten and eleven A.M. the deputations from the Universities
passed through Unter den Linden, making a daylight parade but little
inferior to that of the evening before. The dense throng immediately
closed in after the procession, but by great efforts the mounted
police cleared a passage for the State carriages to the palace of the
Emperor. At eleven o'clock a magnificent royal carriage drew up at the
palace of the Crown Prince, who entered it, accompanied by the Crown
Princess and two daughters. They proceeded to the presence of the
Emperor, to offer the first congratulations. Next came a carriage
whose splendid accompaniments eclipsed all others. Preceded by a
mounted herald in scarlet and silver, on a mettled and caparisoned
steed, and by other outriders in the same glittering fashion, came the
carriage, surmounted by silver crowns, drawn by six horses; carriage,
steeds, coachman, and footmen in shining livery and flowing plumes. At
the door of the Crown Prince's palace the stout figure of the Prince
of Wales, in comparatively plain attire, stepped into this coach; a
lady was handed in after him, and the splendid equipage rolled toward
the Emperor's palace, amid the cheers of the multitude. From the Old
Schloss, a succession of royal carriages passed in the same direction,
all glittering in silver and gold and flowing with plumes, many with
four or six horses; until fully fifty State carriages had deposited
their occupants at the palace of the Kaiser, and awaited, in the fine
open spaces around the famous equestrian statue of Frederick the
Great, the return of royalty from its congratulations to the venerable
object of all this attention. Many of the royal visitors were known by
sight to the crowd, as Berlin sees much of royalty; but many were not.
The cheering was not enthusiastic, except in special cases. "Who is
that?" said one near me, as a splendid carriage passed. "I do not
know," replied another man; "it is only one of those kings." But when
the Crown Prince Frederick returned from his call, "This is something
else," said the proud German heart; and the cheers were deafening. The
greatest enthusiasm of the day was shown when Prince William and his
family passed, in the most striking equipage of all, except that of
the Prince of Wales. It was a State carriage of the time of Frederick
the Great, its decorations of gold on a dark body; a large, low
vehicle whose glass windows revealed the occupants on every side. Six
Pomeranian brown steeds of high mettle were guided by the skilful
driver, horses and outriders being splendidly caparisoned in light
blue and silver. Rudolph, Crown Prince of Austria, solitary in his
carriage, received his share of attention, as did the Russian Grand
Dukes and Grand Duchess, the fine-looking King and Queen of Saxony,
the Prince-Regent of Bavaria with his two sons of ten and twelve, and
the Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, venerable sister of the Emperor.
The Queen of Roumania bowed to the throng with utmost grace, smiling
and showing her brilliant teeth; but whether the special huzzas were a
tribute to the beauty of the Queen, or to the poetry of Carmen Sylva,
we could not determine. All things have an end; and so did this
dazzling State pageant, at which all Europe assisted and where all
Europe was looking on; but not until Bismarck's carriage had conveyed
the Chancellor to his chief, followed by General Von Moltke, who had
the good taste to drive up simply, with two horses and an open
carriage that interposed not even plate-glass between the great
soldier and the loyal multitude. A few moments after their entrance,
the Emperor appeared at the palace window, Bismarck on his right and
Von Moltke on his left, and the hurrahs of the crowd burst forth anew.
Later in the day the Crown Prince and Crown Princess entertained the
royal guests at dinner; and Prince Bismarck, as usual on the Emperor's
birthday, gave a dinner to the Diplomatic Corps. A drizzling rain set
in suddenly in the afternoon, sending dismay to the hearts of all; for
the most brilliant part of the celebration was still in reserve for
the evening. The rain fell in occasional light showers up to a late
hour, but it dampened only the outer garb, not the hearts, of the
undiminished multitude, which at night-fall, on foot or in carriages,
thronged the streets of the brilliant capital, whose myriad lights
showed to better advantage under the reflecting clouds than they would
have done under starlight. The carriages numbered scores of thousands,
and the people on foot hundreds of thousands; but so complete were the
arrangements of the police and so obedient the concourse, that all
proceeded in nearly perfect order. Our coachman fortunately drove
through Old Berlin and Köln, as a preliminary to the evening's
sight-seeing. Long arcades filled with Jews' shops were worthy the pen
of Dickens. This festal day made this most ancient portion of the city
also one of the most picturesque. Houses with quaint dormer windows
roofed by "eyelids," of an architecture dating back two or three
hundred years, gleamed with candles in every window. Almost no house
or shop was so poor as to dispense with its share of the universal
illumination. At least three horizontal lines of lighted candles
threaded both sides of every street of this city of a million and a
half inhabitants. Many private as well as public buildings in the old
part showed by colored lights the picturesque, quaint streets and
nooks, as no light of day can ever do. We were passing the Rath-haus,
or City Hall,--a modern and imposing edifice,--at the time when its
great tower was being lighted up. Three hundred feet above the
pavement floated the flags grouped in the centre and at the corners of
the square tower. Invisible red fires illuminated them, the shafts of
crimson light rising to the clouds above, the outlines of the
remainder of the building dimly reposing in darkness. An immense
electric light, guided by a reflector in another tower, shot a bridge
of white light high in air across the river, and fell, like a
circumscribed space of noonday amid black darkness, on the fine
equestrian statue of the Great Elector by the bridge behind the Old
Castle, with an effect almost indescribable. As we entered Unter den
Linden by the Lustgarten, the beautiful square and its historic
edifices, which form an ideal sight even by daylight, glowed and
gleamed with jets of light from every point. The Old Schloss showed
continuous lines of illumination in the windows of its four stories,
along its front of six hundred and fifty feet, while the majestic dome
caught and reflected rays of light from every point of the horizon. On
the opposite side of the Lustgarten, the Doric portico of the National
Gallery glowed with rose-colored light from massive Grecian lamps,
while the arched entrance beneath its superb staircase gleamed with a
pale sea-green radiance like the entrance to some ocean cave. The
incomparable architecture of the Old Museum was set in strong relief
by white light, which flooded its immense Ionic colonnade and brought
out the high colors of the colossal frescos along the three hundred
feet of its magnificent portico. The front of the palace of the Crown
Prince was thrown, by innumerable jets, into a blaze of crimson. The
Roman Catholic Church of St. Hedwig, with its dome in imitation of the
Pantheon, its Latin cross and window arches beaming in pale yellow,
made a fine background for the only unilluminated building, the palace
of the Emperor. From the Opera House, the Arsenal, and the University,
crowns and elaborate designs were burning, yet unconsumed. Most
elaborately decorated of all Berlin buildings was the Academy of Arts
and Sciences, opposite the Imperial Palace, with colossal warriors in
bronze keeping guard at its portals, and the Angel of Peace laying a
laurel wreath on the altar of Fatherland as its decorative
centre-piece. No high meaning of all its symbols was more touching
and significant than the appropriate texts of Scripture written for
the Kaiser's eye, underneath its elaborate frescos. But of what avail
would be an attempt to describe two miles of most beautiful
decorations along Unter den Linden, each one a study in itself, and
having nothing in common with the others, except the eagles and the
Emperor's monogram; and the innumerable points of light, massed in a
world of various forms, and in all the colors of the rainbow! This
glow of splendor surrounded by the dense darkness covered the city,
and the dazzling coronals of its lofty towers and domes and spires
must have been visible to a great distance across the plains of
Brandenburg.
Slowly the triple line of carriages and the surging throng pressed
onward, past the palaces and diplomatic residences of the Pariser
Platz; some diverging down the Wilhelm Strasse, where streaming flags
and blazing illuminations made noonday brightness and gayety about the
palace of the Chancellor, but most passing through the Brandenburg
Gate. The massive Doric columns of this impressive structure were in
darkness, but the Chariot of Victory with its fine bronze horses,
surmounting the gate, was weird with the scarlet light of Bengal
fires burning on the entablature.