the private character of the Anhalt princes, but we may look forward to
new information which the Ducal Archives will yield if examined, as they
have been of late by competent historians. Much useful work has been
done during the last twenty-two years by a historical society
established at Dessau. A Codex Anhaltinus has been published and much
light has been thrown on transactions in which some princes of Anhalt
had taken a prominent part. If during the time of the Crusades the names
of the Ascanians are but seldom mentioned, there was a good reason for
it. Bernhard of Clairvaux himself, wise man as he was with all his
fanaticism, had persuaded them to turn their arms against the heathen on
the eastern borders of Germany, rather than against the heathen who had
conquered the Holy Land. Slavonic tribes, particularly the Wends and
Sorbs, who were still heathen, were constantly threatening the eastern
parts of the German Empire, the very ramparts of civilisation and
Christianity, and it was felt to be absolutely necessary to drive them
back, or to induce them to adopt a civilised and Christian mode of life.
In 1134 Albrecht, commonly called Albrecht the Bear, had been invested
by the Emperor Lothar with the Northern Mark, or the Mark Brandenburg,
as his fief, in order to defend it as best he could against these
Slavonic inroads. This Albrecht the Bear is the ancestor of the reigning
Dukes of Anhalt, the present duke being his nineteenth successor. It was
the same Mark Brandenburg which was afterwards to become the cradle of
Prussia and indirectly of the German Empire. Albrecht’s influence was so
great at the time that, after the death of the Emperor Lothar, he
succeeded in carrying the election of the Emperor Konrad III., the
Hohenstaufen, against the Welfic party, who wished to raise the Duke of
Bavaria, Henry the Proud, to the Imperial throne of Germany. The Emperor
rewarded Albrecht’s services by taking the Duchy of Saxony away from the
Welfic Duke of Bavaria, and bestowing it on him. This led to a bloody
war between the two claimants, and ended in the defeat of Albrecht. But
though deprived again of his Saxon fief, Albrecht proved so successful
in his own mark against the Sorbs and Wends that he received the title
of Markgrave of Brandenburg, and as such became one of the Electors of
the German Empire. All those fierce fights against the Slavonic races on
the western frontier of Germany are now well-nigh forgotten, and only
the names of towns and rivers remain to remind us how much of what is
now German soil, between the Elbe and Oder, had for a long time been
occupied by Slavonic tribes, uncivilised and pagan. Albrecht had really
inherited this task of subduing and expelling these enemies from German
soil from his father, Count Otto, who was the grandson of Count Esiko of
Ballenstädt (1050). All these princes and their knights had to spend
their lives in settling and defending the frontiers or marks of Germany,
or of what had been German soil before the southward migrations of the
German tribes began. They held their fiefs from the German Emperors, but
were left free to do whatever they deemed necessary in the defence of
their strongholds (burgs) and settlements. The first of the Saxon
Emperors, Henry I. (919–936), was called the _Burgenbauer_, because he
encouraged all over Germany the building of strongholds which afterwards
grew into villages and towns, and thus led gradually to a more civilised
life in the German Empire. Wherever it was possible churches were built,
bishoprics were founded, monasteries and schools established and
supported by liberal grants of land. A great share in this Eastern
conquest fell to the Counts of Anhalt, and their achievements were
richly rewarded by the great Saxon Emperors, Henry I. and Otto the
Great. There can be no doubt that these bloody crusades of the German
Markgraves against their pagan enemies in the East of Europe, though
less famous, left more lasting and more substantial benefits to Germany
than all the crusades against the Saracens.
I shall carry my historical retrospect no farther, but it may easily be
imagined how this long and glorious history of the princes of the house
of Anhalt made a deep impression on the minds of the young generation,
and how even as boys we felt proud of our Duke. Though the belief in
heredity was not then so strong as it is now—and I must confess that
even now my own belief in acquired excellencies being inherited is very
small—yet standing before our Ascanian[15] Duke, the descendant and
representative of so many glorious ancestors, one felt something like
the awe which one feels when looking at an oak that has weathered many a
storm, and still sends forth every year its rich green foliage. It was a
just pride that made even the schoolboys lift their caps before their
stately Duke and his noble Duchess, and I must confess that something of
that feeling has remained with me for life, and the title of Serene
Highness, which has since been changed to Royal Highness (Hoheit), has
always sounded to my ears not as an empty title or as inferior to Royal
Highness or even Majesty, but as the highest that could be bestowed on
any sovereign, if he had deserved it by high ideals, and by true
serenity of mind in the storms and battles of life.
As to myself, if as a boy I was not quite so much overawed by the
inhabitants of the old stately palace at Dessau as my friends and
schoolfellows, it was due perhaps to their personal kindness to our
family, and likewise to a strange event that happened while I was still
very young. The reigning Duke had three brothers and only one son, and
in the absence of male heirs it was supposed that the duchy would have
gone to Prussia. One of his brothers had married a Countess von Reina,
and their children therefore could not succeed. The other brother was
married to a Hessian princess, and they had no sons. But for that, they
would possibly have succeeded to the throne of Denmark, as it was only
due to the resignation of the elder in favour of her younger sister that
this younger sister, the mother of the Princess of Wales, became Queen
of Denmark, and her husband King. Both the ducal family and the whole
country were anxious, therefore, that the only remaining brother of the
Duke should marry and have children, when suddenly he announced to the
world that he had fallen in love with a young lady at Dessau, a cousin
of mine, and that no power on earth should prevent him from marrying
her. There was a considerable flutter in the dovecotes of the Dessau
nobility; there was also a very just feeling of regret among the people,
who disliked the idea of a possible amalgamation with Prussia.
Everything that could be thought of was done to prevent the marriage,
but after waiting for several years the marriage was celebrated, and my
cousin, as Baronne von Stolzenberg, became the Prince’s (morganatic)
wife, and sister-in-law of the reigning Duke. The Prince was a handsome
man, and extremely good-natured and kind, there was not an atom of pride
in him. They lived very happily together, and after a few years they
were received most cordially even by the old Duke and his relations. In
this way the doings and sayings of the Duke and the ducal court became
less hidden behind the mysterious veil that formerly shrouded Olympus,
and one began to see that its inhabitants were not so very different
after all from other human beings, but that they acted up to their sense
of duty, did a great deal of good work unknown to the world at large,
and were certainly in many respects far more cultivated and far more
attractive than those who were inclined to sneer at the small German
courts, and to agitate for their suppression.
What would Germany have been without her small courts? Without a Duke
Charles Augustus of Weimar, there would probably have been no Wieland,
no Herder, no Goethe, and no Schiller. It is not only plants that want
sunshine, genius also requires light and warmth to bring it out, and the
refining influence of a small court was nowhere so necessary as during
the period of storm and stress in Germany. It cannot be denied that some
of these small courts were hotbeds of corruption of every kind. I
remember how in my younger days the small Duchy of Anhalt-Cöthen, for
instance, suffered extremely from maladministration during the reign of
the last Duke, who died without heirs, and had no scruples in
impoverishing the country, and suppressing all opposition, however
legitimate. He was a sovereign by divine rights, as much as the King of
Prussia, and with the assistance of his ministers he could alienate and
sell whatever he liked. He actually established a public gambling house
on the railway station at Cöthen. In the third Duchy of Anhalt, that of
Anhalt-Bernburg, the reigning Duke was for a time almost out of his
mind, but no one had the power to restrain or to remove him. The
ministers did all they could to prevent any public scandal, but it was
not easy to prevent, if not a revolution—that would have been difficult
on so small a scale—at least a complaint to the German Diet, and that
might have become serious. Many were the stories told of the poor Duke
and believed by the people. Like all court stories they went on growing
and growing, and they were repeated “on the highest authority.” One day,
it was said, the Duke of Bernburg had been reading the history of
Napoleon, how he had decorated a sentinel, and made him an officer on
the field of battle. The Duke, so we are told, carried away by his
enthusiasm, rushed out of his room, embraced the sentinel, fastened some
medal on his breast and said: “Thou art a captain.” The soldier, not
losing his presence of mind, said to the Duke: “I thank your Serene
Highness, but would you please give it me in writing?” The Duke did, and
nothing remained for his ministers but to grant to the private the title
and the pension of a captain, and to let him wear the small medal which
the Duke had given him. I confess I could never come face to face with
the fortunate captain or find out his whereabouts. Still to doubt the
truth of the story would have been considered the extreme of historical
scepticism. Another time the Duke’s enthusiasm was fired by reading an
account of a wild-boar hunt in the neighbouring duchy of Anhalt-Dessau,
which had been attended by a number of princes from all parts of
Germany. He summoned his Prime Minister and told him, “I must have wild
boars in my forests. Turn out a herd of pigs, they will do quite as
well.” This command too had to be obeyed, and the extraordinary part of
it was that in a few years these tame pigs had completely reverted to
their wild state, probably not without some intermarriages with
neighbouring wild boars, and the Duke of Bernburg could invite the Duke
of Dessau and other princes to hunt wild boars in the Hartz mountains,
as well as in the forest of Dessau. Again I cannot vouch for the truth
of the story, but I have been assured by competent authorities that such
a return from the tame to the savage state is by no means incredible.
Very soon after this exploit, however, the ducal race of Bernburg became
extinct, and the three duchies now form a happy union under the old name
of Duchy of Anhalt.
The year 1848 came at last, and everything was changed. There were
_émeutes_ in the streets of Dessau, and when one of my uncles, the
General commanding the ducal army, was telling his men that they would
have to fire on the people, he received a message from some of them to
say that they would willingly fire on anybody outside the town in the
open, but not in the streets, because they might smash their own
fathers’ windows. This respect for window-glass served, however, another
good purpose. When my uncle, in default of a large enough prison, had to
confine a number of people in the Duke’s hothouses, they were as quiet
as lambs, because here too they were afraid of breaking the glass. In
spite of this innate respect for glass and established authority, much
mischief was done at Dessau in 1848. Splendid old oaks in the ducal
forests were cut down, the game was killed by hundreds, and a new
constitution was proclaimed. There was a chamber, I believe there was
even a desire for a House of Peers, if Peers could be found; there were
two responsible ministers, and the Duke had to be satisfied with a Civil
List.
The Duke bore all this with wonderful serenity, but the Duchess died, I
believe, from anxiety and nervous prostration. In 1848 even Dukes and
Duchesses were hustled, and this was more than she could bear. She had
done all that was in her power to make herself useful in her exalted
position, and she deeply felt the ingratitude of those whom she had
helped and befriended in former years, and who had joined the
opposition. She told me herself that she had once to walk out on foot
from her palace with an umbrella, because every one of her four
carriages had been ordered by the Prime Minister, the Second Minister,
the wife of the Prime, and some friend of the Second Minister. This
Second Minister was a young man who had left the University not many
years before, and was practising at Dessau as a lawyer. Of course, there
was great joy among his former University friends; many were invited to
Dessau, and as there was an abundance of old wine in the castle, the
gates of the ducal cellar, so I was informed, were thrown open, and the
thirsty young students soon reduced the store of wine to what they
thought more reasonable dimensions. Some of the Rhenish wines in that
cellar were more than a hundred years old, so old that but a few bottles
were fit for drinking. A thick crust had formed inside the bottles, and
only one or two glasses of wine were left. But what was left was
considered so useful as medicine in certain illnesses that any doctor
was allowed to prescribe and order bottles of it from the ducal cellars.
My uncle, the Commander-in-chief of the small Anhalt army, had been
through all the Napoleonic wars, had marched twice into Paris, and was
such a _Franzosenfresser_, that, fond as he was of wine, he would never
touch French wine, least of all French champagne. He lived to a very
considerable age, he celebrated his silver, his golden, his diamond, and
his iron (sixty-five years) wedding, and danced at his diamond wedding
with his wife and one of the bridesmaids. He was my godfather, and as he
had made the acquaintance of his wife at my christening, he never called
me by any other name but “mein Wohlthäter,” my benefactor. As he had
been at the battle of Jena (1806) with the Emperor William, then a mere
cadet in the Prussian army, and afterwards through many campaigns, the
Emperor treated him to the very end of his life as his personal friend.
Once every year he had to go to Berlin to stay with the Emperor, and
talk over old times. He was about five years older than the Emperor, and
almost the last time he saw him the Emperor said to him: “Well,
Stockmarr, we are both getting old, but as long as you march ahead, I
shall follow.” “Yes, your Majesty,” Stockmarr replied, “and as long as
you are behind to support me, I hope we shall get on and bring our
shares up to par.” “Oh, Stockmarr,” the Emperor replied, “you are not a
courtier. If you knew what the courtiers say to me, you would have said,
‘Oh, your Majesty, your Majesty, your shares will rise to at least 15
per cent. premium.’” General Stockmarr told me the story himself, and it
gave me a new idea of the old Emperor’s humour, and his insight into the
character of his surroundings.
Kind-hearted as the Duke of Dessau was, there were certain things that
he could not stand. As his deafness grew upon him his chief amusement
was shooting and driving about in his open carriage through the
beautiful oak-forests that surround Dessau. There are long avenues
through the old oak-forests like bowers formed by the lower branches of
the trees, so that one can see the deer a mile off. Here the old Duke
was to be seen almost every day. The common people had many endearing
names for him, and when they saw his carriage from a distance they
shouted _Hä Kimmet_, and the whole village was soon gathered to see
their kind old Duke passing. He knew every tree, every stone, every
road. In a wood not far from Dessau there was a large boulder, dropped
there by a passing iceberg long before the time even of Albrecht the
Bear and Count Esiko. One day, as he was passing by, the Duke missed the
stone and drove straight to the next village to find out who had dared
to move it. The Schulze of the village stood trembling before the Duke,
and had to confess that as the road had had to be mended, the village
commune had decided to blast the old useless stone and to break it up
for that purpose. The Duke declared that it was his stone, that they had
no right to touch it, and that they must replace it. That was, of
course, an impossibility, without going back as far as the Glacial
period. But the peasants had to go on searching all over the
neighbourhood till at last they found two similar boulders, not quite so
large as the original stone of offence, still, large enough to cause
them much trouble and expense in transporting them to their village.
This was their punishment, and from it there was no appeal. The two new
stones may now be seen in a public park near Dessau, dedicated to the
memory, one of Bismarck, the other of Moltke.
The sound of the Duke’s carriage was well known, not only in the town,
but, as the people said, even by the deer in the forest. Other carriages
might pass and the deer would not budge, but as soon as the Duke’s
carriage was heard approaching they would all scamper away. The fact was
that no one was allowed to shoot in the large ducal preserves except the
Duke himself. It was a very great favour if he allowed even his brothers
or his best friends to accompany him now and then.
Some of his forests were stocked with wild boars. These animals were
quite tame while they were being fed in winter, but in summer they would
attack the horses of a carriage and become really dangerous. If they
could break out by night, which happened not unfrequently, the peasants
would find next morning whole fields of corn ploughed up, trampled down,
and destroyed. Large damages had to be paid by the Duke, but he never
demurred as long as he was unshackled by his two responsible ministers.
After 1848, however, not only was the amount to be paid for damages
considerably reduced by his ministers, but the Duke was told that this
pig-preserving was a very expensive amusement, and that it might make
him very unpopular. The Duke knew better. He knew the peasants liked his
boars, and still more the ample damages which he paid, but he did not
like the advice of his ministers. So whenever any mischief had been done
by the boars, the peasants ran after his carriage in the forest and told
him how much they had lost. In his good-nature he used to say: “I will
pay it all, let me know how much it is; only do not tell my ministers.”
After a time things settled down again at Dessau, still the old state of
things could never come back. The three duchies of Anhalt-Dessau,
Cöthen, and Bernburg with its beautiful Hartz mountains, when united,
formed a more considerable principality, and it was thought necessary to
have a regular parliament to control its finances, and watch over its
legislation. Everything assumed a grander air; the Duke, who since the
days of the Old Dessauer had been Serene Highness (Durchlaucht), now
became Highness (Hoheit), which is supposed to be a step higher than
Serene Highness (Durchlaucht), though I cannot see how language could
ever produce a finer title than Serene Highness. The railway, which as
the Berlin jokers said, had led to the discovery of Dessau, brought it
at all events close to Berlin, Leipzig, Magdeburg, and the great
Continental net of railways. People from all parts of Germany came to
settle in the quiet, beautiful town on the Mulde; the Elbe had been made
navigable nearly as far as Dessau, and the port near the Walwitzberg
became an important commercial centre for export and import.
Whenever I pay a visit to Dessau I find the town more and more enlarged
and much improved. The old lamps that swung across the streets are gone,
the gurgoyles frown no longer on large red and green umbrellas; there
are gas lamps, and there are waterworks, and cabs, and tramways. The
grass is no longer allowed to grow in the chinks of the pavement. The
old Duke is gone, and the old people whom I knew as a boy are gone too.
The wild boars are still there, but they are no longer allowed to break
out of bounds. Old men and women are still seen sawing wood and cutting
it up in the street, but I do not know their faces, nor the faces of the
old women from whom I bought my apples. I look at every man and woman
that passes me, there is not one whose face or name I know. It is only
when I go to the old cemetery outside the town that old names greet me
again, some very dear to me, others almost forgotten during my
_Wanderjahre_. No doubt the present is better, and the future, let us
trust, will be better still; but the past had its own charms; our
grandfathers were as wise as their sons and grandsons, and possibly they
were happier.
RECOLLECTIONS OF ROYALTIES
II
My first and very pleasant contact with Royalty had taken place at
Dessau, while I was a schoolboy. When afterwards I went to the
University of Berlin, the Duchess of Dessau had given me an introduction
to Alexander von Humboldt, and while I was in Paris, working at the then
Bibliothèque Royale, Humboldt had used his powerful influence with the
King, Frederick William IV., to help me in publishing my edition of the
“Rig Veda” in Germany. Nothing, however, came of that plan; it proved
too costly for any private publisher, even with Royal assistance. But
when, after having published the first volume in England, under the
patronage of the East India Company, I passed some weeks at Berlin, in
1850, collating some of the Vedic MSS. in the Royal Library there, I
received a message from Humboldt that the King wished to see me.
Frederick William IV. was a man of exceptional talent, nay, a man of
genius. I had heard much about him from Bunsen, who was a true friend
and confidant of the King, ever since they had met at Rome. I had seen
some of the King’s letters to Bunsen; some of them, if I remember
rightly, signed, not by the King’s name, but by _Congruentia
Incongruentium_, probably from his imagining that the different opinions
and counsels of his various friends and advisers would find their
solution in him. This idea, if it was entertained by the King, would
account for the many conflicting sides of his character, and the
frequent changes in his opinions. I presented my volume of the “Rig
Veda” to him at a private audience. He knew all about it, and had so
much to tell me about the oldest book of mankind, that I had hardly a
chance to say anything myself. But it was impossible to listen to him
without feeling that one was in the presence of a mind of very
considerable grasp and of high and noble ideals.
A few days after this audience I received an invitation to dine with the
King at Potsdam, and Humboldt wrote to me that he would take me in his
carriage.
But a curious intermezzo happened. While I was quietly sitting in my
room with my mother, a young lieutenant of police entered, and began to
ask a number of extremely silly questions—why I had come to Berlin, when
I meant to return to England, what had kept me so long at Berlin, etc.
After I had fully explained to him that I was collating Sanskrit MSS. at
the Royal Library, he became more peremptory, and informed me that the
police authorities thought that a fortnight must be amply sufficient for
that purpose (how I wished that it had been so), and that they requested
me to leave Berlin in twenty-four hours. I produced my passport,
perfectly _en règle_; I explained that I wanted but another week to
finish my work. It was all of no avail, I was told that I must leave in
twenty-four hours. I then collected my thoughts, and said very quietly
to the young lieutenant, “Please to tell the police authorities that I
shall, of course, obey orders, and leave Berlin at once, but that I must
request them to inform His Majesty the King that I shall not be able to
dine with him to-night at Potsdam.” The poor young man thought I was
laughing at him, but when he saw that I was in earnest he looked
thunderstruck, bowed, and went away. All this seems now almost
incredible even to myself while I am writing it down, but so it was. Nor
was the explanation far to seek. One of my friends, with whom I had been
almost every day, was Dr. Goldstücker, a young Sanskrit scholar, who had
been mixed up with political intrigues, and had long been under strict
surveillance. I was evidently looked upon as an emissary from England,
then considered the focus of all political conspiracies; possibly my
name had been found in the Black Book as a dangerous man, who, when he
was about eighteen, had belonged to a secret society, and had sung
Arndt’s song, “Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland,” before Bismarck sang it
in his own way. It was not long, however, before another police official
appeared, an elderly gentleman of very pleasant manners, who explained
to me how sorry he was that the young lieutenant of police should have
made so foolish a mistake. He begged me entirely to forget what had
happened, as it would seriously injure the young lieutenant’s prospects
if I lodged a complaint against him. I promised to forget, and, at all
events, not to refer to what had happened in the Royal presence.
Humboldt and I drove to Potsdam, and I had a most delightful dinner and
evening party. The King was extremely gracious, full of animated
conversation, and evidently in the best of humours. While the Queen was
speaking to me, he walked up to us, bowed to the Queen, and said to her,
not to me, “S’il vous plait, monsieur.” With this sally he took her arm
and walked into the dining-room. We followed and sat down, and during
the whole dinner the King carried on a conversation in a voice so loud
that no one else ventured to speak. I watched the King, and saw how his
face became more and more flushed, while he hardly touched a drop of
wine during the whole of dinner.
After dinner we all stood, and the King walked about from one to the
other.
Humboldt, who was at that time an old man, about eighty, stood erect for
several hours like all the rest. When we drove home it was very late,
and I could not help remarking on the great sacrifice he was making of
his valuable time in attending these court functions.