passed since I heard a syllable from you, and today I seized the
confused mass of letters with genuine impatience--seven official
communications, a bill, two invitations, one of which is for a theatre
and ball at Greifenberg, but not a trace of Zuckers (the Reinfeld
post-office) and "Hochwohlgeboren." [14] I could not believe my eyes, and
had to look through the letters twice; then I set my hat quite on my
right ear and took a two hours' walk on the highway in the rain, without
a cigar, assailed by the most conflicting sentiments--"a prey to violent
emotions," as we are accustomed to say in romances. I have got used to
receiving my two letters from you regularly every week, and when once we
have acquired the habit of a thing we look upon that as our well-won
right, an injury to which enrages us. If I only knew against whom I
should direct my wrath--against Böge, against the post-office, or
against you, _la chatte la plus noire_, inside and out. And why don't
you write? Are you so exhausted with the effort you made in sending two
letters at a time on Friday of last week? Ten days have gone by since
then--time enough to rest yourself. Or do you want to let me writhe,
while you feast your eyes on my anxiety, tigress! after speaking to me
in your last letters about scarlet and nervous fevers, and after I had
laid such stress on my maxim of never believing in anything bad before
it forces itself upon me as incontestable? We adhere firmly to our
maxims only so long as they are not put to the test; when that happens
we throw them away, as the peasant did his slippers, and run off on the
legs that nature gave us. If you have the disposition to try the virtue
of my maxims, then I shall never again give utterance to any of them,
lest I be caught lying; for the fact is that I do really feel somewhat
anxious. With fevers in Reddis, to let ten days pass without writing is
very horrible of you, if you are well. Or can it be that you did not
receive on Thursday, as usual, my letter that I mailed on Tuesday in
Magdeburg, and, in your indignation at this, resolved not to write to me
for another week? If _that_ is the state of affairs, I can't yet make up
my mind whether to scold or laugh at you. The worst of it now is that,
unless some lucky chance brings a letter from you directly to Stolp, I
shall not have any before Thursday, for, as I remember it, there is no
mail leaving you Saturday and Sunday, and I should have received
Friday's today. If you have not sworn off writing altogether and wish to
reply to this letter, address me at Naugard. * * *
Had another visitor, and he stayed to supper and well into the
night--my neighbor, the town-counsellor Gärtner. People think they
must call on each other Sunday evening, and can have nothing else to
do. Now that all is quiet in the night, I am really quite disturbed
about you and your silence, and my imagination, or, if not that, then
the being whom you do not like to have me name, shows me with scornful
zeal pictures of everything that _could_ happen. Johanna, if you were
to fall sick now, it would be terrible beyond description. At the
thought of it, I fully realize how deeply I love you, and how deeply
the bond that unites us has grown into me. I understand what you call
loving much. When I think of the possibility of separation--and
possible it is still--I should never have been so lonely in all my
dreary, lonely life.
What would Moritz's situation be, compared with that?--for he has a
child, a father, a sister, dear and intimate friends in the
neighborhood. I have no one within forty miles with whom I should be
tempted to talk more than that which politeness demands; only a
sister--but a happily married one with children is really one no
longer, at least for a brother who is single. For the first time I am
looking the possibility straight in the eyes that you might be taken
away from me, that I might be condemned to inhabit these empty rooms
without a prospect of your sharing them with me, with not a soul in
all the surrounding region who would not be as indifferent to me as
though I had never seen him. I should, indeed, not be so devoid to
comfort in myself as of old, but I should also have lost something
that I used not to know--a loving and beloved heart, and at the same
time be separated from all that which used to make life easy in
Pomerania through habit and friendship. A very egotistical line of
thought and way of looking at things this discloses, you will say.
Certainly, but Pain and Fear are egotists, and, in cases like that
referred to, I never think the deceased, but only the survivors, are
to be pitied. But who speaks of dying? All this because you have not
written for a week; and then I have the assurance to lecture you for
gloomy forebodings, etc.! If you had only not spoken of the deadly
fevers in your last letter. In the evening I am always excited, in the
loneliness, when I am not tired. Tomorrow, in bright daylight, in the
railway carriage, I shall perhaps grasp your possible situation with
greater confidence.
Be rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing instant in
prayer. All the angels will guard you, my beloved heart, so that we
shall soon meet again with joy. Farewell, and salute your parents. I
wrote your father this morning. Your faithful BISMARCK.
Berlin, Friday, May 15, '47.
_Dear Heart_,--Your father gave me your letter this morning at the
session, and in consequence I hardly know what subject was discussed,
or, at least, lacked energy to form a clear, conscious conception of
it. My thoughts were in Reinfeld and my heart full to overflowing of
care. I am submissive in all that may happen, but I cannot say that I
should be submissive with gladness. The chords of my soul become
relaxed and toneless when I think of all possibilities. I am not,
indeed, of that self-afflicting sort that carefully and artfully
destroys its own hope and constructs fear, and I do not believe that
it is God's will to separate us now--for every reason I cannot believe
it; but I know that you are suffering, and I am not with you, and yet
if I were there, I could perhaps contribute something to your
tranquillity, to your serenity, were it only that I should ride with
you--for you have no one else for that. It is so contrary to all my
views of gallantry, not to speak of my sentiments for you, that any
power whatever should keep me here when I know that you are suffering
and I could help and relieve you; and I am still at war with myself to
determine what my duty is before God and man. If I am not sooner
there, then it is fairly certain that I shall arrive in Reinfeld with
your father at Whitsuntide, probably a week from tomorrow. The cause
of your illness may lie deeper, or perhaps it is only that the odious
Spanish flies have affected you too powerfully. Who is this second
doctor you have called in? The frequent changing of doctors, and, on
one's own authority, using between-times all sorts of household
remedies, or remedies prescribed for others, I consider very bad and
wrong. Choose one of the local doctors in whom you have the most
confidence, but keep to him, too; do what he prescribes and nothing
else, nothing arbitrary; and, if you have not confidence in any of the
local men, we will both try to carry through the plan of bringing you
here, so that you may have thorough treatment under the direction of
Breiers, or some one else. The conduct of your parents in regard to
medical assistance, the obstinate refusal of your father, and, allied
to that, your mother's arbitrary changing and fixed prejudices, in
matters which neither of them understand, seem to me, between
ourselves, indefensible. He to whom God has intrusted a child, and an
only child at that, must employ for her preservation all the means
that God has made available, and not become careless of them through
fatalism or self-sufficiency. If writing tires you, ask your mother to
send us news. Moreover, it would seem to me very desirable if one of
your friends could be prevailed upon to go to you until you are
better. Whether a doctor can help you or not--forgive me, but you
cannot judge of that by your feelings. God's help is certainly
decisive, but it is just He who has given us medicine and physician
that, through them, His aid may reach us; and to decline it in this
form is to tempt Him, as though the sailor at sea should deprive
himself of a helmsman, with the idea that God alone can and will give
aid. If He does _not_ help us through the means He has placed within
our reach, then there is nothing left to do but to bow in silence
under His hand. If you should be able to come to Zimmerhausen after
Whitsuntide, please write to that effect beforehand if possible. If
your illness should become more serious, I shall certainly leave the
Landtag, and even if you are confined to your bed I shall be with you.
At such a moment I shall not let myself be restrained by such
questions of etiquette--that is my fixed resolve. You may be sure of
this, that I have long been helping you pray that the Lord may free
you from useless despondency and bestow upon you a heart cheerful and
submissive to God--and upon me, also; and I have the firm confidence
that He will grant our requests and guide us both in the paths that
lead to Him. Even though yours may often go to the left around the
mountain, and mine to the right, yet they will meet beyond.
The salt water has already gone from here. If you are too weak for
riding, then take a drive every day. When you are writing to me, and
begin to feel badly in the least, stop immediately; give me only a
short bulletin of your health, even if it is but three lines, for,
thank Heaven, words can be dispensed with between us--they cannot add
or take away anything, since our hearts look into each other, eye to
eye, to the very bottom, and though here and there, behind a fold,
some new thing is discovered, a strange thing it is not. Dear heart,
what stuff you talk (excuse my rudeness) when you say I must not come
if I would rather stop in Zimmerhausen or Angermünde at Whitsuntide!
How can I take pleasure anywhere while I know that you are suffering,
and moreover, am uncertain in what degree? With us two it is a
question, not of amusing and entertaining, but only of loving and
being together, spiritually, and, if possible, corporeally; and if you
should lie speechless for four weeks--sleep, or something else--I
would be nowhere else, provided nothing but my wish were to decide. If
I could only "come to your door," I would still rather be there than
with my dear sister; and the sadder and sicker you are, so much the
more. But the door will not separate me from you, however ill you may
be. That is a situation in which the slave mutinies against his
mistress. * * *
Your faithful B.
Berlin, Tuesday Morning, May 18, '47.
_Dearest_,--The last letters from Reinfeld permit me to hope that your
illness is not so threatening at the moment as I feared from the first
news, although I am continually beset by all possible fears about you,
and thus am in a condition of rather complicated restlessness. * * *
My letter in which I told you of my election you have understood
somewhat, and your dear mother altogether, from a point of view
differing from that which was intended. I only wanted to make my
position exactly clear to you, and the apologies which to you seemed
perhaps forced, as I infer from your mother's letter, you may regard
as an entirely natural outflow of politeness. That I did not stand in
need of justification with you I very well know; but also that it must
affect us both painfully to see our fine plans cancelled. It was my
ardent wish to be a member of the Landtag; but that the Landtag and
you are fifty miles apart distressed me in spite of the fulfilment of
my wish. You women are, and always will be, unaccountable, and it is
better to deal with you by word of mouth than by writing. * * * I have
ventured once or twice on the speaker's platform with a few words, and
yesterday raised an unheard-of storm of displeasure, in that, by a
remark which was not explained clearly enough touching the character
of the popular uprising of 1813, I wounded the mistaken vanity of many
of my own party, and naturally had all the halloo of the opposition
against me. The resentment was great, perhaps for the very reason that
I told the truth in applying to 1813 the sentence that any one (the
Prussian people) who has been thrashed by another (the French) until
he defends himself can make no claim of service towards a third person
(our King) for so doing. I was reproached with my youth and all sorts
of other things. Now I must go over before today's session to see
whether, in printing my words, they have not turned them into
nonsense. * * *
Yours forever, B.
Berlin, Friday, May 21, '47.
_Très chère Jeanneton_,--When you receive this letter you will know
that I am not to visit you in the holidays. I shall not offer
"apologies," but reasons why it is not to be. I should miss certainly
four, and probably five, meetings of the estates, and, according to
the announcement we have received, the most important proceedings are
to be expected at the coming meetings. There it may depend upon one
vote, and it would be a bad thing if that were the vote of an
absentee; moreover, I have succeeded in acquiring some influence with
a great number, or, at least, with some delegates of the so-called
court party and the other ultra-conservatives from several provinces,
which I employ in restraining them so far as possible from bolting and
awkward shying, which I can do in the most unsuspected fashion when
once I have plainly expressed my inclination. Then, too, I have some
money affairs to arrange, for which I must make use of one of the
holidays. The Landtag will either be brought to a close on the 7th of
June--and in that case I should stay here until that date--or it will
continue in session until all the matters have been arranged, in which
event I should stay till after the decision of the important political
questions which are now imminent and shall be less conscientious about
all the insignificant petitions that follow after, and await their
discussion in Reinfeld. It will, besides, be pleasanter for you and
the mother not to have us both--the father and me--there at one time,
but relieving each other, so that you may be lonely for a shorter
time. * * * Your father will tell you how I stirred up the
hornet's-nest of the volunteers here lately, and the angry hornets
came buzzing to attack me; on the other hand, I had as compensation
that many of the older and more intelligent people drew near to
me--people I did not know at all--and assured me that I had said
nothing but the truth, and that was the very thing that had so
incensed the people. But I must take the field now; it is ten o'clock.
Please ask your father to write immediately about your health. I
should so much like to hear the opinion of another person besides your
mother. I am all right--only much excited. Farewell, and God guard
you.
Yours altogether and forever, B.
Berlin, May 26, '47.
_Dearest_,-- * * * If I were only through with the Landtag and the
delivery of Kniephof, could embrace you in health, and retire with you
to a hunting-lodge in the heart of green forest and the mountains,
where I should see no human face but yours! That is my hourly dream;
the rattling wheel-work of political life is more obnoxious to my ears
every day.--Whether it is your absence, sickness, or my laziness, I
want to be alone with you in contemplative enthusiasm for nature. It
may be the spirit of contradiction, which always makes me long for
what I have not. And yet, I have you, you know, though not quite at
hand; and still I long for you. I proposed to your father that I
should go with him; we would immediately have our banns published and
be married, and both come here. An apartment for married people is
empty in this house, and here you could have had sensible physicians
and every mortal help. It seemed to him too unbecoming. To you, too?
It seems to me still the most sensible thing of all, if you are only
strong enough for the trip. If the Landtag should continue longer than
to the 6th of June--which I still hope it will not--let us look at the
plan more carefully. * * *
Your faithful B.
Schönhausen, Friday, May 28, '47.
_My Poor Sick Kitten_,-- * * * In regard to your illness, your father's
letter has calmed my anxiety somewhat as to the danger, but yours was
so gloomy and depressed that it affected me decidedly. My dear heart,
such sadness as finds expression there is almost more than submission
to God's will: the latter cannot, in my opinion, be the cause of your
giving up the hope, I might say the wish, that you may be better,
physically, and experience God's blessing here on earth as long as may
be in accordance with His dispensation. You do not really mean it,
either--do you, now?--when, in a fit of melancholy, you say that
nothing whatever interests you genuinely, and you neither grieve nor
rejoice. That smacks of Byron, rather than of Christianity. You have
been sick so often in your life, and have recovered--have experienced
glad and sad hours afterwards; and the old God still lives who helped
you then. Your letter stirred in me more actively than ever the
longing to be at your side, to fondle you and talk with you. * * *
I do not agree with you in your opinion about July, and I would urge
you strongly, too, on this point to side with me against your parents.
When a wife, you are as likely to be sick as when a _fiancée_--and
will be often enough, later; so why not at the beginning, likewise? I
shall be with you as often as I am free from pressing engagements, so
whether we are together here or in Reinfeld makes no difference in the
matter. We do not mean to marry for bright days only: your ill-health
seems to me an utterly frivolous impediment. The provisional situation
we are now in is the worst possible for me. I scarcely know any longer
whether I am living in Schönhausen, in Reinfeld, in Berlin, or on the
train. If you fall sick, I shall be a sluggard in Reinfeld all the
autumn, or however long our marriage would be postponed, and cannot
even associate with you quite unconstrainedly before the ceremony.
This matter of a betrothed couple seventy miles apart is not
defensible; and, especially when I know you are ailing, I shall take
the journey to see you, of course, as often as my public and private
affairs permit. It seems to me quite necessary to have the ceremony at
the time already appointed; otherwise I should be much distressed, and
I see no reason for it. Don't sell Brunette just now; you will ride
her again soon. I must be in Berlin at noon for a consultation about
plans for tomorrow. Farewell. God strengthen you for joy and hope.
Your most faithful B.
_Tomorrow I'll send you a hat_.[15]
Berlin, Sunday, May 30, '47.
_Très Chère Jeanneton_,--Your letter of day before yesterday, which I
have just received, has given me profound pleasure and poured into me a
refreshing and more joyous essence: your happier love of life is shared
by me immediately. I shall begin by reassuring you about your gloomy
forebodings of Thursday evening. At the very time when you were
afflicted by them I was rejoicing in the happiness I had long missed, of
living once more in a comfortable Schönhaus bed, after I had suffered
for weeks from the furnished-apartments couch in Berlin. I slept very
soundly, although with bad dreams--nightmares--which I ascribed to a
late and heavy dinner, inasmuch as the peaceful occupations of the
previous day--consisting in viewing many promising crops and well-fed
sheep, together with catching up with all sorts of police arrangements
relating to dike, fire, and roads--could not have occasioned them. You
see how little you can depend upon the maternal inheritance of
forebodings. Also in regard to the injurious effects of the Landtag
excitement upon my health, I can completely reassure you. I have
discovered what I needed--physical exercise--to offset mental
excitement and irregular diet. Yesterday I spent in Potsdam, to be
present at the water carnival--a lively picture. The great blue basins
of the Havel, with the splendid surroundings of castles, bridges,
churches, enlivened with several hundred gayly decorated boats, whose
occupants, elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies, bombard one another
lavishly with bouquets when they can reach each other in passing or
drawing up alongside. The royal pair, the whole court, Potsdam's
fashionable people, and half of Berlin whirled in the skein of boats
merrily, pell-mell; royalists and liberals all threw dry or wet flowers
at the neighbor within reach. Three steamboats at anchor, with musical
choruses, constituted the centre of the ever-changing groups. I had the
opportunity to salute, hurriedly and with surprise, and throw flowers
at, many acquaintances whom I had not seen for a long time. My friend
Schaffgotsch is passionately fond of walking, and he was responsible for
our returning to the railway station on foot--a distance of almost three
miles--at such a pace as I had not kept up in a long while. After that I
slept splendidly until nine, and am in a state of physical equilibrium
today such as I have not enjoyed for some time. As the rather dusty
promenades in the Thiergarten do not give me enough of a shaking-up in
the time that I have available for that purpose, Mousquetaire will
arrive here tomorrow, so that he, with his lively gallop, may play the
counterpart to the tune that politics is dancing in my head. My plan
about Berlin and the wedding immediately, etc., was certainly somewhat
adventurous when you look at it in cold blood, but I hope there will be
no change from July. If I am to be tormented, as you say, with an
"unendurable, dispirited, nervous being," it is all the same in the end
whether this torment will be imposed upon me by my _fiancée_ or--forgive
the expression--by my wife. In either case I shall try to bear the
misfortune with philosophical steadfastness; for it is to be hoped that
it will not be so bad that I must dig deeper and seek Christian
consolation for it.
Your very faithful B.
Berlin, July 4, '47.
_Juaninina_,--Happily, I have left Schönhausen behind me, and do not
expect to enter it again without you, _mon ange._ Only some business
matters detain me here, which I cannot attend to today because it is
Sunday; but I confidently anticipate starting for Angermünde tomorrow
at four, and accordingly, unless the very improbable event occurs that
I am detained outrageously in Kniephof, shall arrive in Schlawe on
Thursday. * * * Farewell, my heart. This is probably the last
post-marked paper that you will receive from your _Bräutigam_[16] (I
hate the expression). Our banns were cried today for the first time in
Schönhausen. Does that not seem strange to you But I had learned your
given names so badly that I could mention only Johanna Eleonore: the
other six you must teach me better. Farewell, my heart. Many
salutations to the parents.
Your very faithful B.
_My Dear_,--I believe I can now reassure you most completely as to the
safety of the members of the Landtag. The Landtag was opened today,
_minus_ King and _minus_ cheers, with quite calm discussion. In a
few words I uttered my protest against the thanks and exultation that
were voted to the King, without hostilities becoming overt. Ten
thousand men of the city militia were posted for our protection, but
not even a slight disturbance occurred at the palace. I could be with
you tomorrow, as there is no session, if I had ordered a carriage
to meet me at Genthin this evening. But as the whole affair apparently
will come to an end this week, perhaps as early as Thursday, I was
too stingy to hire a carriage. Brauchitsch was taken violently ill
again last evening. * * * Give cordial remembrances to your mother, and
be of good courage. I am much calmer than I was: with Vincke one heart
and one soul.
Your faithful B.
April 2, '48, Sunday Evening.