Transcriber's note: Italic font is indicated by _underscores_.
Bolded words are indicated by =equals=.
BISMARCK
SOME SECRET PAGES OF HIS HISTORY
[Illustration]
BISMARCK
SOME SECRET PAGES OF HIS HISTORY
BEING A DIARY KEPT BY
DR. MORITZ BUSCH
DURING TWENTY-FIVE YEARS’ OFFICIAL AND PRIVATE
INTERCOURSE WITH THE GREAT CHANCELLOR
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. II
=London=
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1898
_All rights reserved_
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED
LONDON AND BUNGAY
_Copyright in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
NO. 76 WILHELMSTRASSE--THE CHANCELLOR’S RESIDENCE AND THE
FOREIGN OFFICE--THE CHIEF’S OFFICIAL SURROUNDINGS AND HIS
LIFE AT HOME--BUCHER AND ABEKEN 1
CHAPTER II
FROM OUR RETURN FROM THE WAR UP TO THE TEMPORARY DISCONTINUANCE
OF MY PERSONAL INTERCOURSE WITH THE CHANCELLOR--GLIMPSES
OF THE DIPLOMATIC WORLD--COMMISSIONS FOR THE PRESS 42
CHAPTER III
THE LAST TWENTY MONTHS IN THE FOREIGN OFFICE--DOCUMENTS
RECEIVED AND DESPATCHED 109
CHAPTER IV
HERR VON KEUDELL IN THE PRESS AND IN REALITY 247
CHAPTER V
ARNIM’S HAND--VISIT TO THE PRINCE IN BERLIN--I RECEIVE MY
INSTRUCTIONS FOR A PRESS CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE EMPRESS
AUGUSTA--THE “FRICTION” ARTICLES IN THE “GRENZBOTEN”--VISITS
AT VARZIN, SCHOENHAUSEN AND FRIEDRICHSRUH 258
CHAPTER VI
AT VARZIN AND FRIEDRICHSRUH 311
CHAPTER VII
I RETURN TO BERLIN AND RENEW MY INTERCOURSE WITH THE
CHANCELLOR--THE HISTORY OF MY BOOK--BISMARCK ON THE OPPOSITION
OF THE FREE-TRADERS AND THE HOSTILITY OF THE NATIONAL
LIBERALS--HIS OPINION OF THE EMPEROR AND OF THE CROWN
PRINCE AND PRINCESS--HIS INSTRUCTIONS TO ATTACK GORTSCHAKOFF’S
POLICY--MEMBERS OF PARLIAMENT WHO HAVE NO EXPERIENCE
OF REAL LIFE--CONVERSATION WITH VON THILE RESPECTING
HIS RETIREMENT--THE TURNING AWAY FROM RUSSIA
AND TOWARDS AUSTRIA-HUNGARY--MATERIAL FOR THE HISTORY
OF THE ALLIANCE WITH THE AUSTRIANS--THE PRINCE ON THE
PARLIAMENTARY FRACTIONS--HE DESCRIBES BÜLOW’S POSSIBLE
SUCCESSORS: HATZFELDT, HOHENLOHE, RADOWITZ, SOLMS,
WERTHER, AND KEUDELL--THE CHANCELLOR’S REMARKABLE
OPINION OF STOSCH--ITALIAN POLITICS--POPE LEO--THE PRINCE
ON THE CROWN PRINCE--THE ENVIOUS AND AMBITIOUS IN
PARLIAMENT--THE CAUSES OF THE CHANCELLOR CRISIS IN
APRIL--KING STEPHAN AGAINST KING WILLIAM--THE NEW MINISTRY IN
ENGLAND--DELBRÜCK’S ILLNESS AND THE PRINCE’S OPPONENTS
IN THE REICHSTAG--THE CENTRE PARTY DESCRIBED--THORNDIKE
RICE’S REQUEST 362
CHAPTER VIII
THE ARTICLE “THE GOVERNMENT AND THE ITALIAN BISHOPS”--LOTHAR
BUCHER ON HOHENLOHE, RADOWITZ AND THE TWO BÜLOWS--THE
CHIEF WISHES TO BE REPRESENTED IN THE “DAILY
TELEGRAPH” AS A LEGITIMIST, THOUGH THE FACT MUST BE
REGRETTED--COURT INTRIGUES AND THE REQUEST TO BE RELEASED
FROM OFFICE--BUCHER ON THE SECESSIONISTS, AND THE FUTURE
MINISTERS--THE CHIEF ON THE MEANS OF SECURING THE FUTURE
OF THE WORKING MAN--THE OPPOSITION TO THIS REFORM--THE
JEWS--THE DEFECTION OF THE CONSERVATIVES AND NATIONAL
LIBERALS--THE KING THE SOLE MEMBER OF HIS PARTY--THE
“GRENZBOTEN” REGARDED AS AN OFFICIAL GAZETTE--THE DEBATE
IN THE UPPER CHAMBER ON THE REMISSION OF TAXES,
AND A “GRENZBOTEN” ARTICLE ON THAT SUBJECT BY THE
CHIEF--THE BERLINERS IN PARLIAMENT--THE CHANCELLOR UPON
THE JEWS ONCE MORE 444
BISMARCK
SOME SECRET PAGES OF HIS HISTORY
CHAPTER I
NO. 76 WILHELMSTRASSE--THE CHANCELLOR’S RESIDENCE AND THE FOREIGN
OFFICE--THE CHIEF’S OFFICIAL SURROUNDINGS AND HIS LIFE AT
HOME--BUCHER AND ABEKEN
Before resuming the extracts from my diary I beg to be allowed to
present the reader with a picture of the house in which the Chancellor
resided during his stay in Berlin at the time when I had the honour of
working under his instructions, and to add a few words upon the life of
which that house was the centre.
I purpose to do this in some detail, not omitting even matters of
secondary interest, and regardless of the question whether it may be to
the taste of certain critics, as I hope the public will come to a very
different conclusion, and will welcome my description.
In spite of the Radical newspapers of Berlin, and of the old women who
write in the _National Zeitung_, and of the parliamentarian spirit
which hovers over the turbid waters of the press, No. 76 Wilhelmstrasse
is, in the highest sense of the word, a house of historic interest.
Under its roof and in its rooms German history has been made, and--(as
the new-born Germany, now raised to the position which is her due,
may be regarded, without boastfulness, as one of the leading European
Powers)--also a great, and perhaps the best part of the political
history of the Continent. It has been the scene of great thoughts and
deeds; and to give as precise an account of such a place as discretion
will permit, enabling the reader to form a distinct picture of it
in his mind’s eye, appears to me to be a praiseworthy undertaking,
particularly when, as in the present instance, the house in question
has already undergone important changes, and will in time altogether
disappear.
What was the dwelling of the political regenerator of our people? how
did he live at the time when he began his work and carried the most
important part of it into execution? and what were the instruments
which he employed? Our great-grandchildren and their grandchildren will
ask these questions, and so will the following generations, as we now
do respecting the heroes of the two preceding periods of regeneration
in the life of the German people, respecting Luther, who liberated and
rejuvenated our spiritual life, and respecting Goethe and Schiller,
the two central suns of the days when, in the literary sphere, clear
morning rose upon a world of night and twilight. The cell in which
Brother Martin, the Augustinian monk of Wittenberg, in October, 1517,
drew up the ninety-five Propositions with which he delivered the first
powerful blow against the Papacy; the house and room where Faust and
Gretchen and Wilhelm Meister’s apprenticeship were completed, and
that in which the powerful tragedy of the “Friedlaender” sprang from
the poet’s imagination, have been maintained by pious hands in the
condition in which they were when occupied by those great spirits.
That is also the case with Sans Souci, the château of the Great
Frederick. No. 76 Wilhelmstrasse does not stand under such favourable
auspices. During the lifetime of the former occupant of this house,
and immediately after his removal into the neighbouring palace which
had been built for him, the inner apartments underwent considerable
alterations, as the upper floor was also to be used for offices. Later,
however, and perhaps at no very distant date, workmen will come with
pick and shovel to tear down and cart away these historic walls. The
stones and woodwork which, as a house, once sheltered the greatest
statesman of our time, the windows through which he saw the sun shine
upon his most important labours, will be applied to vulgar uses. The
wall papers which witnessed momentous councils and interviews will be
scattered to the winds, and after the rubbish heaps have been cleared
away, a pretentious palatial building of two or three stories will rise
on the site, and cause the old house to be forgotten.
Reason says it must be so. The little house in which he lived may
disappear, if only the great structure which he erected remains
filled with his spirit. But for those to whom the house has become as
closely identified with its occupants as the shell with its inlying
mother-of-pearl, sentiment also has its claims, and if those claims are
to be discharged, care must be taken that when destruction overtakes
it, our hero’s dwelling place shall at least continue to live in the
printed annals of our race.
No. 76 Wilhelmstrasse, which, during the decade and a half spent by
Bismarck under its roof has been the most distinguished and finally
the most influential Foreign Office in the world, was, both externally
and internally, one of the most insignificant looking and uncomfortable
of buildings. The Prefecture of a French provincial town, such, for
instance, as that of Versailles or Nancy, is, as a general rule, both
more roomy and imposing than the narrow and old-fashioned tenement in
which the Chancellor of the German Empire and the officials of the
Political Department of the Foreign Office were housed for almost
sixteen years. Chosen as the residence of the Minister at a time when
Prussia was only occasionally reckoned among the effectually great
Powers of Europe, it may not merely have sufficed for its purpose so
long as that period lasted, but have been, to some extent, an adequate
symbol of her slight importance in the eyes of the outer world. After
Prussia had taken a higher rank and compelled the world’s attention,
after her diplomacy had developed into fuller activity, it was, if
not materially indispensable, at least fitting and expedient, that
something better should be provided. The fact that this was only
done at a late period is due mainly to the simple tastes of Prince
Bismarck, who, as we have already seen, contented himself throughout
his campaigns with scanty shelter, quite incommensurate with his rank.
The former residence of the Imperial Chancellor was built in the first
half of the last century, and in 1819, when it was purchased by the
Treasury, was in the possession of Alopaeus, the Russian Minister of
that time. It is situated not far from the Wilhelmsplatz, and nearly
opposite to the palace of Prince Charles. It is flanked on the one side
by a palace which belonged to Prince Radziwill until about four years
ago, when, having passed into the possession of the German Empire, it
was transformed into a residence for Prince Bismarck, and the Imperial
Chancellerie, while on the other side is the building formerly occupied
by Decker’s printing establishment, which has also been for some time
the property of the State. Behind the house is a spacious garden,
which reaches as far as the Königgrätzer Strasse--the only beautiful
feature of the whole residence. Looked at from the front, No. 76
Wilhelmstrasse is a grey stucco house of moderate size. To the left on
the ground floor is a carriage entrance, while to the right extends a
row of eleven windows. On the first floor there are thirteen windows,
and above a small flat gable projects from the tiled roof, beneath
which are four pilasters in low relief, with Corinthian capitals
rising between the middle windows. There is no other ornamentation of
any kind. Whoever wishes may add to the picture, according to his own
fancy, a few Chancery messengers with leather portfolios; Leverstroem,
the “Black Horseman” (who acts as the bearer of hurried messages,
inquiries and invitations); or one or other of the Ministers or foreign
representatives stepping out of his carriage to pay the Chancellor a
visit.
If we pull the bell of the outer door it opens for us, only to close
immediately behind our backs. We find ourselves in a gateway which
opens on a small passage between two walls, behind which a portion
of the garden is visible. On the right there is a window, behind the
panes of which a watchful eye studies our appearance. Further on we
come to the steps of a stone staircase, and a landing with a chessboard
pattern in red and white; then a yellow folding screen before a glass
door between two grey Doric columns. On either side right and left of
the staircase crouches a sphinx--mute, deep-gazing, and doubtless
profoundly wise, which the stranger may regard as an intimation that he
stands on the threshold of a mysterious region, inaccessible to most
mortals. The watchful one awaits the visitor outside the small door,
which opens on to the landing behind one of the sphinxes, scrutinises
him closely, and inquires whom he wishes to see. This is Herr Linstedt,
the Porter of the Foreign Office.
Let us suppose that the stranger is in a position to satisfy this
strict, though polite, janitor as to his right to visit all the
mysterious chambers behind the screen (which, by the way, Prince
Napoleon on his visit to Bismarck is understood not to have been
able to do without some delay), and let us further suppose that our
stroll through the building takes place in one of the three years from
February, 1870, to March, 1873. These are among the most important
years of the last decades; and since then, as already indicated,
alterations have been made both in the arrangement of the rooms and
in the _personnel_ employed there. Finally, it may perhaps be well
to remember before entering, and to bear constantly in mind, that
this is not the office of the Imperial Chancellor--a misunderstanding
which to my knowledge was formerly very frequent, and which may occur
occasionally even now; but the Foreign Office, or, to be still more
precise, the first or political department of the Foreign Office,
which works immediately under the control of the Imperial Chancellor.
The Imperial Chancellerie, properly so called, is now located in
the palatial building, Nos. 1 and 2 Wilhelmsplatz; while during the
period here referred to it was also rather poorly housed. The Imperial
Chancellerie, which is to a certain extent the Ministry of the Interior
for Germany, at that time under the control of Herr Delbrück, was, and
is, both actually and for purposes of business, about as distinct from
the Foreign Office as is the Ministry of War and the Admiralty.
An ominous twilight prevails in the chambers behind the screens. A
door to the right leads into the room occupied by the deciphering
clerks. To the left a rather broad staircase, which receives its light
from a small cupola decorated with green and gold arabesques, leads
to the first floor, on which is situated the official residence of
the Imperial Chancellor. For the present we pass by these carpeted
stairs in order to continue our inspection of the lower regions. A
few paces further on, and we find ourselves in a small dark passage,
which is lighted with hanging lamps, even in the day time. It ends at
a folding door leading into a large chamber occupied by the Secretary
of State, which looks out on to the back-yard and the garden. On the
left-hand side of the passage a second door opens into the room of the
Chancery attendants. Passing through this to a third door we enter
a small dimly-lighted antechamber, which might--if it were possible
to compare the Foreign Office to the Temple at Jerusalem--correspond
to the Forecourt of the Gentiles, or be described as the space where
the Proselytes of the Gate collected together. In other words, here
the minor officials of the Ministry receive and despatch business
with outsiders, _i.e._, with persons who do not belong to the Foreign
Office. Behind the folding doors visible to the right and left of this
antechamber is holy ground, unapproachable for the profane world, and
only accessible to the Levites and priests. On the right Secretaries
cipher, decipher, and copy despatches. To the left those who are
initiated and have the right of entry find themselves first in the
Central Bureau, the headquarters of the Secretaries for confidential
correspondence, and then in a small labyrinth of rooms, cells, and
partitions, in which officials of various grades in the diplomatic
hierarchy are engaged with the secrets of the house, mostly seated a
few paces, and sometimes hardly three feet, from each other.
The impression left by this series of chambers is not at all a pleasant
one, especially if the visitor has been previously in the Ministry of
Commerce or the Imperial Chancellerie, and is able and disposed to make
comparisons. In such circumstances one may perhaps think of Faust’s
“drangvoll fuerchterliche Enge”:
“Beschraenkt von diesem Buecherhauf,
. . . . .
Mit Instrumenten voll gepfropft,
Urvaeter Hausrath drein gestopft.”
Such is the oppressive sultriness, particularly when the visit takes
place in the evening, and the steam of a dozen oil lamps is added to
the smell of documents, printer’s ink, and the close air, revolting the
nose and distressing the lungs, that one cannot help wondering how it
is that lamps can possibly burn in such an atmosphere, and that such an
accumulation of evil gases does not lead to explosions and accidents as
in ill-ventilated mines.
This is no exaggeration. Man becomes accustomed to everything upon this
earth, even to eating arsenic and to the poisonous air of overcrowded
rooms. Such rooms, however, do not on that account become any the
pleasanter to live in. Another and almost equally serious inconvenience
to which several of those engaged there have perforce to become
reconciled, is that of having to work so close together in small rooms,
sometimes only divided by a papered partition, through which every
conversation not conducted in a whisper interrupts the course of their
own thoughts, and (I refer of course to the period above specified,
though I quote from my diary in the present tense) the inconvenience is
not diminished by the circumstance that some of the gentlemen employed
there seem unable to speak in a low voice.
The furniture, which includes some fossils from the primeval Alopaeus
period, is made of every kind of wood grown in our forests and gardens,
and constructed in every fashion and style of cabinet-making, reaching
back to the last century. Yellow plum-tree, dark mahogany, common deal,
japanned, polished and merely planed wood, writing-tables, standing and
cylinder desks, document cupboards, open shelves for books, journals
and papers, and, in the furthest chambers of the labyrinth, a few
sofas, each of which almost invariably differs in shape and material
from its neighbour, are arranged along the walls in motley array.
Several of these have the dignity of age. Not the most ancient of these
grey and antique relics is a desk at which some official has, I believe
for thirty years, always sharpened his pencil on the same spot, until
at length his penknife has dug a hole right through the inch and a
half thickness of the wood. These venerable survivals are calculated
to provoke many thoughts both serious and humorous; but there is one
in particular which they all suggested, at any rate to me. How it must
have worried these ancient pieces of furniture, after so many years
and decades of fruitless but comfortable routine, to find themselves
suddenly roused in 1862 by the new spirit that had entered and filled
the house! Can they ever have grown reconciled to that swift, exacting,
imperious and not very considerate genius, even when they saw the
fruits, the immense success, of the organisation which he introduced?
One must assume that furniture has no interest in or understanding of
such matters.
It would be a pleasant addition if I were at liberty to complete
my description of these rooms with characteristic portraits of
their occupants. They would be as statues and pictures in the house
which I have built with words, and it is possible that a couple of
original figures would be found among the number. There are, however,
certain grounds for hesitation, of which I will only mention the
following--that as a rule dignity will not suffer a jest; furthermore,
that a member of the non-official world runs some risk of forming an
incorrect or unfair opinion of an official; and that the latter--if
he is of the right sort--wishes neither to be praised nor blamed by
persons outside his own circle, nor indeed even mentioned oftener than
is necessary. Such an one desires simply to do his duty, and contents
himself with his own legitimate sense of personal worth, which in this
instance is all the more praiseworthy, as those whose portraits I
should here have to attempt are officials of rank and title.
These considerations made me hesitate. Finally, however, others forced
themselves upon me. The picture of the Chancellor’s life must be made
as complete as possible; and the truth, which through machinations in
the press has been in many instances seriously obscured and disfigured,
must no longer suffer violence. I therefore adopt a middle course, and
take from my diary, where they have been preserved till now for the
purpose of private reference, certain of the above-mentioned statues
and pictures, the originals of which have in the meantime either died
or been placed in an entirely false light in the public mind. These
I exhibit partly here and partly in the later chapters. History, to
which these fellow-workers of the Chancellor now belong, must know
how they appear to an impartial observer. To this necessity all other
considerations must give way. Of the other gentlemen I only give the
names, recall their titles, mention in general that they are more or
less richly provided with the usual decorations, and indicate in a few
words some of their principal features.
We had remained in the first room to the left of the dusky antechamber
already described, which I took the liberty of comparing to the
Forecourt of the Gentiles. Under the windows are the writing-tables
and desks of the Secretaries of the Central Bureau, who, if I am
rightly informed, occupy the first rank among the minor officials of
the Empire. _Geheimer Hofrath_ Roland, the Chief of the Bureau, has
his place under the furthest window, in the region of the Councillors
of Embassy. He is an elderly gentleman, who entered at a time when
these positions were mainly or exclusively occupied by members of the
French colony, and when the principal business of the Central Bureau,
namely, the registration of all documents despatched and received,
was conducted in the French language. He is a paragon of registrars,
although just a little brusque, and he might perhaps also be described
as a good calculator, in a certain sense. Nine orders and medals
decorate his meritorious breast, when on festive occasions he dons
his uniform of a lieutenant of the Reserve. Thoroughly well versed in
the etiquette of official intercourse, he would, in writing to the
Minister, never subscribe himself other than “most obedient humble
servant”; to the Secretary of State, “obedient”; to an Ambassador,
“most dutiful”; or to an Envoy, “most respectful.” In writing to Bülow
and Keudell, he signs himself “your most obedient,” possibly because
they are Kassenraethe, or perhaps because of their titles of nobility.
To Bucher and the other Privy Councillors he is only “your obedient,”
to officials of equal rank “most humble,” and to inferiors “humble.”
The next in place and rank is “Hofrath” Hesse, formerly a theologian,
and also advanced in years. Then come Herr Boelsing, also for some time
past a “_Hofrath_,” and the “_Geheim Sekretär_,” Wollmann, who has not
yet been awarded the higher predicate.
I wish again to call attention to the fact that these descriptions and
names refer to the period of 1873.
As already cursorily noted, the Central Bureau is the despatching and
registering department of the Foreign Office. It is the centre from
which all the ideas and orders of the Chancellor, as worked up by the
Councillors in the form of notes, despatches, telegrams, instructions,
&c., radiate out into the world, and it is the point at which all
those coming in from outside, such as documents, reports, and letters
addressed to the Minister personally, or to the Ministry, are opened,
registered according to their contents, communicated to the Chief,
and, after use--so far as it is desirable to retain them--arranged in
bundles and pigeon-holed in the presses which line the walls, until
they ultimately find their way into the State archives.
Adjoining the room occupied by the _Geheim Sekretäre_, is a narrow,
one-windowed cell, with book shelves, newspaper cupboards, and other
furniture, including the patient writing desk above mentioned, with
its counterpart to the proverb that “Constant dropping wears the
stone,” which has made the clearest and most lasting impression upon
my memory, as it was assigned to me as my place of work. Next to this
little chamber, which at the same time served as a thoroughfare to the
larger room of the Secretaries, was a still smaller one, not more than
two good paces in breadth, which was divided from the former by a thin
wooden partition papered over. Within these narrow confines two _Räthe_
(Councillors), the antipodes of each other, Lothar Bucher and Aegidi,
were from the summer of 1871 driven to seek elbow-room and a few feet
of space to move about in, and, what is still stranger, they managed to
find it. A full account must be given of the first mentioned of these.
One day, when the secret history of the Bismarckian era can be written,
the name of this little, unpretentious man in the modest cell will have
to occupy a prominent, and perhaps, indeed, the first place among the
Chancellor’s fellow-labourers. And with justice! I do not exaggerate
when I assert that of the assistants who co-operated in the work of
our political regenerator, Bucher was in every respect the most gifted
and the best informed, while at the same time he was unquestionably
the man of strongest character, conscientiousness, unselfishness and
loyalty among them. He was a man of genuine distinction, and with his
clear and fine understanding, his wealth of knowledge, his skill in
political affairs, and his great power of work, he was, in short--to
borrow the words in which our master once spoke of him to me--“a real
pearl.” Space fails me to show this at due length, and indications and
outlines, with a few illustrations of his worth, must suffice in some
degree to give an idea of this rare character. His name will recur
repeatedly in the diary, which will, as far as possible, make up for
what may be lacking here.
Adolph Lothar Bucher was born at Neustettin, on the 25th of October,
1817. When he was two years of age his family moved to Koeslin in
Further Pomerania, where his father, a Saxon of the Electorate, and
much respected as a philologist and geographer, was Professor and
Pro-Rector of the Gymnasium or High School. Here the boy received his
earliest instruction and his first conscious impressions of the world
and life. The fact that his father was a friend of Ludwig Jahn’s must
have had some influence on his riper youth. The subjects for which he
showed the greatest aptitude at school were mathematics and natural
philosophy; and as the time for choosing a profession drew near he
first wished to become a sailor and afterwards an architect. His
parents on the other hand preferred one of the learned professions; and
he decided to adopt the study of the law, for which purpose he went to
Berlin University. Here he found in progress the well known conflict
between the historical and philosophical schools, between Savigny
and Gans. He threw in his lot with the latter, and occupied himself
diligently with the study of Hegel, their chief master. Subsequently,
however, his inclination for philosophy cooled down, and he devoted
himself exclusively to jurisprudence. From 1838 to 1843 he was engaged
in the chief Provincial Court at Koeslin, and in the latter year was
appointed Assessor in the Court at Stolp, which town returned him
as its representative to the Prussian National Assembly in March,
1848, and a year later to the Parliament which had in the meantime
been created. Up to 1840 there had practically been no public life
in Prussia in the present sense of the words. The new representative
from Further Pomerania was a jurist, whose education had been in the
main confined to civil law, and who had had no experience whatever
of affairs of State. Moreover he had read Rotteck and Welcker in his
leisure hours, and had with his inborn thoroughness assimilated their
views on history and politics. It was therefore almost a matter of
course, particularly when the revolutionary spirit is taken into
account, which at that time swept like a stormy west wind through the
German States, shaking all the trees and loosening every joint, that
Bucher should have taken his seat upon the Left benches and devoted
his gifts as a jurist and as a speaker to the service of Radicalism.
It should be observed however that he did not belong to the Waldeck
party, which despised the rules of polite conduct, and just as little
to those who delighted in the art of pathetic oratory. Speaking of
him in his “_Denkwuerdigkeiten_” General von Brandt says: “I have
never heard any one speak with more talent and moderation than Bucher
on this occasion (the debate in Committee on the so-called _Habeas
Corpus_ Act). His blond hair and dispassionate attitude reminded me
strongly of pictures of St. Just. Bucher was a ruthless leveller of
all existing institutions, rank and property. He was one of the most
consistent members of the National Assembly, and was determined to
take every step which seemed to lead towards the attainment of his
object, namely virtue as the principle, and fraternal affection in the
conduct of affairs. With no knowledge of society and devoted to sterile
legal abstractions, he was fully convinced that the salvation of the
world could only be secured by the sudden and violent destruction of
the existing State and social arrangements. He helped to organise the
public opposition, and in particular to spur on the ambitious and
turbulent fraction of the National Assembly to seize a Dictature. The
ironical contempt with which he treated the existing authorities and
evinced his hatred of the old constitution of the State, his dogma
of the sovereignty of the people, whom he intoxicated with their own
Radical chimeras, together with the ability which he displayed for the
rôle of a demagogue would have enabled him in time to surpass all the
members of his party in his strictly logical endeavours.”
In Parliament Bucher was particularly active in promoting the various
measures of reorganisation. He played an especially important part as
the reporter on the motion by Waldeck, calling upon the Ministry to
raise the state of minor siege which had been declared against Berlin
on the 12th of November, 1848. He found no difficulty on this occasion,
when he again spoke mainly as a jurist, in proving the illegality of
the measure, as there could be no doubt that it was impossible to
justify it by Article 110 of the Constitution, which only came into
force three weeks later, and the more so as this article only dealt
with the suspension of certain fundamental rights in case of war or
revolution. Neither the one nor the other existed in Berlin on the 12th
of November, and the Minister had not only suspended the fundamental
rights, but had subjected citizens to the jurisdiction of courts
martial, of which there was no mention in Article 110, and for which
older laws also contained no provision. The resolution passed by the
House on that occasion led to its dissolution, followed on the 4th
of February by the so-called Refusal of Taxes Trial.... The special
hatred of Bucher in the higher circles, as evinced in the course of
this trial, was due to his above-mentioned report on the illegality of
the state of siege. The proceedings ended in the acquittal of most of
the accused. Bucher and three others were, however, found guilty and
sentenced to three months’ confinement in a fortress, with the usual
additions, namely loss of civic rights, and, for officials, dismissal
from the service of the State.
This turn of affairs, and still more the vexations with which he was
threatened by the police after the termination of his imprisonment,
decided Bucher to go abroad. He settled permanently in London. Here
began for him a period of enlightenment, which resulted in the gradual
transformation of the juridical theorist and idealist into a practical
politician. He occupied himself at first with the study of politics
and political economy, and with the observation of English methods
and customs, whereby he found himself in many respects disappointed
with his former ideals, and filled with repugnance and contempt of
things and persons which he, like other Liberals, had previously
admired. Among the acquaintances which he made here were Urquhart,
and afterwards Mazzini, Ledru Rollin and Herzen. The last three
in particular contributed to his further transformation by openly
speculating in his presence on sundry strips of German territory in
the South, West and East, which were required in satisfaction of
the doctrine of nationalities. This aroused a certain distrust in
Bucher’s mind, which in this respect did not suffer from the disease of
“principle.” His untainted patriotism warned him of the desirability
of prudence. The experience and the convictions which he obtained in
this way were, together with other material, utilised by him in the
German press, and particularly in the _National Zeitung_, to which
he for several years contributed political articles, which attracted
widespread attention by the thorough knowledge of the subjects dealt
with, their wealth and depth of thought, and the highly original views
of which they gave evidence. He also wrote for the same paper some
excellent reports of the London Industrial Exhibition, on English
household arrangements worthy of imitation, and on other practical
matters. He did eminent service in the enlightenment of such Liberal
minds as were not closed to argument by his letters on English
Parliamentarism, a brilliant criticism, which indirectly hit upon the
weak points of Parliamentarism in general, and confuted the current
heresy that the German popular representation should be modelled
in every particular on the British system. He produced convincing
arguments that the English Constitution was not a manufactured article
but a growth, the product of the English State and social life and
character, and further that Constitutional arrangements cannot
be everywhere the same, but must correspond with the fundamental
character, history and prevailing conditions of each separate country.
To this was added evidence, which was then necessary, but is now no
longer required by any sensible man, showing that the English art
of government, so far as foreign affairs are concerned--when the
ornamental veil of fine phrases is torn off--is nothing more than a
commercial policy of the most self-seeking kind, devoid of all ideal
motives and historical breadth. In these letters the difficulties
and the seamy side of English Parliamentary life and the weaknesses
of their leaders, Palmerston, Gladstone, the “Doctor supernaturalis”
Cobden, and the whole gang of hypocritical and egotistic apostles
of English Free Trade were illuminated by a light of truly electric
brilliancy and clearness. It was a ruthless exposure of a kind that has
rarely been witnessed.[1]
In 1860 Bucher, probably tired of working for the press, thought of
emigrating to Central America, where he had acquired a piece of land
(which was still in his possession twenty years later), in order to
become a coffee planter under his own palms and mangrove bushes. Fate
decided, however, that he belonged to growing Germany, and the amnesty
of that year permitted his return to Berlin. Here he renewed his former
friendship with Rodbertus, and made the acquaintance of Lassalle,
to whom his intercourse soon became indispensable, while Bucher on
his side felt attracted in many ways towards Lassalle. The Socialist
agitator was a very different character to his heirs of to-day, a man
of the highest ability, with whom Bismarck himself did not disdain to
correspond, a respected _savant_ who was highly esteemed by Bockh,
and a resolute patriot who was only led into folly by his boundless
ambition. As a follower of Hegel, he belonged to a different school
of thought to Bucher, but was yet in agreement with the latter in his
belief in the “iron law of wages,” and like him convinced that the
State alone could reform the evils from which the labouring classes
suffered. Bucher’s former political associates on the other hand
belonged to the Manchester school, considering that the true way of
salvation lay in “laisser-faire” and free competition, that is to say,
in the destruction of the weak by the strong. They further swore by the
principle of the _Nationalverein_, and detesting the idea of war for
this purpose, they wished to unite Germany under Prussia by “moral”
means, by a “popular policy,” speeches, and leading articles, and by
athletic, singing and prize-shooting festivals. In this respect also
Bucher, as a practical politician and contemner of phrases, was of a
decidedly different opinion to his friends of the _National Zeitung_,
and the difference in their views led gradually to an estrangement
which was accompanied by an inward approach to Bismarck’s standpoint in
the German question, resulting ultimately in the co-operation of the
two. Bucher had severed his connection with the _National Zeitung_, and
was by no means satisfied with the position which he afterwards took
in Wolf’s Telegraph Agency. He therefore thought of seeking work as a
lawyer, and wrote to the Minister of Justice on the subject. Bismarck
heard of his plans through the latter. He asked Bucher to see him,
and offered him occupation at the Foreign Office, which was accepted
after some little hesitation. Bucher, the whilom Democrat, the former
member of the Prussian party of the Mountain, who had hurled oratorical
bombshells at the Minister, had been cured by a sound understanding,
experience and change of air; and, in 1864, he was already in full and
fruitful activity at No. 76 Wilhelmstrasse, where he continued for two
decades. He did excellent service to the new German world in the most
various ways, as lawyer, diplomatist and publicist, and fully justified
the confidence of him who had chosen him as a fellow worker. In the
years 1865 to 1867 he was chiefly entrusted with the administration
of Lauenburg, a difficult task, as this Duchy when it came into the
possession of Prussia was two centuries behind the times, both in
its legal institutions and in its methods of administration. During
the same period, in 1866, he drew up for his Chief the Constitution
of the North German Confederation (the principal articles of which
agree in the main with that of the German Empire). Bismarck of course
had given him the main lines for his task, which Bucher, by the way,
completed within twenty hours. He was afterwards repeatedly engaged
in the preparation and execution of important political work and
regulations, and discharged with skill and success several diplomatic
missions, including two of universal historical importance. He became
so indispensable to the Minister that the latter took him to Varzin for
several summers while on holiday. During the war with France Bucher was
working with the Chancellor at headquarters from the end of September
up to the preliminaries of peace, and also in 1871 on the conclusion
of the definitive treaty at Frankfurt. He kept the minutes of the
Berlin Congress in 1878. He wrote a great number of the most important
despatches and memorials, as well as a pamphlet on the Cobden Club,
for which he had collected material in England. The Chancellor very
seldom made any alterations in his work. As a matter of fact Bucher had
from the beginning understood him, and easily assimilated his views of
things in individual cases, while he had the further advantage of being
able to take down verbal communications in shorthand.
While in his official life Bucher enjoyed the high esteem and full
confidence of the Chief, whose example was followed more or less
willingly by others, he experienced in later years considerable
bitterness and neglect, principally, but not exclusively, under the
Secretaries of State, von Bülow and Hatzfeldt. He finally asked for
his discharge, not merely on account of age and illness, which were
the ostensible motives. His request was acceded to. He declined the
proposal of the Prince that he should retire into private life with
the title of Excellency, because “he could not then have continued to
stitch on his own buttons, or to stroll about the Jungfernhaide with a
botanist’s impedimenta on his back.” Bucher, who was one of the truest
of the true, paid several long visits to the Prince after the fatal
18th of March, 1890, and helped him to prepare his “Memoirs,” of which,
so long as he was engaged upon them, his valuable assistance materially
enhanced the trustworthiness.
It may be added that Bucher remained unmarried, and that, considering
his position, he had little intercourse during recent years with
his fellows. His friends in diplomatic circles included Schloetzer,
Limburg-Stirum, and Kusserow; and in the financial and industrial
world, Hansemann and Werner Siemens. The bond between him, Victor Hehn,
and myself was our common veneration for the Chancellor and our equally
deep contempt for hypocrisy and place hunting. His character in company
was that of a sober, taciturn man, who was, nevertheless, by no means
devoid of poetic feeling and humour, who could tell many a good story
in an effective manner, and who sometimes talked also in very pleasant
fashion of his canaries and the Alpine flowers in his herbarium. His
ideas and feelings were expressed in a low tone, without being wanting
in energy. A cool head, but a warm heart; still water, but clear and
deep. I have given more time and space to his picture than I had
intended at first, but I believe I shall have thereby compensated for
the mischief done by others to his memory; for I remember that Count
Caprivi’s menials, who had the preparation of the _Reichsanzeiger_,
thought it sufficient to devote three dry lines to his departure when
he passed into eternity at Glion, on the Lake of Geneva, on the 12th of
October, 1892.
I propose to deal with Keudell later. Of Bülow I will only remark that
he is a man of routine, of moderate ability, and is understood to be
not altogether free from an inclination to intrigue. Geheimrath Hepke,
a lean, wizened man in the fifties, is not a very pleasant personage.
He has something in him of the Privy Councillor as he exists in the
popular imagination--great self-conceit, a consciousness that he knows
practically everything considerably better than the rest of the world,
and doubtless also a high opinion of his own rank and title.
Leaving the room where Geheimrath Hepke works, and proceeding to the
right along the adjoining narrow passage, we reach the small room
containing the reference library of the Ministry. Here at a window
which opens on the court another Privy Councillor of Embassy, Count
Hatzfeldt, (afterwards promoted to the position of Minister in Madrid,
then representative of the Empire at the Porte, and in 1880 appointed
Secretary of State under the Imperial Chancellor,) spends a few hours
daily. In the next room we hear the scratching of the ever ready pen
of his older colleague, Abeken, whose gifts and character must now be
dealt with. While the Chancellor himself selected Lothar Bucher as his
fellow worker, Abeken came to him by inheritance. Heinrich Abeken may
be regarded in almost every respect as the type of the official of
the old school. His whole being and inclinations belong to that epoch
in our history which may be described as the literary-æsthetic era,
a time when political affairs were of secondary interest to poetry,
philosophy, philology treated from an artistic standpoint, and other
scientific questions. He enjoyed himself most, and felt himself most
at home, in a circle of ideas which, previous to the appearance of
Bismarck, chiefly attracted the attention of the Court, the upper
classes, the higher bourgeoisie and persons of education. Indeed, he
has hardly ever for a single moment thoroughly thrown himself into
politics. Even at times when the welfare of his country appeared to be
at stake he seemed to be more interested in some æsthetic question than
in measures more closely connected with the sphere to which his office
assigned him. It happened not infrequently that while others were
anxiously awaiting the outcome of a political crisis his thoughts were
occupied by an entirely different subject, so that for instance the
verses of some old or new poet kept running through his head, and were
usually recited by him with much pathos, although they had no visible
connection with the situation of the moment. Abeken, who hailed from
Osnabrück, was born in 1809. His education was conducted by his uncle
Bernhard Rudolf Abeken, the philologist and writer on æsthetics, who
lived at Weimar in Schiller’s time, and who had assimilated the style
of sentiment which then prevailed there. The nephew afterwards studied
theology, and in 1834 held the position of Chaplain to the Prussian
Embassy in Rome under Josias Bunsen. He there married an Englishwoman,
who was taken from him by death a few months later. A friend of Bunsen,
whom he followed to London on his transfer to that post in 1841, and
whose views and aspirations in ecclesiastical matters he shared, Abeken
even at that time devoted himself so far to diplomacy that he drew up
a memorandum on the creation of an evangelical bishopric in Jerusalem.
This idea was regarded with lively sympathy in the most exalted
quarters in Berlin, although, later on, under William I., it would
scarcely have occurred to any one, or have served as a recommendation
for its originator. In this connection we meet Abeken again among those
who accompanied Professor Lepsius on his exploring tour through Upper
Egypt in 1842, when he also visited the Holy Land. He entered the
Foreign Office under Heinrich von Arnim, and there he remained until
his death in August, 1872, notwithstanding the important changes that
had occurred in the meantime, a model of loyalty and attachment, even
though his virtues recalled in many ways those of the venerable old
furniture to which I alluded just now.
The extracts from the diary during the war have already given some
instances of the exceptional and occasionally comic attraction which
everything connected with the Court and other princely circles seemed
to exercise upon Abeken, and the subsequent chapters will contain a few
more. In this respect he was the very antitype of his colleague Bucher,
as also in the fact that he was particularly sociable and talkative. It
was to satisfy the longing which he felt for intercourse with persons
of rank that he used to frequent the circles which made the Radziwill
Palace their headquarters. He was unable to forego these visits
even when the society that collected there formed the centre of the
ultramontane opposition to the ecclesiastical policy of the Chancellor.
Apart from such social gatherings as the above, the old gentleman must
have felt himself most at home at the weekly meetings of the _Graeca_,
a society “consisting chiefly of former _Romans_,” the rules of which
excluded all political discussions, its sole object in addition to its
social aims being of a philological and æsthetic character.
With regard to Abeken’s business capacity and the limitations of his
usefulness I would first recall the circumstance that our Chief,
at the time when he described Bucher to me as a “real pearl,” is
understood to have spoken of Abeken as a “true strawchopper”--a
comparison which is less flattering than appropriate. Unquestionably
Abeken was a very meritorious worker in the routine of the Foreign
Office, but he was by no means such a prominent one as many outsiders
thought. Owing to his long service thoroughly acquainted with all
the ins and outs of official business, he had become a _virtuoso_
in red tape. Provided with an ample store of phrases which, when
he received his instructions, ran from his fingers’ ends without
much thinking, and with a knowledge of several languages just about
sufficient for his task, it was as if he had been specially created
for the purpose of putting into shape the ideas given to him by the
Chief with the readiness of a sewing machine. In addition to this
he was an indefatigable worker, and would deliver in the course of
the day astonishing quantities of well-written documents for the
messengers and despatch bags. But when he had to deal with questions
of importance, he was scarcely in a position to draw for the material
upon his own resources. It was not, however, at all necessary that he
should do so. The ready writer with a good knowledge of traditional
forms was sufficient. It was the Minister’s genius and knowledge of
men and things that provided the substance for his work, and sometimes
also improved the form. He is understood to have worked with more
independence under Bismarck’s predecessor, and among other things to
have drafted the treaty of Olmütz. I have heard it asserted that he
drew up on his own initiative documents of great political importance
under the First Imperial Chancellor, and prepared speeches from the
throne--but this is a baseless legend. On many occasions, however,
when the Minister was out of temper with the King, Abeken acted for
weeks at a time, entrusted as the mouthpiece of his Chief, and, of
course, under instructions from the latter, reported to his Majesty
on current affairs. He also on various occasions accompanied the
monarch, in an official capacity, to bathing resorts, as for instance
to Ems in the early summer of 1870, where he made himself useful during
the last days of his stay and earned the thanks of the Chancellor.
In the adjoining salon his Excellency the Secretary of State, von
Thile, receives the diplomatists whom the Chancellor himself is unable
to see. He suddenly resigned, if I remember rightly, on the 2nd of
October, 1872, and retired into private life. I will, later on, give
some particulars of the motives for this step. He was opposed to the
_Kulturkampf_, and longed for the return of the peace of former times.
He was exceptionally amiable as a superior. For a short time after his
retirement his position was filled by von Balan, the German Minister
at the Belgian Court. A definitive successor was then appointed in
the person of von Bülow of Mecklenburg, who (I am also writing for
the lay public), as Minister of State and Excellency, must not be
confounded with his namesake mentioned above. Count Bismarck-Bohlen
and Baron von Gundlach only put in an appearance here occasionally.
The former, a cousin of the Chancellor’s, was a lieutenant in the
Dragoon Guards and a Councillor of Embassy, and had charge of all sorts
of personal affairs of the Chief, principally such as were of little
importance. He was also the medium for the Minister’s communications
with the Literary Bureau in the Ministry of State, and with Stieber,
the chief of the Berlin detective force. Naturally good-natured he
was addicted to bragging, played the heathen and the _roué_ on a
small scale, and indulged in jokes and puns which were not always
bad; but he never carried weight with any one, even the Secretaries
upon whom he occasionally tried to shift some of his work shrugging
their shoulders at him. All that is to be said of Gundlach, a lean and
sickly gentleman, who afterwards died at Lisbon as Chargé d’Affaires,
is that he put in an appearance daily for half, or sometimes a whole,
hour, glanced at the _Journal des Debats_, _The Times_, &c., chatted
for a while, coughed a little, chatted again, and for these labours
drew an allowance of six thalers a day. For some time after the war
Count Wartensleben, a young and amiable nobleman, who was preparing
himself for the diplomatic service, in which he died of cancer in 1880,
and Count Solms-Sonnenwalde, who had previously been attached to the
Embassy in Paris, and who afterwards acted as Minister first in Brazil,
then in Dresden, and finally in Madrid,[2] passed in and out amongst us
for a time.
It is hardly necessary to point out that notwithstanding the narrowness
and discomfort of the Foreign Office there is plenty of hard and good
work done there, particularly by Bucher and Abeken. The Chancellor
demands it, and gives a good example of it in his own person. The
strictest order prevails from top to bottom, unconditional obedience is
the rule, and, as is right and proper, every one obeys without protest
or contradiction, whatever his own opinion may be. At times one or
other of the distinguished gentlemen who sit here kicks against the
pricks, fancies he should do a little more or a little less, argues
about some special instruction given to him, gnashing his teeth and
clenching his fist--in his pocket. He prudently abstains, however, from
giving expression to his dissatisfaction otherwise than in soliloquies
within the walls of his own room. Everything downstairs moves at the
bidding of _one_ will, that which comes from upstairs, and every one
works to the best of his ability. Whoever does not care to work within
the broader or narrower sphere prescribed for him by the genius who
rules here may take himself off. Discipline must be maintained, and
absolute subordination, so that every wheel of the machine shall work
readily and promptly and in its proper time and place. There must be
no stoppage caused by this or that individuality. Acquiescence is the
first and highest law.
Formerly things were different, but no great harm was done. Those who
are acquainted with the history of Prussia prior to Bismarck’s entry
into office know why. To-day when a fertile mind and an energetic will
preside here, and matters of the greatest moment are at stake, there
is nothing for it but to obey orders. The Councillors have no longer
to offer counsel, but simply to regard themselves as instruments
of the Chancellor’s will, who, like other instruments, Chargés
d’Affaires, Ministers, and Ambassadors, have to use their knowledge and
ability in carrying his ideas and intentions into execution. Strong
self-consciousness is not compatible with the necessity of maintaining
a continuous and homogeneous policy.
This was called “Ministerial despotism” by Count Harry Arnim. I call
it the maintenance of an absolutely essential devotion to duty under
a great leader. Arnim was offended at the expression made use of on
one occasion by the Chancellor: “My Ambassadors must wheel round like
non-commissioned officers at the word of command without knowing why.”
I, on the contrary, consider it quite an excellent description of the
relations which should always exist between the leading spirit of the
Foreign Office and its branches at foreign Courts, especially when
a man of highly original character and quite exceptional ideas and
principles is in charge of the administration. With the kind permission
of the Excellencies and Grand Crosses in question I should not have
objected even if in that expression of the Chancellor’s they had been
described as his senior clerks. The more they subordinate to him
their own views, tastes and wills, regarding themselves as his staff
sergeants, or clerks, and acting accordingly, the better services
will they render, and the better will be their work. If, in addition
thereto, they should prove to be impartial, clear-sighted observers
and diligent reporters, with a sense of what is of importance, and a
distaste for phrasemongering and smart writing (of these attributes,
by the way, the only one with which Count Arnim could be credited was
a desultory industry), they will have done pretty well everything that
can be fairly expected of them.
I ought now to conduct the reader upstairs under the green and gold
cupola to the first floor and there show him the rooms occupied
by the Imperial Chancellor and his family. I prefer, however,
first to pay a visit to the park behind the courtyards and the
smaller outbuildings. It is a stately and pleasant fragment of the
Thiergarten, which formerly extended to this spot, and of which many
fine groups of beautiful old shady trees are still preserved behind
the Wilhelmstrasse, where the nightingales beneath their spreading
branches celebrate the budding springtime and the sunrise. The long
avenue which runs in a straight line to the left, shaded by elm trees
or white beech, and which finishes not far from the further end of the
garden, narrowing more and more in perspective, I always thought to
be specially charming and indeed fairy like. Exceptionally beautiful
in the first days of summer with the green shadows falling athwart
the branches in the foreground while the far end is bathed in a soft
green light, it remains beautiful even in winter, when the fine lichens
and mosses lend a greenish sheen to the stems of the trees. I believe
the garden is one of the Chancellor’s favourite walks, and I hope
that this, at least, will be preserved when the house is pulled down.
A further reason for hoping so is that many a deep plan was thought
out, and many a decision of great moment taken here. The Minister
had often strolled up and down here at a late hour of the evening
awaiting news from the King at times when important measures were under
consideration. Here on the night of the 14th and 15th of June, in the
Year of Victory, 1866, the idea occurred to him of inducing Moltke
to order the Prussian forces to cross the frontier, and thereby the
Rubicon, twenty-four hours earlier than had been originally intended;
and here, in 1870, about the time of the declaration of war, he was
to be seen repeatedly pacing up and down that evergreen avenue in a
meditative mood, swinging a big stick, and from time to time sending
the messenger in waiting to summon one of his assistants in order to
give instructions for despatches, telegrams, or newspaper articles.
Returning from the garden behind No. 76 Wilhelmstrasse, we observe
that the two wings in which the house ends at this side contain only
work rooms, servants’ apartments, stables, &c., and that the courtyard
between them is shaded by a broad branched nut-tree.
Proceeding up the stairs behind the screen in the main building,
and passing through the glass door at the top, we enter a small
antechamber. When the Chancellor is in Berlin, servants in livery and
Chancery attendants in black swallow-tail coats await here the arrival
of visitors and of those who are to be received in audience, or have to
make verbal reports to the Chancellor. A door to the left leads into
a second small antechamber, while another to the right brings us into
a large oval drawing-room, which extends almost throughout the entire
depth of the building. We are told that this was once the ball-room of
the Minister Alopaeus, while it now serves as a dining-room when big
dinners are given, and for the buffets at the well-known Parliamentary
evenings.[3]
From this room we pass into a somewhat smaller one, the four windows of
which open on to the Wilhelmstrasse.... The whole room leaves a bright
and pleasant impression. It is elegant, but by no means sumptuous,
and indeed might be described as comparatively simple. The lack of
pictures, and the entirely white ceiling, gives it a certain emptiness
and loneliness, while the old-fashioned arrangements for lighting it
are not quite in harmony with the remainder of the apartment. In this
respect, also, the Chancellor is more unassuming and indifferent to
luxury and elegance than his colleagues of the diplomatic world. Not
to speak of those who live nearer home, let us imagine how the French
Minister for Foreign Affairs would have his residence furnished by the
State!
This drawing-room is used for receptions, but sometimes the Chancellor
also dines here with his family. This reminds me of a characteristic
remark of his. On the 6th of April, 1878, I had the honour to be
invited to dine with him. Having in the course of the conversation
referred to himself as an “old man,” the Princess remonstrated: “Why,
you are only sixty-three!” He replied: “Yes, but I have always lived
at high pressure, and paid hard cash for everything.” (_Ja, aber ich
habe immer schnell und baar gelebt._) Then, turning to me, he added:
“Hard cash--that means that I have always put my whole heart into my
work: I have paid with my strength and my health for whatever has
been achieved.” The German people should be grateful to him for this,
instead of allowing themselves to be represented in the Reichstag
by men who in their vanity and self-will vie with each other in
ingratitude.
The Chinese Salon is about twenty-two paces in length by twelve in
breadth, and has three folding doors. One of these opens into the
dining-room, another into the second antechamber mentioned above,
and the third into the billiard-room, which also looks out on the
Wilhelmstrasse. The latter is of the same depth as the room just
described, and is about three paces less in length. This room is
full of historic memories, the spirit of decisive conferences. The
decisive interview with the “Duke of Schleswig-Holstein” took place
here in 1864, at which he, with his tenacious self-seeking and
narrow-mindedness, suddenly found himself transformed into a modest
“Hereditary Prince of Augustenburg.” In the last month preceding the
war of 1866 the walls of this chamber listened to a fateful exchange of
views between Herr von Bismarck and the Austrian Minister. Some time
afterwards Prince Napoleon was received here; and in the spring of 1870
the slight figure of Benedetti might be observed waiting in this room
for the Minister with whom he was to enter into negotiations.
If we now pass through the folding doors which open opposite those
leading into the Chinese Salon, we find ourselves in the Chancellor’s
study, a room about eleven paces long by ten broad.
There is no lack of pictures in this room. If we turn to the wall on
the right of the door through which we have entered we observe over a
sofa covered in dark red woollen stuff, a number of portraits in gilt
frames. The uppermost of these is a portrait, either lithographed or
in crayon, of the Emperor in plain clothes, then that of his sister,
the Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and two small photographs
of the Emperor in the uniform of a general. In front of this sofa
there lay in 1870 the skin of a white lioness, in whose head gleamed
two bright glass eyes. On the next wall, not far from the sofa, we
find, again in a gilt frame, the portrait of the King of Bavaria in
the dress of a civilian; and under this, framed in black, is a small
water-colour portrait of the King of Italy, as a permanent guest in the
Chancellor’s room. This picture has an interesting history, which will
be given in a subsequent chapter on the Prince’s own authority. Victor
Emmanuel, who is represented in uniform, has written a dedication under
it. Then follows a small mahogany table with books, a carved tobacco
chest, a white earthenware stove and a fireplace, together with a
narrow door, papered over. Turning towards the third door we observe
in a corner a carved pipe-rack, in which are a number of cherry-stick
and jasmin stems and thick unmounted meerschaum heads, without mounts.
Next to these is a cupboard with a mirror, and resting against it the
full-length portrait of a lady, in a carved oak frame. This is the
consort of Prince Charles, who died a few years ago. Behind this hang
a plaster medallion, in a black frame, giving the bust of Moltke in
profile, and above it the Great Elector and the Only Frederick look
down upon us in life-size lithograph half-length portraits framed in
gold. Further on we find a standing desk with maps, which, like all
the furniture in this room, is made of mahogany, and a photograph of
Princess Bismarck, also in a gilt frame. Near this a second papered
door leads into the Chancellor’s bedroom. On the wall to the left of
the door through which we entered is the only oil painting in the room,
a life-size portrait, in an oval gilt frame, of the Prince’s daughter,
in a ball dress. Beneath it on a cylinder desk stands a deer and a wild
boar in cast iron, and a thermometer in the form of an advertisement
pillar, and on a smaller adjoining table lies a collection of gloves
and white and red military caps.
The Minister’s writing-table, which our descendants will doubtless
find in some historical museum, occupies nearly the middle of the
room. It is about two and a half metres long by two in width, and is
so placed that the person sitting at it has his face turned towards
the wall with the oil painting which I have just described. Over it
hangs a red woollen bell pull, which many a time and oft has called
the Chancery attendant before the door, in order to summon me to make
my appearance before the Chief. On such occasions one hurried upstairs
instantly, leaving everything just as it happened to lie, stood before
the Chief at attention like a lieutenant before his general, all ear
and memory, and then rushed off again to his place to commit the orders
received to paper as speedily as possible. It was not permissible to
misunderstand; and questions as to what had been said were, for the
most part, also excluded, while the suggestion that something could not
be done met with an angry retort. It had to be done, and as a matter of
fact was done in most cases. A severe school, but he who would enjoy
the honour of having direct intercourse with a great man, of serving
him and his country, and of learning from him, must be able to overlook
a certain hardness in his nature. In the present instance this was
all the easier, as the Chancellor never bore a grudge, and could be
most amiable when off duty. Moreover, others, and some of very high
position, fared no better. “I am always frightened when I am obliged to
go up to him,” said his Excellency von Thile to me one evening.
Alongside the writing desk and its belongings stand two chairs
covered like the sofa, in one of which the Prince is accustomed to
sit on the appearance of a visitor, while he invites his guest to
occupy the other. At work he uses the oak armchair, with a low open
back, which stands behind the writing-table. On his right-hand side
is an _etagère_, upon the top of which rests the bronze figure of
a greyhound, and some writing paper and envelopes, lower down some
leather portfolios with documents, and quite at the bottom four or
five thick folio volumes. On the left of the writer is another stand,
with some handbooks. On a visit which I paid to the room in 1873, I
found among these books the thick volumes of the “List of Orders” from
1862 to 1868, a number of Petermann’s “Mittheilungen,” Marten’s “Guide
Diplomatique,” a collection of Hymns, “Hymnarium, Bluethen lateinischer
Kirchenpoesie” (Halle, 1868), Gottfried Cohn’s “Constitution and
Procedure of the British Parliament,” Joel’s “Lessons in the Russian
Language according to Ollendorff’s System,” and Schmidt’s “Small
Russian and German Dictionary.” On the green baize cover of the
writing-table usually lies a fold of red blotting paper on which the
Chancellor writes. To the right of this under a glass shade we notice
a gilt clock, on which a painter in Spanish costume sits with a pencil
and drawing board. We also observe on the green cloth a plain white
porcelain writing stand with a little gilding, four or five lead
pencils of the largest variety, such as the Minister now principally
uses, and half-a-dozen quill pens with the feathers cut short, which
are prepared by the artistic hand of Hofrath Willisch, one of the
decipherers, a paper knife, a seal, a couple of sticks of sealing wax,
and a candlestick with two candles.
In 1873 various additions were made: a paper-weight, with a piece of
the famous colossal zinc lion that stood up to 1864 in the churchyard
of Flensburg as a monument of the Danish victory at Idstedt, and which
has now been added to the trophies in the Berlin Zeughaus, and two
other paper-weights made of thick metal discs, one of which had been
cast from an Austrian cannon captured in 1866, and the second from
one of the French cannon taken in 1870; a pen-wiper in black, red,
and white; two columnar cigar-cutters; an ash-tray, in the form of a
large flower like a tulip, which, together with the two objects last
mentioned, have now been removed, as the Prince has given up smoking
for several years past on account of his health. Besides these, some
old Roman bronze lamps with handles formed of green serpents, a
terra-cotta pot with the figures of Massinissa and Sophonisba; and
finally, at that time, a few books lay on the table: the red bound
“Army List,” Hirth’s “Parlaments-almanach,” the Gotha handbooks, a
railway guide, and Henry Wheaton’s “Commentaire du Droit international.”
What tales could be told by that writing-table if it had understanding,
memory, and speech! What secrets, what mental struggles, what
inspiration and illumination, what slow development of ideas, what
sudden energetic decisions; what prayers, perhaps, may those pictures
on the walls have witnessed! How the eyes of old Fritz and of the
great Elector must have gleamed when they looked over the writer’s
shoulder as he drafted bold and far-reaching measures which were to
recast the German world, and with it the entire relations of Europe!
The creative mind that ruled here has departed, never to return. To-day
perhaps some unimportant but pretentious Herr von So-and-so, the
possessor of three high-sounding titles and three times three exalted
orders, makes himself at home in his old workshop, for this part of
the house has also been altered, and what was formerly on the ground
floor has now been shifted upstairs. In our thoughts, however, he
still occupies his old place. The Minister is now far away, but, as we
feel, only for a time. We, at any rate, feel his invisible presence.
We cannot picture to ourselves this historic chamber without thinking
of him as its occupant. We pass through it silently, and hold our
breath as if we might disturb him. We seem to be standing within sacred
precincts. And these must be the feelings of every one, even after
years and tens of years, who brings with him a sense of greatness and
of hero-worship. The house will one day disappear, and with it this
chamber. Otherwise the visitor who might come here a hundred years
hence would be still more deeply impressed than we are to-day, and an
inner voice would whisper to him, “Hush, this place is sacred ground!”
Continuing our tour of inspection through the front rooms, which were
occupied by Prince Bismarck up to 1878, we pass through the papered
door into the bed-chamber. Here the walls are covered with a white
paper. There is but one window with two curtains, one white and the
other of woollen stuff, with a black and red arabesque pattern. The bed
is shut in by a screen, covered with red cloth, and on an adjoining
shelf stand some cloth slippers and a pair of huge wooden shoes, with
the colours of the Empire painted across the instep, a present from
a simple-minded but skilful and patriotic patten-maker. A sofa in
green stuff stands against the wall opposite the bed, and near it a
table and a couple of cushioned armchairs. An old woodcut over the
sofa, representing two knights with horses and hounds, and a white
earthenware stove complete the fittings of the chamber.
As we return to the study previous to paying a short visit to the back
rooms of the residence, we may recall the circumstance that in 1873 a
large portrait of General Grant, in a handsome carved oak frame, rested
on a chair near the sofa in the former chamber, doubtless an indication
of the Prince’s liking for Americans. Their substantial qualities,
their practical character, which, however, neither excludes idealism
nor the power of self-sacrifice in its pursuit, their youthful audacity
combined with far-seeing shrewdness in all their public and private
undertakings, inspired the Prince with a hearty admiration, to which he
frequently gave expression in my presence.
Of the rooms at the back of the house, the windows of which open on the
courtyard with its nut-tree and on the garden, we need only inspect,
and quite cursorily, those in the main building. We enter first of all
a small sitting-room used by the Princess, in which hangs an excellent
picture of Bismarck in his Frankfurt days; and then we pass into a
larger room behind the billiard-room, which contains some oil paintings
of the Prince’s ancestors, amongst others his grandfather, to whom as a
youth he is said to have borne a striking resemblance.
The most interesting piece of furniture is a small mahogany table,
which conveys a faint echo of the historic deeds and events that
fill the stillness of the front rooms into the cosy comfort of these
family apartments. We read on a metal plate that has been inserted
into it: “The Preliminary Treaty of Peace between Germany and France
was signed upon this table on the 26th of February, 1871, at No. 14
Rue de Provence, Versailles.” I may add that the gold pen set with
diamonds which the Chancellor received for the purpose from one of his
admirers in the Grand Duchy of Baden, was really used in signing this
instrument. If I am not mistaken the Treaty with Bavaria, which was the
keystone in the building of the German Empire, was not signed upon this
table. Of course the owner of this otherwise comparatively worthless
piece of furniture, to which the Chancellor had thus given value and
importance, was provided with an exactly similar article.
Adjoining the tea-room is the chamber in which the Prince is accustomed
to take lunch, and where the family also occasionally dines. It lies
behind one half of the Chinese Salon, and like the latter is furnished
with a Turkish carpet, red-cushioned chairs and gilt mirrors, and
decorated with a few oil paintings, including a picture of Frederick
the Great and a portrait of Frederick William III. It may be mentioned
that the rooms just described play a not unimportant part in the orders
of the day for the official world below.
Towards 10 o’clock in the morning, sometimes later, seldom earlier,
one of the Chancery attendants comes into the Central Bureau and calls
out “The Prince is in the breakfast-room.” That is the _réveille_, the
first signal for action of the Chancellor’s little army of assistants,
to whom the departmental secretaries now hand all the despatches
and documents received for him through the post or otherwise. Some
time afterwards the second signal follows: “The Chancellor is in the
study”--a sign that the higher officials who have communications to
make may report themselves to the Chief, and that the others should
hold themselves in readiness to be summoned to him.
Finally, in busy seasons late at night, as a general rule about 10
P.M., those who have been kept at their desks by their work
(--while the Chancellor is in Berlin the faithful Lothar Bucher is
always amongst the last of these) hear the retreat sounded: “The
Chancellor is in the tea-room.” That puts an end to the day’s work, or
to the obligation of sitting booted and spurred, awaiting orders. The
workers put on their hats and leave, the shutters are closed, and the
Chancery servant puts out the lights.