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Title: The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 10

Editor: Kuno Francke

Release date: July 30, 2004 [eBook #13056]
                Most recently updated: December 15, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GERMAN CLASSICS OF THE NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES, VOLUME 10 ***




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VOLUME X


PRINCE OTTO VON BISMARCK

COUNT HELMUTH VON MOLTKE

FERDINAND LASSALLE





THE GERMAN CLASSICS

Masterpieces of German Literature





TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH

Patrons' Edition



IN TWENTY VOLUMES



ILLUSTRATED

1914





 CONTENTS OF VOLUME X


Prince Otto Von Bismarck

  Bismarck as a National Type. By Kuno Francke.

  The Love Letters of Bismarck. Translated under the supervision of
  Charlton T. Lewis.

  Correspondence of William I. and Bismarck. Translated by J.A. Ford.

  From "Thoughts and Recollections." Translated under the supervision of
  A.J. Butler.

  Bismarck as an Orator. By Edmund von Mach.

  Speeches of Prince Bismarck. Translated by Edmund von Mach:

    Professorial Politics

    Speech from the Throne

    Alsace-Lorraine a Glacis Against France

    We Shall Never Go to Canossa!

    Bismarck as the "Honest Broker"

    Salus Publica--Bismarck's Only Lode-Star

    Practical Christianity

    We Germans Fear God, and Nought Else in the World

    Mount the Guards at the Warthe and the Vistula!

    Long Live the Emperor and the Empire!


Count Helmuth Von Moltke

  The Life of Moltke. By Karl Detlev Jessen.

  Letters and Historical Writings of Moltke:

    The Political and Military Conditions of the Ottoman Empire in 1836.
    Translated by Edmund von Mach.

    A Trip to Brussa. Translated by Edmund von Mach.

    A Journey to Mossul. Translated by Edmund von Mach.

    A Bullfight in Spain. Translated by Edmund von Mach.

    Description of Moscow. Translated by Grace Bigelow.

    The Peace Movement. Translated by Edmund von Mach.

    Fighting on the Frontier. Translated by Clara Bell and Henry W.
    Fischer.

    Battle of Gravelotte--St. Privat. Translated by Clara Bell and Henry
    W. Fischer.

    Consolatory Thoughts on the Earthly Life and a Future Existence.
    Translated by Mary Herms.


Ferdinand Lassalle

  The Life and Work of Ferdinand Lassalle. By Arthur N. Holcombe.

  The Workingmen's Programme. Translated by E.H. Babbitt.

  Science and the Workingmen. Translated by Thorstein B. Veblen.

  Open Letter to the Central Committee. Translated by E.H. Babbitt.





ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME X


  Bismarck Meeting Napoleon after the Battle of Sedan

  Prince Bismarck. By Franz von Lenbach

  Prince Bismarck. By Franz von Lenbach

  Princess Bismarck

  Coronation of King William I at Königsberg. By Adolph von Menzel

  Emperor William I. By Franz von Lenbach

  King William's Departure for the Front at the Beginning of the
  Franco-German War. By Adolph von Menzel

  Prince Bismarck. By Franz von Lenbach

  The Berlin Congress. By Anton von Werner

  Prince Bismarck. By Franz von Lenbach

  The Bismarck Monument at Hamburg. By Lederer

  William I on his Deathbed. By Anton von Werner

  Moltke. By Anton von Werner

  Count Moltke

  Moltke at Sedan. By Anton von Werner

  King William at the Mausoleum of his Parents on the Day of the French
  Declaration of War. By Anton von Werner

  The Capitulation of Sedan. By Anton von Werner

  Ferdinand Lassalle

  The Iron Foundry. By Adolph von Menzel

  Flax Barn in Laren. By Max Liebermann

       *       *       *       *       *




BISMARCK AS A NATIONAL TYPE[1]

BY KUNO FRANCKE, PH.D., LL.D., Litt.D. Professor of the History of
German Culture, Harvard University.


No man since Luther has been a more complete embodiment of German
nationality than Otto von Bismarck. None has been closer to the German
heart. None has stood more conspicuously for racial aspirations,
passions, ideals.

It is the purpose of the present sketch to bring out a few of these
affinities between Bismarck and the German people.

I

Perhaps the most obviously Teutonic trait in Bismarck's character is
its martial quality. It would be preposterous, surely, to claim
warlike distinction as a prerogative of the German race. Russians,
Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, undoubtedly, make as good fighters
as Germans. But it is not an exaggeration to say that there is no
country in the world where the army is as enlightened or as popular an
institution as it is in Germany.

The German army is not composed of hirelings of professional fighters
whose business it is to pick quarrels, no matter with whom. It is, in
the strictest sense of the word, the people in arms. Among its
officers there is a large percentage of the intellectual élite of the
country; its rank and file embrace every occupation and every class of
society, from the scion of royal blood down to the son of the
seamstress. Although it is based upon the unconditional
acceptance of the monarchical creed, nothing is farther removed from
it than the spirit of servility. On the contrary, one of the very
first teachings which are inculcated upon the German recruit is that,
in wearing the "king's coat," he is performing a public duty, and that
by performing this duty he is honoring himself. Nor can it be said
that it is the aim of German military drill to reduce the soldier to a
mere machine, at will to be set in motion or be brought to a
standstill by his superior. The aim of this drill is rather to give
each soldier increased self-control, mentally no less than bodily; to
develop his self-respect; to enlarge his sense of responsibility, as
well as to teach him the absolute necessity of the subordination of
the individual to the needs of the whole. The German army, then, is by
no means a lifeless tool that might be used by an unscrupulous and
adventurous despot to gratify his own whims or to wreak his private
vengeance. The German army is, in principle at least, a national
school of manly virtues, of discipline, of comradeship, of
self-sacrifice, of promptness of action, of tenacity of purpose.
Although, probably, the most powerful armament which the world has
ever seen, it makes for peace rather than for war. Although called
upon to defend the standard of the most imperious dynasty of western
Europe, it contains more of the spirit of true democracy than many a
city government on this side of the Atlantic.

All this has to be borne in mind if we wish to judge correctly of
Bismarck's military propensities. He has never concealed the fact that
he felt himself, above all, a soldier. One of his earliest public
utterances was a defense of the Prussian army against the sympathizers
with the revolution of 1848. His first great political achievement was
the carrying through, in the early sixties, of King William's army
reform in the face of the most stubborn and virulent opposition of a
parliamentary majority. Never, in the years following the formation of
the Empire, did his speech in the German Parliament rise to a higher
pathos than when he was asserting the military supremacy of the
Emperor, or calling upon the parties to forget their dissensions in
maintaining the defensive strength of the nation, or showering
contempt upon liberal deputies who seemed to think that questions of
national existence could be solved by effusions of academic oratory.
Over and over, during the last decade of his official career, did he
declare that the only thing which kept him from throwing aside the
worry and vexation of governmental duties and retiring to the much
coveted leisure of home and hearth, was the oath of vassal loyalty
constraining him to stand at his post until his imperial master
released him of his own accord. And at the very height of his
political triumphs he wrote to his sovereign: "I have always regretted
that my talents did not allow me to testify my attachment to the royal
house and my enthusiasm for the greatness and glory of the Fatherland
in the front rank of a regiment rather than behind a writing-desk. And
even now, after having been raised by your Majesty to the highest
honors of a statesman, I cannot altogether repress a feeling of regret
at not having been similarly able to carve out a career for myself as
a soldier. Perhaps I should have made a poor general, but if I had
been free to follow the bent of my own inclination I would rather have
won battles for your Majesty than diplomatic campaigns."

It seems clear that both the defects and the greatness of Bismarck's
character are intimately associated with these military leanings of
his. He certainly was overbearing; he could tolerate no opposition; he
was revengeful and unforgiving; he took pleasure in the appeal to
violence; he easily resorted to measures of repression; he requited
insults with counter-insults; he had something of that blind _furor
Teutonicus_ which was the terror of the Italian republics in the
Middle Ages. These are defects of temper which will probably prevent
his name from ever shining with that serene lustre of international
veneration that has surrounded the memory of a Joseph II. or a
Washington with a kind of impersonal immaculateness. But his
countrymen, at least, have every reason to condone these defects; for
they are concomitant results of the military bent of German character,
and they are offset by such transcendent military virtues that we
would almost welcome them as bringing this colossal figure within the
reach of our own frailties and shortcomings.

Three of the military qualities that made Bismarck great seem to me to
stand out with particular distinctness: his readiness to take the most
tremendous responsibilities, if he could justify his action by the
worth of the cause for which he made himself responsible; his
moderation after success was assured; his unflinching submission to
the dictates of monarchical discipline.

Moritz Busch has recorded an occurrence, belonging to the autumn of
1877, which most impressively brings before us the tragic grandeur and
the portentous issues of Bismarck's career. It was twilight at Varzin,
and the Chancellor, as was his wont after dinner, was sitting by the
stove in the large back drawing-room. After having sat silent for a
while, gazing straight before him, and feeding the fire now and anon
with fir-cones, he suddenly began to complain that his political
activity had brought him but little satisfaction and few friends.
Nobody loved him for what he had done. He had never made anybody happy
thereby, he said, not himself, nor his family, nor any one else. Some
of those present would not admit this, and suggested "that he had made
a great nation happy." "But," he retorted, "how many have I made
unhappy! But for me three great wars would not have been fought;
eighty thousand men would not have perished; parents, brothers,
sisters, and wives would not have been bereaved and plunged into
mourning.... That matter, however, I have settled with God." "Settled
with God!"--an amazing statement, a statement which would seem the
height of blasphemy if it were not an expression of noblest manliness,
if it did not reveal the soul of a warrior dauntlessly fighting for a
great cause, risking for it the existence of a whole country as well
as his own happiness, peace, and salvation, and being ready to submit
the consequences, whatever they might be, to the tribunal of eternity.
To say that a man who is willing to take such responsibilities as
these makes himself thereby an offender against morality appears to me
tantamount to condemning the Alps as obstructions to traffic. A
people, at any rate, that glories in the achievements of a Luther has
no right to cast a slur upon the motives of a Bismarck.

Whatever one may think of the worth of the cause for which Bismarck
battled all his life--the unity and greatness of Germany--it is
impossible not to admire the policy of moderation and self-restraint
pursued by him after every one of his most decisive victories. And
here again we note in him the peculiarly German military temper.
German war-songs do not glorify foreign conquest and brilliant
adventure; they glorify dogged resistance and bitter fight for house
and home, for kith and kin. The German army, composed as it is of
millions of peaceful citizens, is essentially a weapon of defense. And
it can truly be said that Bismarck, with all his natural
aggressiveness and ferocity, was in the main a defender, not a
conqueror. He defended Prussia against the intolerable arrogance and
un-German policy of Austria; he defended Germany against French
interference in the work of national consolidation; he defended the
principle of State sovereignty against the encroachments of the
Papacy; he defended the monarchy against the republicanism of the
Liberals and Socialists; and the supreme aim of his foreign policy
after the establishment of the German Empire was to guard the peace of
Europe.

The third predominant trait of Bismarck's character that stamps him as
a soldier--his unquestioning obedience to monarchical discipline--is
so closely bound up with the peculiarly German conceptions of the
functions and the Purpose of the State, that it will be better to
approach this Part of his nature from the political instead of the
military side.

II

In no other of the leading countries of the world has the _laissez
faire_ doctrine had as little influence in political matters as in
Germany. Luther, the fearless champion of religious individualism,
was, in questions of government, the most pronounced advocate of
paternalism. Kant, the cool dissector of the human intellect, was at
the same time the most rigid upholder of corporate morality. It was
Fichte, the ecstatic proclaimer of the glory of the individual will,
who wrote this dithyramb on the necessity of the constant surrender of
private interests to the common welfare: "Nothing can live by itself
or for itself; everything lives in the whole; and the whole
continually sacrifices itself to itself in order to live anew. This is
the law of life. Whatever has come to the consciousness of existence
must fall a victim to the progress of all existence. Only there is a
difference whether you are dragged to the shambles like a beast with
bandaged eyes, or whether, in full and joyous presentiment of the life
which will spring forth from your sacrifice, you offer yourself freely
on the altar of eternity."

Not even Plato and Aristotle went so far in the deification of the
State as Hegel. And if Hegel declared that the real office of the
State is not to further individual interests, to protect private
property, but to be an embodiment of the organic unity of public life;
if he saw the highest task and the real freedom of the individual in
making himself a part of this organic unity of public life, he voiced
a sentiment which was fully shared by the leading classes of the
Prussia of his time, and which has since become a part of the
political creed of the Socialist masses all over Germany.

Here we have the moral background of Bismarck's internal policy. His
monarchism rested not only on his personal allegiance to the
hereditary dynasty, although no medieval knight could have been more
steadfast in his loyalty to his liege lord than Bismarck was in his
unswerving devotion to the Hohenzollern house. His monarchism
rested above all on the conviction that, under the present
conditions of German political life, no other form of government would
insure equally well the fulfilment of the moral obligations of the
State.

[Illustration: PRINCE BISMARCK _From the Painting by Franz von
Lenbach_ COURTESY OF MR. HUGO RESINGER NEW YORK]

He was by no means blind to the value of parliamentary institutions.
More than once has he described the English Constitution as the
necessary outcome and the fit expression of the vital forces of
English society. More than once has he eulogized the sterling
political qualities of English landlordism, its respect for the law,
its common sense, its noble devotion to national interests. More than
once has he deplored the absence in Germany of "the class which in
England is the main support of the State--the class of wealthy and
therefore conservative gentlemen, independent of material interests,
whose whole education is directed with a view to their becoming
statesmen, and whose only aim in life is to take part in public
affairs"; and the absence of "a Parliament, like the English,
containing two sharply defined parties whereof one forms a sure and
unswerving majority which subjects itself with iron discipline to its
ministerial leaders." We may regret that Bismarck himself did not do
more to develop parliamentary discipline; that, indeed, he did
everything in his power to arrest the healthy growth of German party
life. But it is at least perfectly clear that his reasons for refusing
to allow the German parties a controlling influence in shaping the
policy of the government were not the result of mere despotic caprice,
but were founded upon thoroughly German traditions, and upon a
thoroughly sober, though one-sided, view of the present state of
German public affairs.

To him party government appeared as much of an impossibility as it had
appeared to Hegel. The attempt to establish it would, in his opinion,
have led to nothing less than chaos. The German parties, as he viewed
them, represented, not the State, not the nation, but an infinite
variety of private and class interests--the interests of landholders,
traders, manufacturers, laborers, politicians, priests, and so on;
each particular set of interests desiring the particular consideration
of the public treasury, and refusing the same amount of consideration
to every other. It seemed highly desirable to him, as it did to Hegel,
that all these interests should be heard; that they should be
represented in a Parliament based upon as wide and liberal a suffrage
as possible. But to intrust any one of these interests with the
functions of government would, in his opinion, have been treason to
the State; it would have been class tyranny of the worst kind.

The logical outcome of all this was his conviction of the absolute
necessity, for Germany, of a strong non-partisan government: a
government which should hold all the conflicting class interests in
check and force them into continual compromises with one another; a
government which should be unrestricted by any class prejudices,
pledges, or theories, and have no other guiding star than the welfare
of the whole nation. And the only basis for such a government he found
in the Prussian monarchy, with its glorious tradition of military
discipline, of benevolent paternalism, and of self-sacrificing
devotion to national greatness; with its patriotic gentry, its
incorruptible courts, its religious freedom, its enlightened
educational system, its efficient and highly trained civil service. To
bow before such a monarchy, to serve such a State, was indeed
something different from submitting to the chance vote of a
parliamentary majority; in this bondage even a Bismarck could find his
highest freedom.

For nearly forty years he bore this bondage; for twenty-eight he stood
in the place nearest to the monarch himself; and not even his enemies
dared to assert that his political conduct was guided by other motives
than the consideration of public welfare. Indeed, if there is any
phrase for which he, the apparent cynic, the sworn despiser of
phrases, seems to have had a certain weakness, it is the word _salus
publica_. To it he sacrificed his days and his nights; for it he more
than once risked his life; for it he incurred more hatred and slander
than perhaps any man of his time; for it he alienated his best
friends; for it he turned not once or twice, but one might almost say
habitually, against his own cherished prejudices and convictions. The
career of few men shows so many apparent inconsistencies and
contrasts. One of his earliest speeches in the Prussian Landtag was a
fervent protest against the introduction of civil marriage; yet the
civil marriage clause in the German constitution is his work. He was
by birth and tradition a believer in the divine right of kings; yet
the King of Hanover could tell something of the manner in which
Bismarck dealt with the divine right of kings if it stood in the way
of German unity. He took pride in belonging to the most feudal
aristocracy of western Europe, the Prussian Junkerdom; yet he did more
to uproot feudal privileges than any other German statesman since
1848. He gloried in defying public opinion, and was wont to say that
he felt doubtful about himself whenever he met with popular applause;
yet he is the founder of the German Parliament, and he founded it on
direct and universal suffrage. He was the sworn enemy of the Socialist
party--he attempted to destroy it, root and branch; yet through the
nationalization of railways and the obligatory insurance of workmen he
infused more Socialism into German legislation than any other
statesman before him.

Truly, a man who could thus sacrifice his own wishes and instincts to
the common good; who could so completely sink his own personality in
the cause of the nation; who with such matchless courage defended this
cause against attacks from whatever quarter--against court intrigue no
less than against demagogues--such a man had a right to stand above
parties; and he spoke the truth when, some years before leaving
office, in a moment of gloom and disappointment he wrote under his
portrait, _Patrice inserviendo consumor_.

III

There is a strange, but after all perfectly natural, antithesis in
German national character. The same people that instinctively believes
in political paternalism, that willingly submits to restrictions of
personal liberty in matters of State such as no Englishman would ever
tolerate, is more jealous of its independence than perhaps any other
nation in matters pertaining to the intellectual, social, and
religious life of the individual. It seems as if the very pressure
from without had helped to strengthen and enrich the life within.

Not only all the great men of German thought, from Luther down to the
Grimms and the Humboldts, have been conspicuous for their freedom from
artificial conventions and for the originality and homeliness of their
human intercourse; but even the average German official--wedded as he
may be to his rank or his title, anxious as he may be to preserve an
outward decorum in exact keeping with the precise shade of his public
status--is often the most delightfully unconventional, good-natured,
unsophisticated, and even erratic being in the world, as soon as he
has left the cares of his office behind him. Germany is the classic
land of queer people. It is the land of Quintus Fixlein, Onkel Bräsig,
Leberecht Hühnchen, and the host of _Fliegende Blatter_ worthies; it
is the land of the beer-garden and the Kaffeekranzchen, of the
Christmas-tree and the Whitsuntide merry-making; it is the land of
country inns and of student pranks. What more need be said to bring
before one's mind the wealth of hearty joyfulness, jolly
good-fellowship, boisterous frolic, sturdy humor, simple directness,
and genuinely democratic feeling that characterizes social life in
Germany.

And still less reason is there for dwelling on the intellectual and
religious independence of German character. Absence of constraint in
scientific inquiry and religious conduct is indeed the very palladium
of German freedom. Nowhere is higher education so entirely removed
from class distinction as in the country where the imperial princes
are sent to the same school with the sons of tradesmen and artisans.
Nowhere is there so little religious formalism, coupled with such deep
religious feeling, as in the country where sermons are preached to
empty benches, while _Tannhauser_ and _Lohengrin, Wallenstein_ and
_Faust_, are listened to with the hush of awe and bated breath by
thousands upon thousands.

In all these respects--socially, intellectually, religiously--Bismarck
was the very incarnation of German character. Although an aristocrat
by birth and bearing, and although, especially during the years of
early manhood, passionately given over to the aristocratic habits of
dueling, hunting, swaggering and carousing, he was essentially a man
of the people. Nothing was so utterly foreign to him as any form of
libertinism; even his eccentricities were of the hardy, homespun sort.
He was absolutely free from social vanity; he detested court
festivities; he set no store by orders or decorations; the only two
among the innumerable ones conferred upon him which he is said to have
highly valued were the Prussian order of the Iron Cross, bestowed for
personal bravery on the battlefield, and the medal for "rescuing from
danger" which he earned in 1842 for having saved his groom from
drowning by plunging into the water after him.

All his instincts were bound up with the soil from which he had
sprung. He passionately loved the North German plain, with its gloomy
moorlands, its purple heather, its endless wheatfields, its kingly
forests, its gentle lakes, and its superb sweep of sky and clouds.
Writing to his friends when abroad--he traveled very little abroad--he
was in the habit of describing foreign scenery by comparing it to
familiar views and places on his own estates. During sleepless nights
in the Chancellery at Berlin there would often rise before him a
sudden vision of Varzin, his Pomeranian country-seat, "perfectly
distinct in the minutest particulars, like a great picture with all
its colors fresh--the green trees, the sunshine on the stems, the blue
sky above. I saw every individual tree." Never was he more happy than
when alone with nature. "Saturday," he writes to his wife from
Frankfort, "I drove to Rüdesheim. There I took a boat, rowed out on
the Rhine, and swam in the moonlight, with nothing but nose and eyes
out of water, as far as the Mäuseturm near Bingen, where the bad
bishop came to his end. It gives one a peculiar dreamy sensation to
float thus on a quiet warm night in the water, gently carried down by
the current, looking above on the heavens studded with moon and stars,
and on each side the banks and wooded hilltops and the battlements of
the old castles bathed in the moonlight, whilst nothing falls on one's
ear but the gentle splashing of one's movements. I should like to swim
like this every evening." And what poet has more deeply felt than he
that vague musical longing which seizes one when far away from human
sounds, by the brook-side or the hill-slope? "I feel as if I were
looking out on the mellowing foliage of a fine September day," he
writes again to his wife, "health and spirits good, but with a soft
touch of melancholy, a little homesickness, a longing for deep woods
and lakes, for a desert, for yourself and the children, and all this
mixed up with a sunset and Beethoven."

His domestic affections were by no means limited to those united to
him by ties of blood; he cherished strong patriarchal feelings for
every member of his household, past or present. He possessed in a high
degree the German tenderness for little things. He never forgot a
service rendered to him, however small. In the midst of the most
engrossing public activity he kept himself informed about the minutest
details of the management of his estates, so that his wife could once
laughingly say that a turnip from his own fields interested him vastly
more than all the problems of international politics.

His humor, also, was entirely of the German stamp. It was boisterous,
rollicking, aggressive, unsparing--of himself as little as of
others--cynic, immoderate, but never without a touch of good-nature.
His satire was often crushing, never venomous. His wit was racy and
exuberant never equivocal. Whether he describes his _vis-à-vis_ at a
hotel table, his Excellency So-and-So, as "one of those figures which
appear to one when he has the nightmare--a fat frog without legs, who
opens his mouth as wide as his shoulders, like a carpet-bag, for each
bit, so that I am obliged to hold tight on by the table from
giddiness"; whether he characterizes his colleagues at the Frankfort
Bundestag as "mere caricatures of periwig diplomatists, who at once
put on their official visage if I merely beg of them a light to my
cigar, and who study their words and looks with Regensburg care when
they ask for the key of the lavatory"; whether he sums up his
impression of the excited, emotional manner in which Jules Favre
pleaded with him for the peace terms in the words, "He evidently took
me for a public meeting"; whether he declined to look at the statue
erected to him at Cologne, because he "didn't care to see himself
fossilized"; whether he spoke of the unprecedented popular ovations
given to him at his final departure from Berlin as a "first-class
funeral"--there are always the same childlike directness, the same
naïve impulsiveness, the same bantering earnestness, the same sublime
contempt for sham and hypocrisy.

And what man has been more truthful in intellectual and religious
matters? He, the man of iron will, of ferocious temper, was at the
same time the coolest reasoner, the most unbiased thinker. He
willingly submitted to the judgment of experts, he cheerfully
acknowledged intellectual talent in others, he took a pride in having
remained a learner all his life, but he hated arrogant amateurishness.
He was not a church-goer; he declined to be drawn into the circle of
religious schemers and reactionary fanatics; he would occasionally
speak in contemptuous terms of "the creed of court chaplains"; but,
writing to his wife of that historic meeting with Napoleon in the
lonely cottage near the battlefield of Sedan, he said: "A powerful
contrast with our last meeting in the Tuileries in '67. Our
conversation was a difficult thing, if I wanted to avoid touching on
topics which could not but affect painfully the man whom God's mighty
hand had cast down." And more than once has he given vent to
reflections like these: "For him who does not believe--as I do from
the bottom of my heart--that death is a transition from one existence
to another, and that we are justified in holding out to the worst of
criminals in his dying hour the comforting assurance, _mors janua
vitae_--I say that for him who does not share that conviction the joys
of this life must possess so high a value that I could almost envy him
the sensations they must procure him." Or these: "Twenty years hence,
or at most thirty, we shall be past the troubles of this life, whilst
our children will have reached our present standpoint, and will
discover with astonishment that their existence, but now so brightly
begun, has turned the corner and is going down hill. Were that to be
the end of it all, life would not be worth the trouble of dressing and
undressing every day."

IV

We have considered a few traits of Bismarck's mental and moral make-up
which seem to be closely allied with German national character and
traditions. But, after all, the personality of a man like Bismarck is
not exhausted by the qualities which he has in common with his people,
however sublimated these qualities may be in him. His innermost life
belongs to himself alone, or is shared, at most, by the few men of the
world's history who, like him, tower in splendid solitude above the
waste of the ages. In the Middle High German _Alexanderlied_ there is
an episode which most impressively brings out the impelling motive of
such titanic lives. On one of his expeditions Alexander penetrates
into the land of Scythian barbarians. These child-like people are so
contented with their simple, primitive existence that they beseech
Alexander to give them immortality. He answers that this is not in his
power. Surprised, they ask why, then, if he is only a mortal, he is
making such a stir in the world. Thereupon he answers: "The Supreme
Power has ordained us to carry out what is in us. The sea is given
over to the whirlwind to plough it up. As long as life lasts and I am
master of my senses, I must bring forth what is in me. What would life
be if all men in the world were like you?" These words might have been
spoken by Bismarck. Every word, every act of his public career, gives
us the impression of a man irresistibly driven on by some
overwhelming, mysterious power. He was not an ambitious schemer, like
Beaconsfield or Napoleon; he was not a moral enthusiast like Gladstone
or Cavour. If he had consulted his private tastes and inclinations, he
would never have wielded the destinies of an empire. Indeed, he often
rebelled against his task; again and again he tried to shake it off;
and the only thing which again and again brought him back to it was
the feeling, "I must; I cannot do otherwise." If ever there was a man
in whom Fate revealed its moral sovereignty, that man was Bismarck.

Whither has he gone now? Has he joined his compeers? Is he conversing
in ethereal regions with Alexander, Caesar, Frederick? Is he sweeping
over land and sea in the whirlwind and the thunder-cloud? Or may we
hope that he is still working out the task which, in spite of all the
imperiousness of his nature, was the essence of his earthly life--the
task of making the Germans a nation of true freemen?


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From _Glimpses of Modern German Culture_. Permission
Dodd, Mead & Company, New York.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE LOVE LETTERS OF BISMARCK[2] TRANSLATED UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF
CHARLTON T. LEWIS


Hôtel de Prusse, Stettin, (Not dated: Written about the end of
December, 1846.)

TO HERR VON PUTTKAMER:

_Most Honored Sir_.--I begin this communication by indicating its
content in the first sentence--it is a request for the highest thing
you can dispose of in this world, the hand of your daughter. I do not
conceal from myself the fact that I appear presumptuous when I, whom
you have come to know only recently and through a few meetings, claim
the strongest proof of confidence which you can give to any man. I
know, however, that even irrespective of all obstacles in space and
time which can increase your difficulty in forming an opinion of me,
through my own efforts I can never be in a position to give you such
guaranties for the future that they would, from your point of view,
justify intrusting me with an object so precious, unless you
supplement by trust in God that which trust in human beings cannot
supply. All that I can do is to give you information about myself with
absolute candor, so far as I have come to understand myself. It will
be easy for you to get reports from others in regard to my public
conduct; I content myself, therefore, with an account of what underlay
that--my inner life, and especially my relations to Christianity. To
do that I must take a start far back.

In earliest childhood I was estranged from my parents' house, and at
no time became entirely at home there again; and my education from the
beginning was conducted on the assumption that everything is
subordinate to the cultivation of the intelligence and the early
acquisition of positive sciences.

After a course of religious teaching, irregularly attended and not
comprehended, I had at the time of my confirmation by Schleiermacher,
on my sixteenth birthday no belief other than a bare deism, which was
not long free from pantheistic elements. It was at about this time
that I, not through indifference, but after mature consideration,
ceased to pray every evening, as I had been in the habit of doing
since childhood; because prayer seemed inconsistent with my view of
God's nature; saying to myself: either God himself, being omnipresent,
is the cause of everything--even of every thought and volition of
mine--and so in a sense offers prayers to himself through me, or, if
my will is independent of God's will, it implies arrogance and a doubt
as to the inflexibility as well as the perfection of the divine
determination to believe that it can be influenced by human appeals.
When not quite seventeen years old I went to Göttingen University.
During the next eight years I seldom saw the home of my parents; my
father indulgently refrained from interference; my mother censured me
from far away when I neglected my studies and professional work,
probably in the conviction that she must leave the rest to guidance
from above: with this exception I was literally cut off from the
counsel and instruction of others. In this period, when studies which
ambition at times led me to prosecute zealously--or emptiness and
satiety, the inevitable companions of my way of living--brought me
nearer to the real meaning of life and eternity, it was in old-world
philosophies, uncomprehended writings of Hegel, and particularly in
Spinoza's seeming mathematical clearness, that I sought for peace of
mind in that which the human understanding cannot comprehend. But it
was loneliness that first led me to reflect on these things
persistently, when I went to Kniephof, after my mother's death, five
or six years ago. Though at first my views did not materially change
at Kniephof, yet conscience began to be more audible in the solitude,
and to represent that many a thing was wrong which I had before
regarded as permissible. Yet my struggle for insight was still
confined to the circle of the understanding, and led me, while reading
such writings as those of Strauss, Feuerbach, and Bruno Bauer, only
deeper into the blind alley of doubt.

I was firmly convinced that God has denied to man the possibility of
true knowledge; that it is presumption to claim to understand the will
and plans of the Lord of the World; that the individual must await in
submission the judgment that his Creator will pass upon him in death,
and that the will of God becomes known to us on earth solely through
conscience, which He has given us as a special organ for feeling our
way through the gloom of the world. That I found no peace in these
views I need not say. Many an hour have I spent in disconsolate
depression, thinking that my existence and that of others is
purposeless and unprofitable--perchance only a casual product of
creation, coming and going like dust from rolling wheels.

About four years ago I came into close companionship, for the first
time since my school-days, with Moritz Blankenburg, and found in him,
what I had never had till then in my life, a friend; but the warm zeal
of his love strove in vain to give me by persuasion and discussion
what I lacked--faith. But through Moritz I made acquaintance with the
Triglaf family and the social circle around it, and found in it people
who made me ashamed that, with the scanty light of my understanding, I
had undertaken to investigate things which such superior intellects
accepted as true and holy with childlike trust. I saw that the members
of this circle were, in their outward life, almost perfect models of
what I wished to be. That confidence and peace dwelt in them did not
surprise me, for I had never doubted that these were companions of
belief; but belief cannot be had for the asking, and I thought I must
wait submissively to see whether it would come to me. I soon felt at
home in that circle, and was conscious of a satisfaction that I had
not before experienced--a family life that included me, almost a home.

I was meanwhile brought into contact with certain events in which I
was not an active participant, and which, as other people's secrets, I
cannot communicate to you, but which stirred me deeply. Their
practical result was that the consciousness of the shallowness and
worthlessness of my aim in life became more vivid than ever. Through
the advice of others, and through my own impulse, I was brought to the
point of reading the Scriptures more consecutively and with resolute
restraint, sometimes, of my own judgment. That which stirred within me
came to life when the news of the fatal illness of our late friend in
Cardemin tore the first ardent prayer from my heart, without subtle
questionings as to its reasonableness. God did not grant my prayer on
that occasion; neither did He utterly reject it, for I have never
again lost the capacity to bring my requests to Him, and I feel within
me, if not peace, at least confidence and courage such as I never knew
before.

I do not know what value you will attach to this emotion, which my
heart has felt for only two months; I only hope that it may not be
lost, whatever your decision in regard to me may be--a hope of which I
could give you no better assurance than by undeviating frankness and
loyalty in that which I have now disclosed to you, and to no one else
hitherto, with the conviction that God favors the sincere.

I refrain from any assurance of my feelings and purposes with
reference to your daughter, for the step I am taking speaks of them
louder and more eloquently than words can. So, too, no promises for
the future would be of service to you, since you know the
untrustworthiness of the human heart better than I, and the only
security I offer for the welfare of your daughter lies in my prayer
for God's blessing. As a matter of history I would only observe that,
after I had seen fräulein Johanna repeatedly in Cardemin, after the
trip we made together this summer, I have only been in doubt as to
whether the attainment of my desires would be reconcilable with the
happiness and peace of your daughter, and whether my self-confidence
was not greater than my ability when I believed that she could find in
me what she would have a right to look for in her husband. Very
recently, however, together with my reliance on God's grace, the
resolution which I now carry out has also become fixed in me, and I
kept silent when I saw you in Zimmerhausen only because I had more to
say than I could express in conversation. In view of the importance of
the matter and the great sacrifice which it will involve for you and
your wife in separation from your daughter, I can scarcely hope that
you will give a favorable decision at once, and only beg that you will
not refuse me an opportunity for explanation upon any considerations
which might dispose you to reject my suit, before you utter a positive
refusal.

There is doubtless a great deal that I have not said, or not said
fully enough, in this letter, and I am, of course, ready to give you
exact and faithful information as to everything you may desire to
know; I think I have told what is most important.

I beg you to convey to your wife my respectful compliments, and to
accept kindly the assurance of my love and esteem.

BISMARCK.


Schönhausen, February 1, '47.

I had only waited for daylight to write you, my dear heart, and with
the light came your little green spirit-lamp to make my lukewarm water
seethe--though this time it found it ready to boil over. Your pity for
my restless nights at present is premature, but I shall give you
credit for it. The Elbe still lies turbid and growling in her
ice-bonds: the spring's summons to burst them is not yet loud enough
for her. I say to the weather: "If you would only be cold or warm! But
you stay continually at freezing-point, and at this rate the matter
may long drag on." For the present my activity is limited to sending
out, far and wide, from the warm seat at the writing-table, diverse
conjurations, whose magic starts quantities of fascines, boards,
wheelbarrows, etc., from inland towards the Elbe, perchance to serve
as a prosaic dam in restraint of the poetical foaming of the flood.
After I had spent the morning in this useful rather than agreeable
correspondence, my resolve was to chat away comfortably through the
evening with you, beloved one, as though we were sitting on the sofa
in the red drawing-room; and with sympathetic attention to my desire
the mail kept for my enjoyment precisely at this gossiping hour your
letter, which I should have received by good rights day before
yesterday. You know, if you were able to decipher my inexcusably
scrawled note [3] from Schlawe, how I struck a half-drunken crowd of
hussar officers there, who disturbed me in my writing. In the train
I had, with my usual bad luck, a lady _vis-à-vis,_ and beside me two
very stout, heavily fur-clad passengers, the nearer of whom was a
direct descendant of Abraham into the bargain, and put me in a bitter
humor against all his race by a disagreeable movement of his left
elbow.

I found my brother in his dressing-gown, and he employed the five
minutes of our interview very completely, according to his habit, in
emptying a woolsack full of vexatious news about Kniephof before me:
disorderly inspectors, a lot of damaged sheep, distillers drunk every
day, thoroughbred colts (the prettiest, of course) come to grief, and
rotten potatoes, fell in a rolling torrent from his obligingly opened
mouth upon my somewhat travel-worn self. On my brother's account I
must affect and utter some exclamations of terror and complaint, for
my indifferent manner on receiving news of misfortune vexes him, and
as long as I do not express surprise he has ever new and still worse
news in stock. This time he attained his object, at least in my inner
man, and when I took my seat next to the Jewish elbow in green fur I
was in a right bad humor; especially the colt distressed me--an animal
as pretty as a picture and three years old.

Not before getting out of doors did I become conscious of the
ingratitude of my heart, and the thought of the unmerited happiness
that had become mine a fortnight earlier again won the mastery in me.
In Stettin I found drinking, gambling friends. William Ramin took
occasion to say, _apropos_ of a remark about reading the Bible, "Tut!
In Reinfeld I'd speak like that, too, if I were in your place, but to
believe you can impose on your oldest acquaintances is amusing." I
found my sister very well and full of joy about you and me. She wrote
to you, I think, before she received your letter. Arnim is full of
anxiety lest I become "pious." He kept looking at me all the time
earnestly and thoughtfully, with sympathetic concern, as one looks at
a dear friend whom one would like to save and yet almost gives up for
lost. I have seldom seen him so tender. Very clever people have a
curious manner of viewing the world. In the evening (I hope you did
not write so late) I drank your health in the foaming grape-juice of
Sillery, in company with half a dozen Silesian counts, Schaffgotsch
and others, at the Hôtel de Rome, and convinced myself Friday morning
that the ice on the Elbe was still strong enough to bear my horse's
weight, and that, so far as the freshet was concerned, I might today
be still at your blue or black side[4] if other current official
engagements had not also claimed my presence. Snow has fallen very
industriously all day long, and the country is white once more,
without severe cold. When I arrived it was all free from snow on this
side of Brandenburg; the air was warm and the people were ploughing;
it was as though I had traveled out of winter into opening spring, and
yet within me the short springtime had changed to winter, for the
nearer I came to Schönhausen the more oppressive I found the thought
of entering upon the old loneliness once more, for who knows how long.
Pictures of a wasted past arose in me as though they would banish me
from you. I was on the verge of tears, as when, after a school
vacation, I caught sight of Berlin's towers from the train.

The comparison of my situation with that in which I was on the 10th,
when I traveled the same line in the opposite direction; the
conviction that my solitude was, strictly speaking, voluntary, and
that I could at any time, albeit through a resolve smacking of
insubordination and a forty hours' journey, put an end to it, made me
see once more that my heart is ungrateful, dismayed, and resentful;
for soon I said to myself, in the comfortable fashion of the accepted
lover, that even here I am no longer lonely, and I was happy in the
consciousness of being loved by you, my angel, and, in return for the
gift of your love, of belonging to you, not merely in vassalage, but
with my inmost heart. On reaching the village I felt more distinctly
than ever before what a beautiful thing it is to have a home--a home
with which one is identified by birth, memory, and love. The sun shone
bright on the stately houses of the villagers, and their portly
inmates in long coats and the gayly dressed women in short skirts gave
me a much more friendly greeting than usual; on every face there
seemed to be a wish for my happiness, which I invariably converted
into thanks to you. Gray-haired Bellin's[5] fat face wore a broad
smile, and the trusty old soul shed tears as he patted me paternally
on the back and expressed his satisfaction; his wife, of course, wept
most violently; even Odin was more demonstrative than usual, and his
paw on my coat-collar proved incontestably that it was muddy weather.
Half an hour later Miss Breeze was galloping with me on the Elbe,
manifestly proud to carry your affianced, for never before did she so
scornfully smite the earth with her hoof. Fortunately you cannot
judge, my heart, in what a mood of dreary dulness I used to reenter my
house after a journey; what depression overmastered me when the door
of my room yawned at me and the mute furniture in the silent
apartments confronted me, bored like myself. The emptiness of my
existence was never clearer to me than in such moments, until I seized
a book--though none of them was sad enough for me--or mechanically
engaged in any routine work.

My preference was to come home at night, so that I could go to sleep
immediately.[6] Ach, Gott!--and now? What a different view I take of
everything--not merely that which concerns you as well, and because it
concerns you, or will concern you also (although I have been bothering
myself for two days with the question where your writing-desk will
stand), but my whole view of life is a new one, and I am cheerful and
interested even in my work on the dike and police matters. This
change, this new life, I owe, next to God, to you, _ma très chère, mon
adorée Jeanneton_--to you who do not heat me occasionally, like an
alcohol flame, but work in my heart like warming fire. Some one is
knocking.

Visit from the co-director, who complains of the people who will not
pay their school taxes. The man asks me whether my _fiancée_ is tall.

"Oh yes; rather."

"Well, an acquaintance of mine saw you last summer with several ladies
in the Harz Mountains, and you preferred to converse with the tallest,
that must have been your _fiancée_."

The tallest woman in your party was, I fancy, Frau von Mittelstädt.
* * * The Harz! The Harz!

After a thorough consultation with Frau Bellin, I have decided to make
no special changes here for the present, but to wait until we can hear
the wishes of the lady of the house in the matter, so that we may have
nothing to be sorry for. In six months I hope we shall know what we
have to do.

It is impossible as yet to say anything definite about our next meeting.
Just now it is raining; if that continues the Elbe may be played out in
a week or two, and then. * * * Still no news whatever about the Landtag.
Most cordial greetings and assurances of my love to your parents, and
the former--the latter, too, if you like--to all your cousins, women
friends, etc. What have you done with Aennchen?[7] My forgetting the
Versin letters disturbs me; I did not mean to make such a bad job of it.
Have they been found Farewell, my treasure, my heart, consolation of my
eyes.

Your faithful BISMARCK.


Another picture, a description of a storm in the Alps, which catches
my eye as I turn over the pages of the book, and pleases me much:

  "The sky is changed, and such a change! O night,
  And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
  Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
  Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
  From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
  Leaps the live thunder; not from one lone cloud,
  But every mountain now has found a tongue,
  And Jura answers through her misty shroud--
  Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud.

  And this is in the night:--most glorious night!
  Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
  A sharer in thy fierce and fair delight--
  A portion of the tempest and of thee!
  How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
  And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
  And now again 'tis black, and now the glee
  Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
  As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth."

On such a night the suggestion comes uncommonly near to me that I wish
to be _a sharer in the delight, a portion of tempest, of night_;[8]
mounted on a runaway horse, to dash down the cliffs into the falls of
the Rhine, or something similar. A pleasure of that kind,
unfortunately, one can enjoy but once in this life. There is something
intoxicating in nocturnal storms. Your nights, dearest, I hope you
regard, however, as _sent for slumber, not for writing_.[9] I see with
regret that I write English still more illegibly than German. Once
more, farewell, my heart. Tomorrow noon I am invited to be the guest
of Frau Brauchitsch, presumably so that I may be duly and thoroughly
questioned about you and yours. I'll tell them as much as I please.
_Je t'embrasse mille fois._

Your own

B.


Schönhausen, February 7, '47.

_My Heart_,--Just returned through a wild, drifting snow-storm from an
appointment (which unfortunately was occasioned by the burning out of a
poor family). I have warmed myself at your dear letter; in the twilight,
even, I recognized your "Right honorable." All my limbs are twitching
with eagerness to be off to Berlin again today, and to characterize the
dikes and floods in terms of the unutterable Poberow[10] dialect. The
inexorable thermometer stands at 2 below freezing-point, accompanied
with howling wind and large flakes, as though it would soon rain. What
is duty! Compare Falstaff's expressions touching honor. At any rate, I
shall write you straightway, even if I ruin myself in postage, and no
sensible thoughts find their way through the débris of the fire that
still has possession of my imagination. After reading your last remark I
have just lit my cigar and stirred the ink. First, like a business-man,
to answer your letter. I begin with a request smacking of the official
desk--namely, that when you write you will, if you please, expressly
state what letters you have received from me, giving their dates;
otherwise one is uncertain as to the regular forwarding of them, as I am
in doubt whether you have received my first letter, which I wrote the
day of my arrival here, while on a business trip, in Jerichow, if I
mistake not, on very bad paper, Friday, the 29th of January. I am very
thankful that you do not write in the evening, my love, even if I am
myself to suffer thereby. Every future glance into your gray-blue-black
eye with its large pupil will compensate me for possibly delayed or
shortened letters.

If I could only dream of you when you do of me! But recently I do not
dream at all--shockingly healthy and prosaic; or does my soul fly to
Reinfeld in the night and associate with yours? In that case it can
certainly not dream here; but it ought to tell about its journey in
the morning, whereas the wayward thing is as silent about its
nocturnal employments as though it, too, slept like a badger.

Your reminder of the bore, Fritz, with the letter-pouch transports me
to Reinfeld and makes me long still more eagerly for the time when I
can once again hug my black Jeannette for my good-morning at the desk.
About the letter with the strange address, _evidently_ in a woman's
hand, I should like to tell you a romantic story, but I must destroy
every illusion with the explanation that it comes from a man who used
to be a friend of mine, who, if I do not mistake, once in Kniephof
took a copy of an Italian address that I received. Again a curtain
behind which one fancies there is all the poetry in the world, and
finds the flattest prose. (I once saw in Aix-la-Chapelle, while
strolling about the stage, the Princess of Eboli, after I had just
spent my sympathy upon her as she lay overwhelmed and fainting at the
queen's feet in one of the scenes, eating bread and butter and
cracking bad jokes behind the scenes.) That cousin Woedtke is fond of
me, and that the Versin sausage and letter affair is all right, I am
glad to learn.

I need not assure you that I have the most heartfelt sympathy for the
sufferings of your good mother; I hope rest and summer will affect her
health favorably, and that she will recover after a while, with the
joy of seeing her children happy. When she is here she shall not have
any steps to go up to reach you, and shall live directly next to you.

Why do you wear mournful black in dress and heart, my angel?
Cultivate the green of hope that today made right joyous revelry in me
at sight of its external image, when the gardener placed the first
messengers of spring, hyacinths and crocus, on my window-ledge. _Et
dis-moi donc, pourquoi es-tu paresseuse? Pourquoi ne fais-tu pas de
musique?_ I fancied you playing _c-dur_ when the hollow, melting wind
howls through the dry twigs of the lindens, and _d-moll_ when the
snow-flakes chase in fantastic whirls around the corners of the old
tower, and, after their desperation is spent, cover the graves with
their winding-sheet. Oh, were I but Keudell, I'd play now all day
long, and the tones would bear me over the Oder, Rega, Persante,
Wipper--I know not whither. _A propos de paresse_, I am going to
permit myself to make one more request of you, but with a preface.
When I ask you for anything I add (do not take it for blasphemy or
mockery) thy will be done--_your_ will, I mean; and I do not love you
less, nor am I vexed with you for a second if you do not fulfil my
request. I love you as you are, and as you choose to be. After I have,
by way of preface, said so much with inmost, unadorned truth, without
hypocrisy or flattery, I beg you to pay some attention to French--not
much, but somewhat--by reading French things that interest you, and,
what is not clear to you, make it clear with the dictionary. If it
bores you, stop it; but, lest it bore you, try it with books that
interest you, whatever they may be--romances or anything else. I do
not know your mother's views on such reading, but in my opinion there
is nothing that you cannot read to yourself. I do not ask this for my
own sake, for we will understand each other in our mother tongue, but
in your intercourse with the world you will not seldom find occasions
when it will be disagreeable or even mortifying if you are unfamiliar
with French. I do not know, indeed, to what degree this is true of
you, but reading is in any case a way to keep what you have and to
acquire more. If it pleases you, we shall find a way for you to become
more fluent in talking, than, as you say, you are now. If you do not
like it, rely with entire confidence on the preface to my request.

I wrote to poor Moritz yesterday, and, after reading your description
of his sadness, my letter lies like a stone on my conscience, for,
like a heartless egotist, I mocked his pain by describing my
happiness, and in five pages did not refer to his mourning by even a
syllable, speaking of myself again and again, and using him as
father-confessor. He is an awkward comforter who does not himself feel
pain sympathetically, or not vividly enough. My first grief was the
passionate, selfish one at the loss I had sustained; for Marie,[11] so
far as she is concerned, I do not feel it, because I know that she is
well provided for, but that my sympathy with the suffering of my
warmest friend, to whom I owe eternal thanks, is not strong enough to
produce a word of comfort, of strong consolation from overflowing
feeling, that burdens me sorely. Weep not, my angel; let your sympathy
be strong and full of confidence in God; give him real consolation
with encouragement, not with tears, and, if you can, doubly, for
yourself and for your thankless friend whose heart is just now filled
with you and has room for nothing else. Are you a withered leaf, a
faded garment? I will see whether my love can foster the verdure once
more, can brighten up the colors. You must put forth fresh leaves, and
the old ones I shall lay between the pages of the book of my heart so
that we may find them when we read there, as tokens of fond
recollection. You have fanned to life again the coal that under ashes
and débris still glowed in me; it shall envelop you in life-giving
flames.

_Le souper est servi_, the evening is gone, and I have done nothing
but chat with you and smoke: is that not becoming employment for the
dike-captain? Why not?

A mysterious letter from ---- lies before me. He writes in a tone new
for him; admits that he perceives that he did many a wrong to his first
wife; did not always rightly guide and bear with her weakness; was no
prop to the "child," and believes himself absolved by this severe
castigation. _Qu'est-ce qu'il me chante_? Has the letter undergone
transformation in the Christian climate of Reinfeld, or did it leave the
hand of this once shallow buffoon in its present form? He asserts,
moreover, that he lives in a never dreamed of happiness with his present
wife, whose acquaintance he made a week before the engagement, and whom
he married six weeks after the same event: a happiness which his first
marriage has taught him rightly to prize. Do you know the story of the
French tiler who falls from the roof, and, in passing the second story,
cries out, "_Ça va bien, pourvu que ça dure_?" Think, only, if we had
been betrothed on the 12th of October '44, and, on November 23d, had
married: What anxiety for mamma!

The English poems of mortal misery trouble me no more now; that was of
old, when I looked out into nothing--cold and stiff, snow-drifts in my
heart. Now a black cat plays with it in the sunshine, as though with a
rolling skein, and I like to see its rolling. I will give you, at the
end of this letter, a few more verses belonging to that period, of
which fragmentary copies are still preserved, as I see, in my
portfolio. You may allow me to read them still; they harm me no more.
_Thine eyes have still (and will always have) a charm for me_.[12]
Please write me in your next letter about the uncertain
marriage-plans. I believe, _by Jove!_[12] that the matter is becoming
serious. Until the day is fixed, it still seems to me as though we had
been dreaming; or have I really passed a fortnight in Reinfeld, and
held you in these arms of mine? Has Finette been found again? Do you
remember our conversation when we went out with her in leash--when
you, little rogue, said you would have "given me the mitten" had not
God taken pity on me and permitted me at least a peep through the
keyhole of His door of mercy! That came into my mind when I was
reading I Cor. vii. 13 and 14 yesterday.

[Illustration: PRINCE BISMARCK FRANZ VON LENBACH]

A commentator says of the passage that, in all relations of life,
Christ regards the kingdom of God as the more powerful, victorious,
finally overcoming all opposition, and the kingdom of darkness as
powerless, falling in ruins ever more and more. Yet, how do most
of you have so little confidence in your faith, and wrap it carefully
in the cotton of isolation, lest it take cold from any draught of
the world; while others are vexed with you, and proclaim that you
are people who esteem yourselves too holy to come into contact
with publicans, etc. If every one should think so who believes he
has found truth--and many serious, upright, humble seekers do believe
they find it elsewhere, or in another form--what a Pennsylvania
solitary-confinement prison would God's beautiful earth become,
divided up into thousands and thousands of exclusive coteries by
insuperable partitions! Compare, also, Rom. xiv. 22 and xv. 2; also,
particularly, I Cor. iv. 5; viii. 2; ix. 20; also xii. 4 and the
following; further, xiii. 2; all in the First Ep. to the Cor., which
seems to me to apply to the subject. We talked, during that walk, or
another one, a great deal about "the sanctity of doing good works." I
will not inundate you with Scripture passages in this connection, but
only tell you how splendid I find the Epistle of James. (Matt. xxv. 34
and following; Rom. ii. 6; II Cor. v. 10; Rom. ii. 13; I Epistle of
John iii. 7, and countless others.) It is, indeed, unprofitable to
base arguments upon separate passages of Scripture apart from their
connection; but there are many who are honestly striving, and who
attach more importance to passages like James ii. 14 than to Mark xvi.
16, and for the latter passage offer expositions, holding them to be
correct, which do not literally agree with yours. To what
interpretation does the word "faith" not lend itself, both when taken
alone and in connection with that which the Scriptures command us "to
believe," in every single instance where they employ the word! Against
my will, I fall into spiritual discussion and controversies. Among
Catholics the Bible is read not at all, or with great precaution, by
the laity; it is expounded only by the priests, who have concerned
themselves all their lives with the study of the original sources. In
the end, all depends upon the interpretation. Concert in Bütow amuses
me: the idea of Bütow is, to my mind, the opposite of all music.

I have been quite garrulous, have I not? Now I must disturb some
document-dust, and sharpen my pen afresh to the police-official style,
for the president of the provincial court and the government. Could I
but enclose myself herewith, or go along in a salmon-basket as
mail-matter! Till we meet again, _dearest black one_.[13] I love you,
_c'est tout dire_.

BISMARCK.

(I am forgetting the English verses):

  "Sad dreams, as when the spirit of our youth
  Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth
  And innocence, once ours, and leads us back
  In mournful mockery over the shining track
  Of our young life, and points out every ray
  Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way!"

By Moore, I think; perhaps Byron.

  "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
  Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
  To the last syllable of recorded time;
  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
  The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
  Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
  And then is heard no more: it is a tale
  Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
  Signifying nothing."

Cordial remembrances to your parents and the Reddentin folk.


Schönhausen, February 23, '47.

_My Angel!_--I shall not send this letter on its way tomorrow, it's
true, but I do want to make use of the few unoccupied minutes left me
to satisfy the need I am conscious of every hour, to communicate with
you, and forthwith to compose a "Sunday letter" to you once more.
Today I have been "on the move" all day long. "The Moorish king rode
up and down," unfortunately not "through Granada's royal town," but
between Havelberg and Jerichow, on foot, in a carriage, and on
horseback, and got mighty cold doing so--because, after the warm
weather of the last few days, I had not made the slightest preparation
to encounter five degrees below freezing, with a cutting north wind,
and was too much in haste or too lazy to mount the stairs again when I
noticed the fresh air. During the night it had been quite endurable
and superb moonlight. A beautiful spectacle it was, too, when the
great fields of ice first set themselves massively in motion, with
explosions like cannon-shots, shattering themselves against one
another; they rear, shoving over and under each other; they pile up
house-high, and sometimes build dams obliquely across the Elbe, in
front of which the pent stream rises until it breaks through them with
rage. Now are they all broken to pieces in the battle--the giants--and
the water very thickly covered with ice-cakes, the largest of which
measure several square rods, which it bears out to the free sea like
shattered chains, with grumbling, clashing noises. This will go on so
for about three days more, until the ice that comes from Bohemia,
which passed the bridge at Dresden several days ago, has gone by. (The
danger is that the ice-cakes by jamming together may make a dam, and
the stream rise in front of this--often ten to fifteen feet in a few
hours.) Then comes the freshet from the mountains which floods the bed
of the Elbe, often a mile in width, and is dangerous in itself, owing
to its volume. How long that is to last we cannot tell beforehand. The
prevailing cold weather, combined with the contrary sea wind, will
certainly retard it. It may easily last so long that it will not be
worth while to go to Reinfeld before the 20th. If only eight days
should be left me, would you have me undertake it, nevertheless?--or
will you wait to have me without interruption after the 20th, or
perhaps 18th? It is true that _fiancé_ and dike-captain are almost
incompatible; but were I not the latter, I have not the slightest idea
who would be. The revenues of the office are small, and the duties
sometimes laborious; the gentlemen of the neighborhood, however, are
deeply concerned, and yet without public spirit. And even if one
should be discovered who would undertake it for the sake of the title,
which is, strange to say, much desired in these parts, yet there is no
one here (may God forgive me the offence) who would not be either
unfit for the business or faint-hearted. A fine opinion, you will
think, I have of myself, that I only am none of this; but I assert
with all of my native modesty that I have all these faults in less
degree than the others in this part of the country--which is, in fact,
not saying much.

I have not yet been able to write to Moritz, and yet I must send
something to which he can reply, inasmuch as my former letter has not
as yet brought a sign of life. Or have you crowded me out of his
heart, and do you fill it alone? The little pale-faced child is not in
danger, I hope. That is a possibility in view of which I am terrified
whenever I think of it--that as a crowning misfortune of our most
afflicted friend, this thread of connection with Marie might be
severed. But she will soon be a year and a half old, you know; she has
passed the most dangerous period for children. Will you mope and talk
of warm hands and cold love if I pay a visit to Moritz on my next
journey, instead of flying to Reinfeld without a pause as is required
of a loving youth?

That you are getting pale, my heart, distresses me. Do you feel well
otherwise, physically, and of good courage? Give me a bulletin of your
condition, your appetite, your sleep. I am surprised also that Hedwig
Dewitz has written to you--such a heterogeneous nature, that can have
so little in common with you. She was educated with my sister for
several years in Kniephof, although she was four or five years the
elder of the two. Either she loves you--which I should find quite easy
to explain--or has other prosaic intentions. I fancy that she, as is
quite natural, does not feel at home in her father's house; she has,
therefore, always made her home with others for long periods and with
satisfaction.

In your letter which lies before me I come upon "self-control" again.
That is a fine acquisition for one who may profit by it, but surely to
be distinguished from compulsion. It is praiseworthy and amiable to
wean one's self from tasteless or provoking outbursts of feeling, or
to give to them a more ingratiating form; but I call it
self-constraint--which makes one sick at heart--when one stifles his
own feelings in himself. In social intercourse one may practise it,
but not we two between ourselves. If there be tares in the field of
our heart, we will mutually exert ourselves so to dispose of them that
their seed cannot spring up; but, if it does, we will openly pull it
up, but not cover it artificially with straw and hide it--that harms
the wheat and does not injure the tares. Your thought was, I take it,
to pull them up unaided, without paining me by the sight of them; but
let us be in this also one heart and one flesh, even if your little
thistles sometimes prick my fingers. Do not turn your back on them nor
conceal them from me. You will not always take pleasure in my big
thorns, either--so big that I cannot hide them; and we must pull at
them both together, even though our hands bleed. Moreover, thorns
sometimes bear very lovely flowers, and if yours bear roses we may
perhaps let them alone sometimes. "The best is foe to the good"--in
general, a very true saying; so do not have too many misgivings about
all your tares, which I have not yet discovered, and leave at least a
sample of them for me. With this exhortation, so full of unction, I
will go to sleep, although it has just struck ten, for last night
there was little of it; the unaccustomed physical exercise has used me
up a bit, and tomorrow I am to be in the saddle again before daylight.
Very, very tired am I, like a child.


Schönhausen, March 14, 1847.

_Jeanne la Méchante!_--What is the meaning of this? A whole week has
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.

I fear, my dear heart, the letter I wrote you last evening reached the
post-office so late, through an oversight, that you will not receive
it today, and not before tomorrow with this; and it pains me to think
that you were disappointed in your hope when the mail was delivered,
and now (9 o'clock in the evening) are perhaps troubled with
disquietude of all sorts about me. I have spent a tiresome day,
tramping the pavement, smoking and intriguing. Do not judge of the few
words I spoke yesterday from the report in the Berlin _Times_. I shall
manage to bring you a copy of the speech, which has no significance
except as showing that I did not wish to be included in the category
of certain venal bureaucrats who turned their coat with contemptible
shamelessness to suit the wind. The impression it made was piteous,
while even my most zealous opponents shook my hand with greater warmth
after my declaration. I have just come from a great citizens' meeting,
of perhaps a thousand people, in the Milenz Hall, where the Polish
question was debated very decorously, very good speeches were made,
and on the whole the sentiment seemed to turn against the Poles,
especially after a disconsolate Jew had arrived, straight from Samter,
who told terrible stories about the lawless excesses of the Poles
against the Germans; he himself had been soundly beaten. * * *

Just for my sake do not alarm yourself if each mail does not bring you
a letter from me. There is not the slightest probability that a hair
of our heads will be touched, and my friends of all kinds overrun
me, to share their political wisdom with me, so that I began a letter
of one-quarter sheet to Malle this morning at 9, and could not finish
before 3. I am living in comfort and economy with Werdeck, only rather
far away, in consequence of which I already feel the pavement through
my soles. Cordial remembrances to the mother and the Bellins. I am
writing on the _table d'hôte_ table of the Hôtel des Princes, and a
small salad has just been brought for my supper.

Your very faithful B. April 3, '48.


Schönhausen, August 21, '48. 8.30 P.M.

To HERR VON PUTTKAMER, AT REINFELD, NEAR ZUCKERS, POMERANIA.

_Dear Father_,--You have just become, with God's gracious help, the
grandfather of a healthy, well-formed girl that Johanna has presented
me with after hard but short pains. At the moment mother and child are
doing as well as one could wish. Johanna lies still and tired, yet
cheerful and composed, behind the curtain; the little creature, in the
meantime, under coverlets on the sofa, and squalls off and on. I am
quite glad that the first is a daughter, but if it had been a cat I
should have thanked God on my knees the moment Johanna was rid of it:
it is really a desperately hard business. I came from Berlin last
night, and this morning we had no premonition of what was to come. At
ten in the morning Johanna was seized with severe pains after eating a
grape, and the accompanying symptoms led me to put her at once to bed,
and to send in haste to Tangermünde, whence, in spite of the Elbe, Dr.
Fricke arrived soon after 12. At 8 my daughter was audible, with
sonorous voice. This afternoon I sent Hildebrand off to fetch nurse
Boldt from Berlin in a great hurry. I hope you will not postpone your
journey now; but earnestly beg dear mother not to make the trip in an
exhausting manner. I know, of course, that she has little regard for
her own health, but just for Johanna's sake you must take care of
yourself, dear mother, so that she may not be anxious on your account.
Fricke pleases us very much--experienced and careful. I do not admit
visits: Bellin's wife, the doctor, and I attend to everything. Fricke
estimates the little one at about nine pounds in weight. Up to the
present time, then, everything has gone according to rule, and for
that praise and thanks be to the Lord. If you could bring Aennchen
with you that would make Johanna very happy.

22. _Morning_.--It is all going very well, only the cradle is still
lacking, and the little miss must camp meanwhile on a forage-crib. May
God have you and us in his keeping, dear parents.

Until we meet again, presently. B.

Have the kindness to attend to the announcements, save in Berlin and
Reddentin, in your neighborhood: Seehof, Satz, and so forth. Johanna
sends cordial greetings. She laments her daughter's large nose. I
think it no larger than it has a right to be.

Berlin, Saturday, 11 p. m. September 23, '48.


To FRAU VON BISMARCK, SCHÖNHAUSEN, NEAR JERICHOW.

_My Pet!_--Today at last I have news of your condition, and am very
grateful to mother for the letter. * * * I am beginning to be really
homesick for you, my heart, and mother's letter today threw me into a
mood utterly sad and crippling: a husband's heart, and a father's--at
any rate, mine in the present circumstances--does not fit in with the
whirl of politics and intrigue. On Monday, probably, the die will be
cast here. Either the ministry will be shown to be weak, like its
predecessors, and sink out--and against this I shall still
struggle--or it will do its duty, and then I do not for a moment doubt
that blood will flow on Monday evening or on Tuesday. I should not
have believed that the democrats would be confident enough to take up
the gage of battle, but all their behavior indicates that they are
bent on it. Poles, Frankfort men, loafers, volunteers--all sorts of
riffraff are again at hand. They count on the defection of the troops,
apparently misled by the talk of individual discontented gabblers
among the soldiers; but I think they will make a great mistake. I
personally have no occasion to await the thing here, and so to tempt
God by asking him to protect me in perils that I have no call to seek.
Accordingly, I shall betake my person to a place of safety not later
than tomorrow. If nothing important occurs on Monday, on Tuesday I
shall reach you; but, if the trouble begins, I should still like to
stay near the King. But there you may (in an aside I say
"unfortunately") assume with confidence that there will be no danger.
You received no letter from me today, because I sent a report about
the society to Gärtner, and you will learn from him that I am all
right. You will receive this tomorrow, and I shall write again on
Monday. Send horses for me on Tuesday. God bless and guard you, my
sweetheart.

Your faithful B.


(Postmark, Berlin, November 9, '48.)

_My Dearest_,--Although I am confident that I shall be with you in
person a few hours after this letter, I want to inform you immediately
that everything is quiet till now. I go to Potsdam at nine, but must
post the letter here now, as otherwise it will not reach you today.
Our friends have been steadfast till now, but I cannot take courage
yet to believe in anything energetic. I still fear, fear, and the
weather is unfavorable, too. Above all, you must not be afraid of
anything, if I should stay away today by any chance. The K. may send
for me, or some one else in Potsdam earnestly wish that I should stay
there to advise upon further measures, the trains may be delayed
because the carriages are required for soldiers, and other things of
the sort. Then, courage and patience, my heart, in any event. The God
who makes worlds go round can also cover me with his wings. And in P.
there is no danger anyhow. So expect me in the evening; if I happen
not to come, I shall be all right nevertheless. Cordial remembrances
to our cross little mother.

Your most faithful B.


Potsdam, November 10, '48.

_My Angel_,--Please, please do not scold me for not coming today
either; I must try to put through some more matters in relation to the
immediate future. At two this afternoon all Wrangel's troops will
reach Berlin, disarm the flying corps, maybe, take the disaffected
deputies from the _Concertsaal,_ and make the city again a royal
Prussian one. It is doubtful whether they will come to blows in the
process. Contrary to our expectations, everything remained quiet
yesterday; the democrats seem to be much discouraged. * * *

Your v.B.


Potsdam, November 14, '48.

_My Dear Pet_,--Long sleep can certainly become a vice. Senfft has
just waked me at nine o'clock, and I cannot yet get the sand out of my
eyes. It is quiet here. Yesterday it was said to be the intention to
serenade the Queen (on her birthday) with mock music; one company
posted there sufficed to make the audacious people withdraw in
silence. Berlin is in a state of siege, but as yet not a shot fired.
The disarming of the city militia goes on forcibly and very gradually.
The meeting in the Schützenhaus was dispersed by soldiers yesterday;
six men who were unwilling to go were thrown out. Martial law will be
proclaimed over there today. My friend Schramm has been arrested. That
Rob. Blum, Fröbel, Messenhauser, have been shot in Vienna, you already
know from the newspapers. Good-by, you angel; I must close. Many
remembrances to all. The peasants of the neighborhood have declared to
the King that if he has need of them he should just call them: that
they would come with weapons and supplies to aid his troops, from the
Zauch-Belzig-Teltow, the Havelland, and other districts. Mention that
in Schönhausen, please, so that it may go the rounds.

Your v.B.


Potsdam, Thursday Morning, November 16, '48.

_Dear Nanne!_--I did not get your very dear, nice letter of Tuesday
morning until yesterday afternoon, but none the less did I right
fervently rejoice and take comfort in it, because you are well, at
least in your way, and are fond of me. There is no news from here
except that Potsdam and Berlin are as quiet as under the former King,
and the surrender of arms in B. continues without interruption, with
searching of houses, etc. It is possible that there may be scenes of
violence incidentally--the troops secretly long for them--but on the
whole the "passive resistance" of the democrats seems to me only a
seasonable expression for what is usually called fear. Yesterday I
dined with the King. The Queen was amiable in the English fashion. The
enclosed twig of erica I picked from her sewing-table, and send it to
keep you from being jealous. * * *

If a letter from the Stettin bank has arrived, send it to me
immediately, please, marked, "To be delivered promptly." If I do not
receive it before day after tomorrow, I shall return home, but must
then go to Stettin at the beginning of next week. So let horses be
sent for me on Saturday afternoon; this evening I unfortunately cannot
go to Genthin, because I expect Manteuffel here. * * *

The democrats are working all their schemes in order to represent the
opinion of the "people" as hostile to the King; hundreds of feigned
signatures. Please ask the town-councillor whether there are not some
sensible people in Magdeburg, who care more for their neck, with quiet
and good order, than for this outcry of street politicians, and who
will send the King a counter-address from Magdeburg. I must close.
Give my best regards to mamma, and kiss the little one for me on the
left eye. Day after tomorrow, then, if I do not get the Stettin letter
sooner. Good-by, my sweet angel. Yours forever, v.B. Schönhausen,
July 18, '49.

_My Pet_,--  * * * I wanted to write you in the evening, but the air was
so heavenly that I sat for two hours or so on the bench in front of
the garden-house, smoked and looked at the bats flying, just as with
you two years ago, my darling, before we started on our trip. The
trees stood so still and high near me, the air fragrant with linden
blossoms; in the garden a quail whistled and partridges allured, and
over beyond Arneburg lay the last pink border of the sunset. I was
truly filled with gratitude to God, and there arose before my soul the
quiet happiness of a family life filled with love, a peaceful haven,
into which a gust of wind perchance forces its way from the storms of
the world-ocean and ruffles the surface, but its warm depths remain
clear and still so long as the cross of the Lord is reflected in them.
Though the reflected image be often faint and distorted, God knows his
sign still. Do you give thanks to Him, too, my angel; think of the
many blessings He has conferred upon us, and the many dangers against
which He has protected us, and, with firm reliance on His strong hand,
confront the evil spirits with that when they try to affright your
sick fancy with all sorts of images of fear. * * *

Your most faithful
v.B.


Brandenburg, July 23, '49.

_My Beloved Nanne!_--I have just received your short letter of Friday,
which reassures me somewhat, as I infer from it that our little one
has not the croup, but the whooping-cough, which is, indeed, bad, but
not so dangerous as the other. You, poor dear, must have worried
yourself sick. It is very fortunate that you have such good assistance
from our people and the preacher, yet are you all somewhat lacking in
confidence, and increase each other's anxiety instead of comforting
one another. Barschall has just told me that all of his children have
had this croupy cough--that it was endemic in Posen in his time; his
own and other children were attacked by it repeatedly in the course of
a few days; that every family had an emetic of a certain kind on hand
in the house, and by that means overcame the enemy easily every time,
and without permanent consequences for the child. Be comforted, then,
and trust in the Lord God; He does, indeed, show us the rod that He
has ready for us, but I have the firm belief that He will put it back
behind the mirror. As a child I, too, suffered from whooping-cough to
the extent of inflammation of the lungs, and yet entirely outgrew it.
I have the greatest longing to be with you, my angel, and think day
and night about you and your distress, and about the little creature,
during all the wild turmoil of the elections. * * *

Here in Brandenburg the party of the centre is decidedly stronger than
ours; in the country districts I hope it is the other way, yet the
fact cannot be overlooked. It is incredible what cock-and-bull stories
the democrats tell the peasants about me; in fact, one from the
Schönhausen district, three miles from us, confided to me yesterday
that, when my name is mentioned among them, a regular shudder goes
through them from head to foot, as though they should get a couple of
"old-Prussian broadsword strokes" laid across their shoulders. As an
opponent said recently, at a meeting, "Do you mean to elect Bismarck
Schönhausen, the man 'who, in the countryman's evening prayer, stands
hard by the devil'?" (From Grillparzer's _Ahnfrau_.) And yet I am the
most soft-hearted person in the world towards the common people. On
the whole, my election here in these circumstances seems very doubtful
to me; and as I do not believe I shall be elected in the other place
either, when I am not there personally, we may live together quietly
the rest of the summer, if it be God's will, and I will pet you into
recovery from your fright about the child, my darling. Have no anxiety
whatever about my personal safety; one hears nothing of the cholera
here except in a letter from Reinfeld. The first rule to observe, if
it should come nearer to you, is to speak of it as little as possible;
by speaking, one always augments the fear of others, and fear of it
is the easiest bridge on which it can enter the human body. * * *

God guard you and your child, and all our house.

Your most faithful

v.B.

It is better not to leave the doors all open constantly, for the child
often gets shock from the draught, when one is opened, before you can
prevent it.


(Postmark, Berlin, August 8, '49.)

_My Love_,--I sent you a letter this morning, and have just received
yours, in reply to which I will add a few more words touching the
wet-nurse. If any one besides you and father and mother already knows
about the matter, in the house or outside, then tell her the truth
unhesitatingly, for in that case it will not stay hidden. If the
matter is still known to yourselves alone, let it continue so, but
then keep watch on the mail-bag, lest she learn of it unexpectedly.
The wet-nurse's sister here is unwilling to have it told to her. I
shall look her up today and speak with her. But if you do not wish to
keep it secret any longer, when once the child is rid of her cough,
you should at any rate look about you for a wet-nurse or woman who, in
case of necessity, can take Friederike's place immediately, if the
effect is such that the child cannot stay with her. I shall get the
sister to give me a letter to her, in which the story will be told
exactly and soothingly; this I shall send to you, so that you may make
use of it in case of need; that, I think, is the best way she can
learn of it. To tell her first that her child is sick, and so forth, I
do not consider a good plan, for anxiety has a worse effect than the
truth. God will graciously bring us out of this trouble. He holds us
with a short rein lest we should become self-confident, but He will
not let us fall. Good-by, my best-of-all; pray and keep your head up.

Your very faithful

v.B.


Berlin, August 11, '49.

_Mon Ange_,--I went to see the wet-nurse's kinsfolk, and there learned
that the _fiancé_ had written to her last Wednesday and revealed all
to her; so the matter will go as God directs. If you chanced to
intercept the letter, and on receipt of this have not yet delivered
it, please delay it until my next arrives. I could not find the
_fiancé_ himself, and directed him to come to me this evening, and
shall write you what I learn from him. If Friederike knows everything
already, my wishes will reach you too late; otherwise I should like,
if in accordance with medical opinion, not to have the wet-nurse sent
away altogether, but only relieved from service for a few hours or
days; if, however, there are scruples on that point, it can't be done,
of course. From my many doubts, you will see that I cannot decide the
matter very well at this distance. Act quite in accordance with the
advice of your mother and the other experienced friends. I give my
views, merely, not commands. * * * Be content with these lines for
today; be courageous and submissive to God's will, my darling; all
will surely go well. Cordial remembrances to the parents.

Your most faithful

v.B.


Berlin, Friday. (Postmark, August 17, '49.)

_Dearest Nanne_,-- * * * Your last letter, in which you inform me of
the happy solution of the wet-nurse difficulty, took a real load off
my heart; I thanked God for His mercy, and could almost have got drunk
from pure gayety. May His protection extend henceforward, too, over
you and the little darling. I am living with Hans here at the corner
of Taubenstrasse, three rooms and one alcove, quite elegant, but
narrow little holes; Hans' bed full of bugs, but mine not as yet--I
seem not to be to their taste. We pay twenty-five rix-dollars a month,
together. If there were one additional small room, and not two flights
of stairs, I could live with you here, and Hans could get another
apartment below in this house. But, as it is, it would be too cramped
for us. I have talked with the _fiancé_ of the wet-nurse, a
modest-looking person. He spoke of her with love, and declared in
reply to my question that he certainly is willing to marry her. What
he wrote about the "white pestilence" is nonsense; no such sickness
exists, least of all in Berlin. The cholera is fast disappearing. I
have not heard a word more about it since I came here; one sees it
only in newspaper reports. Isn't our mammy jealous because, according
to the paper, I have been in company with "strikingly handsome"
Englishwomen? Lady Jersey was really something uncommon, such as is
usually seen only in _keepsakes_. I would have paid a rix-dollar
admission if she had been exhibited for money. She is now in Vienna.
For the rest, I have not had a letter from you this long time; my last
news comes from Bernhard, who left you a week ago today. God has
upheld you meantime, I trust, my angel. It is possible that a letter
from you is here. The delivery is always rather irregular: sometimes
the letter-carrier brings them, sometimes they are delivered at the
Chamber postal station. I will go immediately and inquire if anything
is there; then I will take a bath, and return at least ten calls that
have been paid me. It is a misery that now the people always receive
one--one loses a terrible amount of time at it.... Hans is still
inclined to treat me tyrannically, but I resist, and have been so far
successful that I sleep as long as I please, whereat the coffee grows
cold, however, as he is obstinately bent on not breakfasting alone.
So, too, he will not go to bed if I do not go at the same time, but
sleeps, just like my little Nanne, on the sofa.... Now, good-by my
much-beloved heart. I am very anxious on your account, and often am
quite tearful about it. Best regards to the parents.

Your most faithful v.B.


Berlin, Monday. (Postmark, August 28, '49.)

_My Darling_,--I sit here in my corner room, two flights up, and
survey the sky, full of nothing but little sunset-tinted lambs, as it
appears, along the Taubenstrasse and over the tree-tops of Prinz
Carl's garden, while along Friedrichstrasse it is all golden and
cloudless; the air damp and mild, too. I thought of you and of Venice,
and this only I wanted to write to you. News has come today that
Venice has surrendered at discretion; so we can go there again, and
again see the tall white grenadiers. * * * I dined with Manteuffel
today, yesterday with Prince Albert, of course, day before yesterday
with Arnim, and then I took a ride with him of fourteen miles at a
gallop--which suited me well, save for some muscular pains. In the
Chamber we keep on doing nothing whatever; in the Upper House the
German question, happily, has been brought forward again in very good
speeches by Gerlach, Bethmann, and Stahl, and yet today the Camphausen
proposition was adopted with all the votes against nineteen. With us,
too, it is beginning to excite men's tempers. The proposition is bad
in its tendency, but its result insignificant even if it goes through
with us, as is to be expected. _Tant de bruit pour une omelette_. The
real decision will not be reached in our Chambers, but in diplomacy
and on the battlefield, and all that we prate and resolve about it has
no more value than the moonshine observations of a sentimental youth
who builds air-castles and thinks that some unexpected event will make
him a great man. _Je m'en moque!_--and the farce often bores me nearly
to death, because I see no sensible object in this straw-threshing.
Mother's little letter gave me great pleasure, because, in the first
place, I see that you are well, and then because she has her old joke
with me, which is much pleasanter at a distance, as it does not lead
to strife; and yet how I should like to quarrel with mammy once more!
I am genuinely homesick to be quietly with you all in Schönhausen.
Have you received the ribbon for Aennchen?

_Tuesday_.--Hans is just breakfasting, and eating up, from sheer
stinginess, a quarter pound of butter that he bought three days ago,
because it begins to get old. Now he screams that my tea is there,
too. I close for today, as I have something to do afterwards. My love
to FatherMotherAnnaAdelheidMarie and all the rest. God's blessing be
with you and keep you well and merry.

Your most faithful v.B.


Berlin, September 11, '49. (Postmarked September 10.)

I wrote yesterday, my Nannie, but as it costs me nothing, not even for
paper, for this is the Chamber's, I do want to improve a wearisome
moment, during which I must listen to the reading of a confused report
on normal prices, to send you another little greeting; but again
without the ribbon, for I am going to buy that later on. This morning
I attended the cavalry manoeuvres, on a very pleasant horse of
Fritz's; rode sharply, swallowed much dust, but, nevertheless, had a
good time; it is really pretty, these brilliant, rapidly moving masses
interspersed with the clanking of iron and the bugle signals. The
Queen, my old flame, greeted me so cordially. Having driven past
without noticing me, she rose and turned backward over the bar of the
carriage, to nod to me thrice; that lady appreciates a Prussian heart.
Tomorrow I shall take a look at the grand parade, in which the
infantry also participates. I believe I have written you that the King
and Leopold Gerlach visited the Emperor of Austria at Teplitz, where
there was also a Russian plenipotentiary. The proletariats of the
Chamber are now gradually coming to see that on that occasion
something may have been concocted which will cast mildew on their
German hot-house flowers, and the fact that his Majesty has conversed
with the ruler of all the Croatians frightens them somewhat. _Qui
vivra verra_. These Frankfort cabbage-heads are incorrigible; they
and their phrases are like the old liars who in the end honestly
believe their own stories; and the impression produced on our Chamber
by such ridiculous things as they say, without any regard for the
matter in hand, or for common-sense, will be sure at last to convince
people generally that peasants and provincials are not fit to make
laws and conduct European politics. Now I must listen. Farewell, my
much-beloved heart. Love to my daughter and your parents.

Your most faithful v.B.


Berlin, Friday.

(Postmarked September 21, '49.)

I am well, my darling Nan, but I am cold, for in the morning the rooms
are already so chilly that I long very much for the Schönhausen
fireplaces, and matters in the Chamber are so tedious that I often
have serious thoughts of resigning my commission. In the ministry
there is again a shameful measure preparing; they now want to submit a
real property tax bill, according to which those estates which are not
manors are to be indemnified, while manors must suffer, as the number
of nobles is not dangerous. Only if encumbered for more than
two-thirds of their value, they are to be assisted by loans. What good
will a loan do a bankrupt, who has it to repay! It is a mixture of
cowardice and shameless injustice such as I could not have expected.
Yesterday we had soft, warm autumn weather, and I took a long walk in
the Thiergarten, by the same solitary paths which we used to traverse
together; I sat, too, on our bench near the swan-pond; the young swans
which were then still in their eggs on the little island were now
swimming vivaciously about, fat, gray, and _blasé_, among the dirty
ducks, and the old ones sleepily laid their heads on their backs. The
handsome large maple standing near the bridge has already leaves of a
dark-red color; I wished to send you one of them, but in my pocket it
has become so hard that it crumbles away; the gold-fish pond is
almost dried up; the lindens, the black alders, and other delicate
things bestrew the paths with their yellow, rustling foliage, and the
round chestnut-burrs exhibit a medley of all shades of sombre and
attractive fall coloring. The promenade, with its morning fogs among
the trees, reminded me vividly of Kniephof, the woodcock-hunt, the
line of springes, and how everything was so green and fresh when I
used to walk there with you, my darling. * * * On the 1st of October I
shall probably have to attend the celebration of the nine-hundredth
anniversary of the founding of the cathedral there, to which the King
is coming. For the 2d and the following days I have been invited to go
on a royal hunt to the Falkenstein. I should be very glad to shoot a
deer in those woods which we and Mary saw illuminated by the moon on
that evening; but even if matters in the Chamber should not prevent, I
am at a loss how to reconcile that with our journey, and I feel as
though I should steal my days from you by going. * * * I am now going
out to buy a waist, to call on Rauch, and then again to the
Thiergarten. All love to father and mother, and may God preserve you
in the future as hitherto, my dearest.

Your most faithful v.B.


Berlin, Friday.

(Postmarked September 28, '49.)

_My Dear,--_I have taken the apartment in the Behrenstrasse; that on
the Thiergarten is too uncomfortable for you in going in and out in
wet winter weather. * * * It is better that I should procure and
arrange everything for you in advance; then you need only alight here
and sink into my open arms and on a ready sofa; that would be so
pretty; only come soon, my beloved angel; today the weather is already
bitter cold, and write me exactly when I can come for you to Z. Do not
be offended, either, at my note of yesterday, and do not think that
you have offended me, but please come quickly. I am not going to the
Harz. Much love. In great haste.

Your most faithful v.B.

  Over the blue mountain,
  Over the white sea-foam,
  Come, thou beloved one,
  Come to thy lonely home.

                    --_Old Song_.


Schönhausen, October 2, '49.

_My Beloved Nan,--I am sitting in our quiet old Schönhausen, where I
am quite comfortable, after the Berlin hubbub, and I should like to
stay here a week, if the old Chamber allowed. This morning Odin
awakened me, and then retreated as usual between the beds; then the
Bellins groaned very much about the bad qualities of the tenant, with
whom they lead a cat-and-dog life, and I discussed with her, pro and
con, all that is to be sent to Berlin. The garden is still quite green
for the fall season, but the paths are overgrown with grass, and our
little island is so dwarfed and wet that I could not get on to it; it
rains without let-up. The little alderman, of course, sat with me all
the afternoon, otherwise I should have written you sooner and more at
length. I want to leave again tomorrow morning, and I have still
several business letters to write. Yesterday, with the King, I
celebrated the nine-hundredth anniversary of the Brandenburg
Cathedral, after it had been thoroughly exorcised and the bad national
spirits driven out. The entire royal family was there, except the
Princess of Babelsberg, who is at Weimar; also Brandenburg,
Manteuffel, Wrangel, Voss, and many high dignitaries, among them
myself, quite courageously at the front in church, next to the
princesses. At dinner his Majesty said many pretty things about his
electoral and capital city of Brandenburg, and was also very friendly
to me. I introduced to the Queen a number of village mayors, who had
been of particular service in my election; they were so much moved by
it that afterwards they embraced me with tears in their eyes. Finally,
the King became very angry at Patow, who had made his appearance as
President-in-chief, and to whom he had not spoken till then. "Sir,"
said he, in a very loud and angry voice, "if you belong to the Right,
then vote with the Right; if you belong to the Left, vote, in the----
name with the Left; but I require of my servants that they stand by
me, do you understand?" Breathless silence, and P---- looked like a
duck in a thunder-storm. * * * It is right good that I did not take
the apartment on the Thiergarten; aside from the wet feet which my
angel would get in dirty and damp weather, the house has been broken
into seven times during the couple of years of its existence, a fact
of which sympathizing souls would surely have informed you; and, if on
some long winter evening I were not at home, you and the two girls and
baby would have shuddered mightily over it. The little old clock is
just clearing its throat to strike seven; I must to my work. Farewell,
dearest; and, above all things, come-mmmm quickly--in a hurry,
swiftly, instantly--to your dear little husbandkin. Most hearty
greetings to our parents.

Your most faithful v.B.


Erfurt, April 19, '50.

_My Beloved Nan_,--It is bad to live in such a small town, with three
hundred acquaintances. One is never sure of his life a single moment,
for calls. An hour ago I got rid of the last bores; then, during
supper, I walked up and down in my room, and annihilated almost the
whole fat sausage, which is very delicious, drank a stone mug of beer
from the Erfurt "Felsenkeller," and now, while writing, I am eating
the second little box of Marchpane, which was, perhaps, intended for
Hans, who has not got any of the sausage even; in its place I will
leave him the little ham. During the last few days we have been
valiantly quarrelling in Parliament; but neither at the beginning nor
later could I obtain the floor for my principal speech; but I relieved
myself of some gall in minor skirmishes. * * * I am sick and tired of
life here; attending the sitting early in the morning, thence directly
to a screaming and chattering _table d'hôte,_ then for coffee to the
Steiger, a most charming little mountain, a mile from the city, where
one can walk about through the pleasantest hours of the day with a
pretty view of Erfurt and the Thuringian woods; under magnificent
oaks, among the little light-green leaves of prickles and horn-beam;
from there to the abominable party caucus, which has never yet made me
any the wiser, so that one does not get home all day. If I do not
attend the caucus meetings, they all rail at me, for each one grudges
the others any escape from the tedium. * * * Good-by, my heart. May
God's hand be over you, and the children, and protect you from
sickness and worry, but particularly you, the apple of my eye, whom
Röder envies me daily in the promenade, when the sunset makes him
sentimental, and he wishes he had such a "good, dear, devout wife."
For the rest, my allowance suffices for my needs here, and I shall
still bring treasures home. Good-night, my darling. Many thanks for
your faithful letter, and write me again at once; I am always anxious
for news. Hans has just come in, and sends you sleepy greetings, after
sitting on the lounge for hardly ten seconds. Once more, good-night,
my Nan.

Your most faithful v.B.


Erfurt, April 23, '50.

_My Darling_,-- * * * We shall probably be released a week from today,
and then we have before us a quiet Schönhausen summer, as the cry of
war is also dying. It is really going to be summer again, and on a
very long walk, from which I am returning home dead tired, I took much
pleasure in the small green leaves of the hazel and white beech, and
heard the cuckoo, who told me that we shall live together for eleven
years more; let us hope longer still. My hunt was extraordinary;
charming wild pine-woods on the ride out, sky-high, as in the
Erzgebirge; then, on the other side, steep valleys, like the Selke,
only the hills were much higher, with beeches and oaks. The night
before starting I had slept but four hours; then went to bed at nine
o'clock in Schleusingen on the south side of the Thuringian wood;
arose at midnight; that evening I had eaten freely of the trout and
had drunk weak beer with them; at one o'clock we rode to a forge in
the mountains, where ghostlike people poked the fire; then we climbed,
without stopping, until three o 'clock, in pouring rain, I wearing a
heavy overcoat; so steep that I had to help myself with my hands; so
dark in the fir thickets that I could touch the huntsman ahead of me
with my hand, but could not see him. Then, too, we were told there is
a precipice on the right, and the torrent sent up its roar from the
purple depths below; or that there is a pool on the left, and the path
was slippery. I had to halt three times; repeatedly I almost fainted
from weakness, lay down on the dripping heath, and let the rain pour
on me. But I was firmly resolved to see the grouse; and I did see
several, but could not shoot them, for reasons which one must be a
huntsman to understand. My companion shot one, and, if I had been
well, I might have shot two; I was too exhausted. After three it
cleared and became wonderfully fine, the horn-owl gave place to the
thrush, and at sunrise the bird-chorus became deafening; the
wood-pigeons singing bass, withal. At five I was down again, and, as
it began to pour once more, I abandoned further attempts, returned
hither, ate very heartily, after a twenty-four hours' fast, and drank
two glasses of champagne, then slept for fourteen hours, until
yesterday at one o'clock, noon, and now I am feeling much better than
before the excursion, and am glad of the good constitution which God
has given me, to get through it all. * * * I send you lots of love, my
heart, and will piously celebrate fast-day tomorrow at the Wermel
church. God preserve you. Love to mother and Melissa. Excuse my haste.
I had really left myself an hour of leisure, but that little old Mass
has his fourteenth child, just born. The only son of our poor
Eglofstein, of Arklitten, twenty-three-year-old lieutenant of
cuirassiers, has shot himself in hypochondria; I pity the father
extremely, a devout, honorable man.

Your most faithful

v.B.


Schönhausen, Sunday Evening.

(Postmarked Jerichow, September 30, '50.)

_My Beloved Nan_,-- * * * I regained possession of my things in Berlin
at some cost, after twenty-four hours had elapsed; when I left, the
unfortunate Jew had not yet claimed his. Partly on my account and
partly on Hans', we had to stay in Berlin two days, but this time the
bill was more reasonable. * * * May the devil take politics! Here I
found everything as we left it, only the leaves show the rosiness of
autumn; flowers are almost more plentiful than in summer; Kahle has a
particular fondness for them, and on the terrace fabulous pumpkins are
suspended by their vines from the trees. The pretty plums are gone;
only a few blue ones still remain; of the vine, only the common green
variety is ripe; next week I shall send you some grapes. I have
devoured so many figs today that I was obliged to drink rum, but they
were the last. I am sorry you cannot see the Indian corn; it stands
closely packed, three feet higher than I can reach with my hand; the
colts' pasture looks from a distance like a fifteen-year-old pine
preserve. I am sitting here at your desk, a crackling fire behind me,
and Odin, rolled into a knot, by my side. * * * Mamsell received me in
pink, with a black dancing-jacket; the children in the village
ridicule her swaggering about her noble and rich relations. She has
cooked well again today, but, as to the feeding of the cattle, Bellin
laments bitterly that she understands nothing about it, and pays no
attention to it, and she is also said to be uncleanly; the Bellin
woman does not eat a mouthful prepared by her. Her father is a common
cottager and laborer; I can easily understand that she is out of place
there, with her grand airs and pink dresses. Up to this time the
garden, outside of Kahle's keep, has cost one hundred and three
rix-dollars this year, and between now and Christmas forty to fifty
will probably be added for digging and harvesting, besides the fuel.
The contents of the greenhouse I shall try to have care of in the
neighborhood; that is really the most difficult point, and still one
cannot continue keeping the place for the sake of the few oranges. I
am giving out that you will spend the winter in Berlin, that in the
summer-time we intend going to a watering-place again, and that,
therefore, we are giving up housekeeping for a year. * * * Hearty love
to our parents. I shall celebrate father's birthday with you, like a
Conservative, in the old style. May the merciful God, for His Son's
sake, preserve you and the children. Farewell, my dear Nan.

Your v.B.

Since leaving Reinfeld I no longer have heartburn; perhaps it is in my
heart, and my heart has remained with Nan.


Schönhausen, October 1, '50.

_My Angel_,--I am so anxious that I can hardly endure being here; I
have the most decided inclination to inform the government at once of
my resignation, let the dike go, and proceed to Reinfeld. I expected
to have a letter from you today, but nothing except stupid police
matters. Do write very, very often, even if it takes one hundred
rix-dollars postage. I am always afraid that you are sick, and today I
am in such a mood that I should like to foot it to Pomerania. I long
for the children, for mammy and dad, and, most of all, for you, my
darling, so that I have no peace at all. Without you here, what is
Schönhausen to me? The dreary bedroom, the empty cradles with the
little beds in them, all the absolute silence, like an autumn fog,
interrupted only by the ticking of the clock and the periodic falling
of the chestnuts--it is as though you all were dead. I always imagine
your next letter will bring bad news, and if I knew it was in Genthin
by this time I would send Hildebrand there in the night. Berlin is
endurable when one is alone; there one is busy, and can chatter all
day; but here it is enough to drive one mad; I must formerly have been
an entirely different mortal, to bear it as I did. * * * The girl
received the notice to leave very lightly and good-naturedly, as
quite a matter of course; Kahle, on the other hand, was beside
himself, and almost cried; said he could not find a place at
Christmas-time, and would go to the dogs, as he expressed it. I
consoled him by promising to pay his wages for another quarter if he
failed to find a place by New Year's. The girl is quite useless except
in cooking, of which more orally. I cannot enumerate all the little
trifles, and certainly Kahle does not belong to the better half of
gardeners. * * * I feel so vividly as if I were with you while writing
this that I am becoming quite gay, until I again recollect the three
hundred and fifty miles, including one hundred and seventy-five
without a railroad. Pomerania is terribly long, after all. Have you my
Külz letter, too? Bernhard has probably kept it in his pocket. Do not
prepay your letters, or they will be stolen. Innumerable books have
arrived from the binder; he claims one section of Scott's _Pirate_ is
missing; I know nothing about it. The tailor says that he has been
able to make only five pair of drawers from the stuff; presumably he
is wearing the sixth himself. Farewell, my sweetheart. Write as often
as you can, and give love and kisses to every one from me, large and
small. May God's mercy be with you.

Your most faithful v.B.


Schönhausen, October 10, '50.

_My Darling_,--In a sullen rage I swoop down upon my inkstand after
just lighting the Town Councillor downstairs with the kindliest
countenance in the world. He sat here for two and a half hours by the
clock, moaning and groaning, without the least regard for my wry face;
I was just about to read the paper when he came. From ten to two I
crawled about the Elbe's banks, in a boat and on foot, with many
stupid people, attending to breakwaters, protective banks, and all
sorts of nonsense. This is, in general, a day of vexations; this
morning I dreamed so charmingly that I stood with you on the seashore;
it was just like the new strand, only the mud was rocks, the beeches
were thick-foliaged laurel, the sea was as green as the Lake of Traun,
and opposite us lay Genoa, which we shall probably never see, and it
was delightfully warm; then I was awakened by Hildebrand, accompanied
by a summoner, who brought me an order to serve as a juror at
Magdeburg from October 20th to November 16th, under penalty of from
one hundred to two hundred rix-dollars for each day of absence. I am
going there by the first train tomorrow, and hope to extricate myself;
for God so to punish my deep and restless longing for what is dearest
to me in this world, so that we shall not have the fleeting pleasure
of a couple of weeks together, would, indeed, be incredibly severe. I
am all excitement; that is our share in the newly achieved
liberty--that I am to be forced to spend my few days of freedom
sitting in judgment over thievish tramps of Jews, like a prisoner in a
fortress. I hope Gerlach can free me; otherwise I shall never speak to
him again. Tomorrow I shall at once drop you a line from Magdeburg, to
tell you how I succeed. * * * The people have abandoned the
dike-captain conspiracy against me; the Town Councillor says he will
not press it at all. He chattered to me for hours about his land-tax
commission, in which his anxiety drove him to rage against his own
flesh, and also, unfortunately, against ours. Our chief misfortune is
the cowardly servility towards those above and the chasing after
popularity below, which characterize our provincial councillor;
consequently public business, the chase, land-tax, etc., are all
deleteriously affected. It is due principally to the fact that he is
grossly ignorant and bungling in affairs, and is, therefore, for
better, for worse, in the hands of his democratic circuit secretary,
to whom he never dares to show his teeth; and, despite all that, the
fellow wears trousers, has been a soldier, and is a nobleman. La-Croix
is district-attorney at Madgeburg, withal, and he, too, must help me
to sneak out of it. It is still impossible for me to acquiesce in the
notion that we are to be separated all winter, and I am sick at heart
whenever I think of it; only now do I truly feel how very, very much
you and the _babies_ are part of myself, and how you fill my being.
That probably explains why it is that I appear cold to all except you,
even to mother; if God should impose on me the terrible affliction of
losing you, I feel, so far as my feelings can at this moment grasp and
realize such a wilderness of desolation, that I would then cling so to
your parents that mother would have to complain of being persecuted
with love. But away with all imaginary misery; there is enough in
reality. Let us now earnestly thank the Lord that we are all together,
even though separated by three hundred and fifty miles, and let us
experience the sweetness of knowing that we love each other very much,
and can tell each other so. To me it is always like ingratitude to God
that we choose to live apart so long, and are not together while He
makes it possible for us; but He will show us His will; all may turn
out differently; the Chambers may be dissolved, possibly very quickly,
as the majority is probably opposed to the Ministry. Manteuffel was
resolved upon it in that event, and it seems that Radowitz, since he
is Minister, has approached him, and, in general, wants to change his
politics again. Best love to all. Farewell. God keep you.

Your most faithful v.B.


Berlin, April 28, '51.

_My Dear Sweetheart_,--Mother's premonition that I would remain long
away has, unfortunately, proved correct this time. * * * The King was
the first to propose my nomination, and that at once, as a real
delegate to the Diet; his plan has, of course, encountered much
opposition, and has finally been so modified that Rochow will, it is
true, remain Minister at Petersburg, whither he is to return in two
months, but meanwhile, provisionally, he is commissioned to Frankfort,
and I am to accompany him, with the assurance that, on his leaving for
Petersburg, I shall be his successor. But this last is between
ourselves.

Now I want to go, first of all, to Frankfort, and take a
look at the situation, and hear how I shall stand pecuniarily pending
my definite appointment, of which I know nothing at all as yet. Then I
shall see whether I can leave again shortly after the start, and
whether I am to count on staying any longer; for, although I have,
indeed, accepted, still I am not yet sufficiently familiar with the
ground to be able to say definitely whether I shall stay there or
shortly get out again. As soon as that is decided, we shall probably,
after all, have to consider for you, too, the prospect of exchanging
your quiet Reinfeld existence for the noise of the Diet's diplomacy.
You folks have often complained that nothing was made of me by those
above me; now this is, beyond my expectations and wishes, a sudden
appointment to what is at this moment the most important post in our
diplomatic service; I have not sought it; I must assume that the Lord
wished it, and I cannot withdraw, although I foresee that it will be
an unfruitful and a thorny office, in which, with the best intentions,
I shall forfeit the good opinion of many people. But it would be
cowardly to decline. I cannot give you today further particulars as to
our plans, how we shall meet, what will be done about your going to
the seashore; only I shall try to make leisure, if possible, to see
you before. I feel almost like crying when I think of this sudden
upsetting of our innocent plans, as well as of the uncertainty when I
shall see you again, my beloved heart, and the babies; and I earnestly
pray God to arrange it all without detriment to our earthly welfare
and without harm to my soul. God be with you, my dear, and bring us
together again soon. With heartfelt love.

Your most faithful v.B.


Frankfort, May 14, '51.

_My Little Dear,_--* * * It seems to be getting constantly more
certain that I shall take Rochow's position in the summer. In that
event, if the rating remains as it was, I shall have a salary of
twenty-one thousand rix-dollars, but I shall have to keep a large
train and household establishment and you, my poor child, must sit
stiff and sedate in the drawing-room, be called Excellency, and be
clever and wise with Excellencies. * * * The city is not so bad as you
suppose; there are a great many charming villas before the gates,
similar to those in the Thiergarten, only more sunny. As Councillor of
Legation, it will be difficult for us to live there, owing to distance
and expense; but as Ambassador, quite as charming as is possible in a
foreign land. By letters of introduction I have quickly become
acquainted with the charming world hereabouts. Yesterday I dined with
the English Ambassador, Lord Cowley, nephew of the Duke of Wellington;
very kind, agreeable people; she is an elegant woman of about forty,
very worldly, but benevolent and easy to get acquainted with; I have
immediately put myself on a friendly footing with her, so that when
you step into the cold bath of diplomatic society she may be a
powerful support for you. Previously I called on a Frau von Stallupin
(pronounce Stolipine), a young woman without children, kindly, like
all Russian women, but terribly rich, and settled in a little
castle-like villa, so that one hardly dares to take a step or to sit
down; a Scharteuck interior is a rude barn compared with it. Day
before yesterday evening I called on Frau von Vrintz, a sister of
Meyendorf's wife; the diplomatic folks assemble every evening in her
drawing-room. Countess Thun was there, a very handsome young woman, in
the style of Malvinia; also the Marquis de Tallenay, French
Ambassador, a polite fifty-year-old; Count Szechenyi, a gay young
Magyar, full of pranks, and divers other foreign personages. They
gamble there every evening, the lady of the house, too, and not for
very low stakes; I was scolded for declaring it boresome, and told
them it would be my rôle to laugh at those who lost. Society probably
does not appeal to you very strongly, my beloved heart, and it seems
to me as though I were harming you by bringing you into it, but how
shall I avoid that? I have one favor to ask of you, but keep it to
yourself, and do not let mother suspect that I have written you one
word about it, otherwise she will worry needlessly over it: occupy
yourself with French as much as you can in the meantime, but let it be
thought that you yourself have discovered that it is useful. Read
French, but, if you love me, do not do so by artificial light, or if
your eyes pain you; in that case you had better ask mother to read to
you, for it is almost harder to understand than to speak. If you know
of any agreeable piece of baggage you can get in a hurry to chatter
French to you, then engage one; I will gladly pay the bill. You will
enter here an atmosphere of French spirit and talk, anyway; so you
cannot avoid familiarizing yourself with it as far as possible. If you
know of no person whom you like and who is available, let it go; and,
at any rate, I beg you sincerely not to consider this advice as a
hardship, or otherwise than if I asked you to buy yourself a green or
a blue dress; it is not a matter of life and death; you are _my_ wife,
and not the diplomats', and they can just as well learn German as you
can learn French. Only if you have leisure, or wish to read anyway,
take a French novel; but if you have no desire to do so, consider this
as not written, for I married you in order to love you in God and
according to the need of my heart, and in order to have in the midst
of the strange world a place for my heart, which all the world's bleak
winds cannot chill, and where I may find the warmth of the home-fire,
to which I eagerly betake myself when it is stormy and cold without;
but not to have a society woman for others, and I shall cherish and
nurse your little fireplace, put wood on it and blow, and protect it
against all that is evil and strange, for, next to God's mercy, there
is nothing which is dearer and more necessary to me than your love,
and the homelike hearth which stands between us everywhere, even in a
strange land, when we are together. Do not be too much depressed and
sad over the change of our life; my heart is not attached, or, at
least, not strongly attached, to earthly honor; I shall easily
dispense with it if it should ever endanger our peace with God or our
contentment. * * * Farewell, my dearly beloved heart. Kiss the
children for me, and give your parents my love.

Your most faithful v.B.


Frankfort, May 16, '51.

_Dear Mother_,--* * * So far as I am at present acquainted with the
_highest_ circles of society, there is only one house which seems to
me to promise company for Johanna--that of the English Ambassador. As
this letter will probably be opened by the Austrian (Frankfort)
post-office authorities, I shall refrain from explaining on this
occasion the reasons therefor. Even those letters which, like my last
ones, I took occasion to send by a courier, are not secure from
indiscretions at _Berlin_; those to me as well as those from me; but
those which go by the regular mail are always opened, except when
there is no time for it, as the gentleman who will read this could
probably testify. But all that, for better, for worse, forms part of
the petty ills of my new position.

In my thoughts I must always ask you and our dad to forgive me for
depriving you of the pleasure and the happiness of your old days,
inasmuch as I transplant to such a distance the bright child-life,
with all its dear cares, and take Johanna away a second time from her
father's house; but I see no other way out of it, which would not be
unnatural, or even wrong, and the strong arm which separated us when
we hoped to be united can also unite us when we least expect it. You
shall at least have the conviction, so far as human purpose can give
it, that I shall wander, together with Johanna, with the strong staff
of the Word of God, trough this dead and wicked activity of the world,
whose nakedness will become more apparent to us in our new position
than before, and that to the end of our joint pilgrimage my hand shall
strive, in faithful love, to smooth Johanna's paths, and to be a warm
covering to her against the breath of the great world.

Your faithful son, v.B.


Frankfort, May 18, '51.

_My Darling_,--Frankfort is terribly tiresome; I am so spoiled by so
much affection and so much business that I am only just beginning to
suspect how ungrateful I always was to some people in Berlin, to say
nothing of you and yours; but even the cooler measure of fellowship
and party affiliation which came to me in Berlin may be called an
intimate relationship compared with intercourse here, which is, in
fact, nothing more than mutual mistrust and espionage, if there only
were anything to spy out or to conceal! The people toil and fret over
nothing but mere trifles, and these diplomats, with their
consequential hair-splitting, already seem to me more ridiculous than
the Member of the Second Chamber in the consciousness of his dignity.
If foreign events do not take place, and those we over-smart Diet
people can neither direct nor prognosticate, I know quite definitely
now what we shall have accomplished in one, two, or five years, and am
willing to effect it in twenty-four hours if the others will but be
truthful and sensible for a single day. I have never doubted that they
all use water for cooking; but such an insipid, silly water-broth, in
which not a single bubble of mutton-suet is visible, surprises me.
Send me Filöhr, the village-mayor, Stephen Lotke, and Herr von
Dombrowsky, of the turnpike-house, as soon as they are washed and
combed, and I shall cut a dash with them in diplomatic circles. I am
making headlong progress in the art of saying nothing by using, many
words; I write reports of many pages, which read nice and smooth as
editorials; and if Manteuffel, after he has read them, can tell what
they contain, he can do more than I. Each of us makes believe that he
thinks the other is full of ideas and plans, if he would but speak
out, and yet we none of us know a jot better than the man in the moon
does what is to become of Germany. No mortal, not even the most
malevolently skeptical Democrat, will believe what a vast amount of
charlatanism and consequential pomposity there is in this diplomacy.
But now I have done enough scolding, and want to tell you that I am
well, and that I was very glad and gave thanks to the Lord that,
according to your last letter, all was well with you, and that I love
you very much, and look at every pretty villa, thinking that perhaps
our _babies_ will be running about in it in summer. Do see that you
get the girls to come along, or if they absolutely refuse, bring
others from there with whom we are already somewhat acquainted. I
don't care to have a Frankfort snip in the room, or with the children;
or we must take a Hessian girl, with short petticoats and ridiculous
head-gear; they are half-way rural and honest. For the present I shall
rent a furnished room for myself in the city; the inn here is too
expensive. Lodgings, 5 guilders per day; two cups of tea, without
anything else, 36 kreutzers (35 are 10 silbergroschen), and, served as
the style is here, it is insulting. Day before yesterday I was at
Mayence; it is a charming region, indeed. The rye is already standing
in full ears, although the weather is infamously cold every night and
morning. The excursions by rail are the best things here. To
Heidelberg, Baden-Baden, Odenwald, Hamburg, Soden, Wiesbaden, Bingen,
Rüdesheim, Niederwald, is a leisurely day's journey; one can stay
there for five or six hours and be here again in the evening; hitherto
I have not yet availed myself of it, but shall do so, so that I may
escort you when you are here. Rochow left for Warsaw at nine o'clock
last night; he will arrive there day after tomorrow at noon, and will
most likely be here again a week from today. About politics and
individuals cannot write you much, because most letters are opened,
When once they are familiar with your address on my letters and with
your handwriting on yours, they will probably get over it, because
they have no time to read family letters. Do not be afraid of the
local aristocracy; as to money, Rothschild is the most aristocratic,
but deprive them _all_ of their money and salaries, and it would be
seen how little each one is aristocratic in himself; money doesn't do
it, and otherwise--may the Lord keep me in humility, but here the
temptation is strong to be content with one's self.

Countess Pückler, sister of the Countess Stolberg, resides at
Weistritz, near Schweidnitz. Now, farewell; I must go out. God's
blessing be with you. Give F. and M. much love. Your most faithful v.
B.


Frankfort, May 27, '51.

_My Darling_,--* * * On Friday there was a ball at Lady Cowley's,
which lasted until five in the morning; they all dance here as if
possessed; the oldest delegates of fifty, with white hair, danced to
the end of the cotillion, in the sweat of their brows. At midnight
"God Save the Queen" was solemnly played, because her birthday was
dawning, and it was all a transparency of English coats-of-arms and
colors from top to bottom, and very many odd, stiff ladies, who "lisp
English when they lie," as I read once upon a time the translation of
that passage in _Faust_; that is to say, they all have a passion for
talking bad French, and I am altogether forgetting my English, as I
have discovered to my dismay. * * * Oftentimes I feel terribly
homesick, and that is to me an agreeable sadness, for otherwise I seem
to myself so aged, so dryly resigned and documentary, as if I were
only pasted on a piece of card-board. * * * Give your dear parents my
heartfelt love, and kiss Annie's pretty hand for me, because she stays
with you so sweetly-Now, I shall not write another word until I have a
letter from you in hand. Yesterday I attended the Lutheran church
here; a not very gifted, but devout, minister; the audience consisted,
apart from myself, of just twenty two women, and my appearance was
visibly an event. God bless and keep you and the children.

Your most faithful v.B.

[Illustration: PRINCESS BISMARCK]


Frankfort, Ascension Day--Evening.

(Postmarked Berlin, June 1, '51.)

_My Heart_,--How good it is of you all that, directly after I had
mailed my complaint of lack of news, there arrives such a shower of
letters. A thousand thanks to your dear parents, and I shall answer
dad tomorrow, when I am less hurried than today, for on this dear
holiday, after a big dinner, I must still write some long despatches.
I was at the French church today, where at least there was more
congregation and devotion, and the minister was passable, too, but I
cannot talk French with my dear, faithful Lord and Saviour; it seems
to me ungrateful. For the rest, they sang pretty hymns, these insipid
Calvinists, almost in the sweet Catholic tune which you always
play. * * *

Your most faithful v.B.

Your letter had been opened again.


Frankfort, June 4, '51.

_My Darling_,--Were you not going to write to me any more? I was
resolved even yesterday not to put pen to paper until I should have a
letter from you, but, anyway, I will be good, and tell you that I am
well and love you, even if you let your little inkstand dry up. I long
exceedingly for you and the children, and for quiet, comfortable
domesticity at Schönhausen or Reinfeld. As soon as I have finished my
hitherto rather unimportant occupations, my empty lodgings, and the
whole dreary world behind, face me, and I know not where to set my
foot, for there is nothing which particularly attracts me. Day before
yesterday I ate at Biberich, with the Duke of Nassau, the first fresh
herrings and the first strawberries and raspberries of the season. It
is certainly a delightful piece of earth along the Rhine, and I looked
pensively from the castle windows over to the red cathedral of
Mayence, which, almost four years ago, we both went to see very early
in the morning, in times for which we were not then sufficiently
grateful to God; I remembered how, on board the steamer, the blue
hills before us, we passed by the Duke's handsome castle, without
dreaming how and why I should stand there at the window this year, an
old wig of a Minister before me, who unravelled his views on national
polities, while I was thinking, with an occasional absent-minded
"Quite so," of our trip of '47, and sought with my eyes the spot on
the Mayence bridge whence you, in your little Geneva coat, embarked on
the steamer; and then I thought of Geneva. * * * Countess Thun
unfortunately left on Sunday for Tetschen, to spend three months with
her father-in-law. She is a kindly lady, womanly and devout (Catholic,
very), attributes which do not grace the women here in general; her
husband gambles and flirts, I believe, more so than is agreeable to
her. I hardly believe that you will like her, but she is one of the
better specimens of women of the great world, even though that just
proves to me that a woman of that world would not have been suitable
for me; I like her to associate with, but not to marry. Perhaps, by
comparing her with the others of her sort, you will learn to
appreciate her. The gentlemen are unendurable. The moment I accost one
he assumes a diplomatic countenance, and thinks of what he can answer
without saying too much, and what he can write home concerning my
utterances. Those who are not so I find still less congenial; they
talk equivocally to the ladies, and the latter encourage them
shamefully. It makes a less morbid impression on me if a woman falls
thoroughly for once, but preserves a sense of shame at heart, than if
she takes pleasure in such chatter; and I value the Countess Thun,
because, despite the general fashion prevailing here, she knows how to
keep decidedly clear of all that sort of thing. * * * Your most
faithful v.B.


Frankfort, June 26, '51.

_My Darling_,--Today I have been suffering all day long from
homesickness. I received your letter of Sunday early, and then I sat
in the window and smelled the summer fragrance of roses and all sorts
of shrubs in the little garden, and while so doing I heard one of your
dear Beethoven pieces, played by an unknown hand on the piano, wafted
over from some window opposite, distantly and in snatches, and to me
it sounded prettier than any concert. I kept wondering why I must,
after all, be so far away, for a long time, from you and the children,
while so many people who do not love each other at all see one another
from morning till night. It is now seven months since I received at
Reinfeld the order to join the regiment; since then we have twice paid
each other a hasty visit, and it will be eight or nine months before
we shall be again united. It must, indeed, be the Lord's will, for I
have not sought it, and when I am sorrowful it is a consolation to me
that I did not speak a syllable in order to come here, and that
ambition for outward pomp was not what led me to this separation. We
are not in this world to be happy and to enjoy, but to do our duty;
and the less my condition is a self-made one, the more do I realize
that I am to perform the duties of the office in which I am placed.
And I certainly do not wish to be ungrateful, for I am, nevertheless,
happy in the knowledge of possessing so much that is dear, even if far
away from here, and in the hope of a happy reunion. On the arrival of
every letter from Reinfeld my first feeling is one of hearty gratitude
for the unmerited happiness that I still have you in this world, and
with every death of wife or child which I see in the newspaper the
consciousness of what I have to lose comes forcibly home to me, and of
what the merciful God has granted and thus far preserved to me. Would
that gratitude therefor might so dispose my obstinate and worldly
heart to receive the mercy of the Lord that it shall not be necessary
for Him to chastise me in what I love, for I have greater fear of that
than of any other evil. * * * In a few weeks it must be decided
whether I shall be made Envoy here or stay at Reinfeld. The Austrians
at Berlin are agitating against my appointment, because my
black-and-white is not sufficiently yellow for them; but I hardly
believe they will succeed, and you, my poor dear, will probably have
to jump into the cold water of diplomacy; and the boy, unlucky wight
that he is, will have a South-German accent added to his Berlin
nativity. * * * As far as can now be foreseen, I shall not be able to
get away from this galley for two or three weeks, for, including
Silesia, that amount of time would probably be necessary for it. But
much water will flow down the Main before then, and I am not worrying
before the time comes. How I should like to turn suddenly around the
bushy corner of the lawn and surprise all of you in the hall! I see
you so plainly, attending to the children, covering up Midget, with
sensible speeches, and father sitting at his desk smoking, the mayor
beside him, and mammy bolt-upright on her sofa, by wretched light, one
hand lying on the arm-rest, or holding _Musée Français_ close before
her eyes. God grant that at this moment everything at Reinfeld is
going as smoothly as this. I have at last received a letter from Hans,
one that is very charming, and, contrary to his custom, mysterious, in
view of the post-office spies. You may imagine how Senfft writes to me
under these circumstances. I received an unsigned letter from him the
other day, out of which the most quick-witted letter-bandit would have
been at a loss to decipher what he was driving at. If you occasionally
come across some unintelligible notices at the tail end of the
_Observer_, they will thus seem to you more puzzling still, and to the
blockhead who breaks open this letter they will remain unintelligible,
even if I tell you that they are a part of my correspondence. Only
give me frequent tidings, my beloved heart, even if short ones, so
that I may have the assurance that you are alive and well. A have
picked the enclosed leaves for you in the garden of old Amschel
Rothschild, whom I like, because he is simply a haggling Jew, and does
not pretend to be anything else, and, at the same time, a strictly
orthodox Jew, who touches nothing at his dinners, and eats only
"undefiled" food. "Johann dage vid you some bread for de deers," he
said his servant as he came out to show me his garden, in which there
were some tame fallow deer. "Baron, dat blant costs me two thousand
guilders, honor bride, two thousand guilders gash; I vill let you have
it for one thousand or, if you vant it for nuddings, he shall bring id
to your house. God knows I abbrejiate you highly, Baron; you are a
nize man, a brave man." With that he is a little, thin gray imp of a
man, the patriarch of his tribe, but a poor man in his palace,
childless, a widower, cheated by his servants, and ill-treated by
aristocratically Frenchified and Anglicized nephews and nieces who
will inherit his treasures without gratitude and without love.
Good-night, my angel. The clock is striking twelve; I want to go to
bed and read chap. ii. of the Second Epistle of St. Peter. I am now
doing that in a systematic way, and, when I have finished St. Peter,
at your recommendation I shall read the He-brews, which I do not know
at all as yet. May God's protection and blessing be with you all.

Your most faithful v.B.


Frankfort, July 3, 1851.

_My Pet_,--Day before yesterday I very thankfully received your letter
and the tidings that you are all well. But do not forget when you
write to me that the letters are opened not by me alone, but by all
sorts of postal spies, and don't berate particular persons so much in
them, for all that is immediately reported and debited to my account;
besides, you do people injustice. Concerning my appointment or
non-appointment I know nothing as yet, except what was told me when I
left; everything else is possibilities and surmises. The only
crookedness about the matter us far has been the government's silence
towards me, for it would have been only fair to let me know by this,
and officially at that, whether during next month I to live here or in
Pomerania with wife and child. Be careful in your remarks to every one
there, without exception, not to Massow alone; particularly in your
criticisms of individuals, for you have no idea what one experiences
in this respect after once becoming an object of surveillance; be
prepared to see warmed up with sauce, here or at Sans Souci, what you
may perhaps whisper to Charlotte[17] or Annie in the boscages or the
bathing-house. Forgive me for being so admonitory, but after your last
letter I have to take the diplomatic pruning-knife in hand a bit. Do
not write me anything that the police may not read and communicate to
King, ministers, or Rochow. If the Austrians and many other folks can
succeed in sowing distrust in our camp, they will thereby attain one
of the principal objects of their letter-pilfering. Day before
yesterday I took dinner at Wiesbaden, with Dewitz, and, with a mixture
of sadness and knowing wisdom, I inspected the scenes of past
foolishness. Would that it might please God to fill with His clear and
strong wine this vessel, in which at that time the champagne of
twenty-two-year-old youth sparkled uselessly away, leaving stale dregs
behind. Where and how may Isabella Loraine and Miss Russel be living
now? How many of those with whom I then flirted, tippled, and played
dice are now dead and buried! How many transformations has my view of
the world undergone in the fourteen years which have since elapsed,
while I always considered the existing one as alone correct! and how
much is now small to me which then appeared great, how much now
deserving of respect which I then ridiculed! How many a green bud
within us may still come to mature blossom and wither worthlessly away
before another period of fourteen years is over, in 1865, if we are
then still alive! I cannot realize how a person who is thoughtful and,
nevertheless, knows nothing or wishes to know nothing of God, can
endure giving a despised and tedious life, a life which is fleeting as
a stream, as a sleep, even as a blade of grass that soon withers; we
spend our years as in a babble of talk.

I do not know how I endured it in the past; if I should live now as I
did then, without God, without you, without children, I should, in
fact, be at a loss to know why I should not cast off this life like a
soiled shirt; and yet most of my acquaintances are thus, and they
live. If in the case of some one individual I ask myself what reason
he can have, in his own mind, for continuing to live, to toil, to
fret, to intrigue, and to spy--verily I do not know. Do not conclude
from this scribbling that I happen to be in a particularly black mood;
on the contrary, I feel as when, on a beautiful September day, one
contemplates the yellowing foliage; healthy and gay, but a little
sadness, a little homesickness, a longing for woods, lake, meadow, you
and the children, all mingled with the sunset and a Beethoven
symphony. Instead of that I must now call upon tiresome serene
Highnesses and read endless figures about German sloops of war and
cannon-yawls which are rotting at Bremerhaven and devouring
cash. * * * Farewell, my beloved heart. Much love to our parents, and
God keep you all.

Your most faithful v.B.


Frankfort, July 8, 1851.

_My Darling_,--Yesterday and today I wished very much to write to you,
but owing to a hurly burly of business I have not been able to do so
till now, late in the evening, after returning from a walk during
which, in the charming summer-night's air, with moonlight and the
rustling of poplar-leaves, I have brushed off the dust of the day's
documents. On Saturday, in the afternoon, I went with Rochow and Lynar
to Rüdesheim, hired a boat there, rowed out on the Rhine, and swam in
the moonlight, nothing but nose and eyes over the tepid water, as far
as the Mouse Tower near Bingen, where the wicked bishop met his death.
There is something strangely dreamlike in thus lying in the water on a
quiet, warm night, carried gently along by the tide, seeing only the
sky with moon and stars, and, alongside, the wooded hill-tops and the
castle battlements in the moonlight, hearing nothing but the gentle
purling of one's own motion. I should like to swim thus every evening.
Then I drank some very nice wine, and sat for a long time smoking,
with Lynar, on the balcony, the Rhine beneath us. My little Testament
and the starry firmament caused our conversation to turn on Christian
topics, and I hammered for a long time at the Rousseau-like chastity
of his soul, with no other effect than to cause him to remain silent.
He was ill-treated while a child by nurses and private tutors, without
having really learned to know his parents, and by reason of a similar
bringing-up he has retained from his youthful days opinions similar to
my own, but has always been more satisfied with them than I ever was.
Next morning we went by steamer to Coblentz, breakfasted there for an
hour, and returned by the same route to Frankfort, where we arrived in
the evening. I really undertook the expedition with the object of
visiting old Metternich at Johannisberg; he had invited me, but the
Rhine pleased me so much that I preferred to take a pleasure ride to
Coblentz, and postponed the call. You and I saw him that time on our
trip directly after the Alps, and in bad weather; on this summer
morning, and after the dusty tedium of Frankfort, he again rose high
in my esteem. I promise myself much relish from spending a few days
with you at Rüdesheim, the place is so quiet and country-like, good
people and low-priced, and then we shall hire a little rowboat, ride
leisurely down, climb the Niederwald, and this and that castle, and
return by the steamer. One can leave here early in the morning, remain
for eight hours at Rüdesheim, Bingen, Rheinstein, etc., and be here
again at night. My appointment at this place does not appear to be
certain, and Hans is going to Coblentz as Lord-Lieutenant; will live
there in a stately palace, with the finest view in all Prussia. By
leaving here early, one reaches Coblentz by half past ten, and is back
in the evening; that is easier than from Reinfeld to Reddentin, and a
prettier road. You see we are not forsaken here; but who would have
thought, when we went to the wedding in Kiekow, that both of us should
be removed from our innocent Pomeranian solitude and hurled to the
summits of life, speaking in worldly fashion, to political outposts on
the Rhine? The ways of the Lord are passing strange. May He likewise
take our souls out of their darkness and lift them to the bright
summits of His grace. _That_ position would be more secure. But He has
certainly taken us visibly into His hand, and will not let me fall,
even though I sometimes make myself a heavy weight. The interview with
Lynar the other day has truly enabled me to cast a grateful (but not
pharisaical) glance over the distance which lies between me and my
previous unbelief; may it increase continually, until it has attained
the proper measure. * * * I am already beginning to look about here
for a house, preferably outside of the city, with a garden; there my
darling will have to play a very stiff, self-contained part, see much
tedious society, give dinners and balls, and assume terribly
aristocratic airs. What do you say to having dancing at your house
until far into the night? Probably it cannot be avoided, my beloved
heart--that is part of the "service." I can see mother's blue eyes
grow big with wonder at the thought. I am going to bed, to read
Corinthians i., 3, and pray God to preserve you all to me, and grant
you a quiet night and health and peace. Dearest love to your parents.

Your most faithful

v.B.


Frankfort, April 4, '52.

_Dear Mother_,--I wished to write you today at length, but I do not
know how far I shall progress in it after having given myself up for
so long to enjoyment of Sunday leisure, by taking a long, loitering
walk in the woods, that hardly an hour remains before the closing of
the mail. I found such pretty, solitary paths, quite narrow, between
the greening hazel and thorn-bushes, where only the thrush and the
glede-kite were heard, and quite far off the bell of the church to
which I was playing truant, that I could not find my way home again.
Johanna is somewhat exhausted, in connection with her condition, or I
should have had her in the woods, too, and perhaps we should still be
there. * * * She has presented me with an exquisite anchor watch, of
which I was much in need, because I always wore her small one. In the
Vincke matter I cannot, with you, sufficiently praise God's mercy that
no misfortune has occurred from any side. I believe that for me it was
inwardly very salutary to have felt myself so near unto death, and
prepared myself for it; I know that you do not share my conception of
such matters, but I have never felt so firm in believing trust, and so
resigned to God's will, as I did in the moment when the matter was in
progress. We can discuss it orally some time; now I only want to tell
you how it happened. I had repeatedly been disgusted by V.'s rudeness
to the government and ourselves, and was prepared resolutely to oppose
him at the next opportunity that offered. He accused me of want of
diplomatic discretion, and said that hitherto the "burning cigar" was
my only known achievement. He alluded to an occurrence at the Palace
of the Diet, of which I had previously told him confidentially, at his
particular request, as of something quite unimportant, but comical. I
then retorted from the platform that his remark overstepped not only
the bounds of diplomatic but also of ordinary discretion, which one
had a right to demand from every man of education. Next day he
challenged me, through Herr von Sauken-Julienfelde, for four
pistol-shots; I accepted it after Oscar Arnim's proposal, that we
should fight with swords, had been declined by Sauken. Vincke wished
to defer the matter for forty-eight hours, which I granted. On the
25th, at 8 A.M., we rode to Tegel; to a charming spot in the woods by
the seashore; it was beautiful weather, and the birds sang so gayly in
the sunshine that, as soon as we entered the wood, all sad thoughts
left me; only the thought of Johanna I had to drive from me by force,
so as not to be affected by it. With me as witnesses were Arnim and
Eberhard Stolberg, and my brother as very dejected spectator. With V.
were Sauken, and Major Vincke of the First Chamber, as well as a
Bodelschwingh (nephew of the Minister and of Vincke), as impartial
witness. The latter declared before the matter began that the
challenge seemed to him to be, under the circumstances, too stringent,
and proposed that it should be modified to one shot apiece. Sauken, in
V.'s name, was agreeable to this, and had word brought to me that the
whole thing should be called off if I declared I was sorry for my
remark. As I could not truthfully do this, we took our positions,
fired at Bodelschwingh's command, and both missed. God forgive the
grave sin that I did not at once recognize His mercy, but I cannot
deny it: when I looked through the smoke and saw my adversary standing
erect, a feeling of disappointment prevented me from participating in
the general rejoicing, which caused Bodelschwingh to shed tears; the
modification of the challenge annoyed me, and I would gladly have
continued the combat. But, as I was not the insulted party, I could
say nothing; it was over, and all shook hands. We rode home and I ate
with my sister alone. All the world was dissatisfied with the outcome,
but the Lord must know what He still intends to make of V. In cool
blood, I am certainly very grateful that it happened so. What probably
contributed much to it was the fact that a couple of very good
pistols, which were originally intended to be used, were so loaded
that for the moment they were quite useless, and we had to take those
intended for the seconds, with which it was difficult to hit. An
official disturbance has interrupted me, and now I must close--time is
up. Only I still want to say that I had consulted beforehand, about
the duel, with old Stolberg, General Gerlach, Minister Uhden and Hans;
they were all of opinion that it must be; Büchsel, too, saw no
alternative, although he admonished me to desist. I spent an hour in
prayer, with him and Stolberg, the evening before. I never doubted
that I should have to appear, but I did doubt whether I should shoot
at V. I did it without anger, and missed. Now farewell, my dearly
beloved mother. Give love to father and every one from

Your faithful son, v.B.


Vienna, June 14, '52.

_My Beloved Heart_,--At this hour I ought to sit down and write
a long report to his Majesty concerning a lengthy and fruitless
negotiation which I had today with Count Buol, and concerning an
audience with the Archduchess Empress-Dowager. But I have just taken
a promenade on the high ramparts all round the inner city, and from
them seen a charming sunset behind the Leopoldsberg, and now I am much
more inclined to think of you than of business. I stood for a long
time on the red Thor Tower, which commands a view of the Jägerzeil
and of our old-time domicile, the Lamb, with the café before it; at
the Archduchess' I was in a room which opens on the homelike little
garden into which we once secretly and thoughtlessly found our way;
yesterday I heard _Lucia_--Italian, very good; all this so stirs
my longing for you that I am quite sad and incapable. For it is terrible
to be thus alone in the world, when one is no longer accustomed to it; I
am in quite a Lynaric mood. Nothing but calls, and coming to know
strangers, with whom I am always having the same talk. Every one knows
that I have not yet been here very long, but whether I was ever here
before; that is the great question which I have answered two hundred
times in these days, and happy that that topic still remains. For folk
bent on pleasure this may be a very pretty place, for it offers whatever
is capable of affording outward diversion to people. But I am longing
for Frankfort as if it were Kniephof, and do not wish to come here by
any means. F. must lie just where the sun went down, over the
Mannhartsberg yonder; and, while it was sinking here, it still continued
shining with you for over half an hour. It is terribly far. How
different it was with you here my heart, and with Salzburg and Meran in
prospect; I have grown terribly old since then. * * * It is very cruel
that we must spend such a long period of our brief life apart; that time
is lost, then, and cannot be brought back. God alone knows why He allows
others to remain together who are quite at their ease when apart; like
an aged friend of mine, who travelled with me as far as Dresden had to
sit in the same compartment with his wife all the time, and could not
smoke; and we must always correspond at a great distance. We shall make
up for it all, and love each other a great deal more when we are again
together; if only we keep well! Then I shall not murmur. Today I had the
great pleasure of receiving, _via_ Berlin, your letter of last Thursday;
that is the second one since I left Frankfort; surely none is lost? I
was very happy and thankful that all of you are well. * * * As soon as I
find myself once more on the old, tiresome Thuringian railroad I shall
be out of myself, and still more so when I catch a glimpse of our light
from Bockenheim; I must travel about nine hundred miles thither, not
including two hundred and fifty miles from Pesth back to this place. How
gladly I shall undertake them, once I am seated in the train! I shall
probably abandon my trip by way of Munich; from this place to M. is a
post-trip of fifty hours; by water still longer; and I shall have to
render a verbal report in Berlin, anyway. About politics I can,
fortunately, write nothing; for, even if the English courier who takes
this to Berlin is a safeguard against our post-office, the Taxis
scoundrels will, nevertheless, get hold of it.

Be sure to write me detailed information as to your personal
condition. Greet mother, our relations, if they are still there,
Leontine, the children, Stolberg, Wentzel, and all the rest. Farewell
my angel. God preserve you.

Your most faithful v.B.


Ofen, June 23, '52.

_My Darling_,--I have just left the steamer, and do not know how
better to utilize the moment at my disposal until Hildebrand follows
with my things than by sending you a love-token from this far-easterly
but pretty spot. The Emperor has graciously assigned me quarters in
his palace, and I am sitting here in a large vaulted chamber at the
open window, into which the evening bells of Pesth are pealing. The
view outward is charming. The castle stands high; immediately below me
the Danube, spanned by the suspension-bridge; behind it Pesth, which
would remind you of Dantzig, and farther away the endless plain
extending far beyond Pesth, disappearing in the bluish-red dusk of
evening. To the left of Pesth I look up the Danube, far, very far,
away; to my left, _i.e._, on the right-hand shore, it is fringed first
by the city of Ofen, behind it hills like the Berici near Venetia blue
and bluer, then bluish-red in the evening sky, which glows behind. In
the midst of both cities is the large sheet of water as at Linz,
intersected by the suspension-bridge and a wooded island. It is really
splendid; only you, my angel, are lacking for me to enjoy this
prospect _with you_; then it would be _quite_ nice. Then, too, the
road hither, at least from Gran to Pesth, would have pleased you.
Imagine Odenwald and Taunus moved close together, the waters of the
Danube filling the interval; and occasionally, particularly near
Wisserad, a little Dürrenstein-Agstein. The shady side of the trip was
the sunny side; it burned as if they wanted tokay to grow on the
steamer, and the crowd of travelers was large; but, just imagine, not
one Englishman; it must be that they have not yet discovered Hungary.
For the rest, there were queer fellows enough, dirty and washed, of
all Oriental and Occidental nations. * * * By this time I am becoming
impatient as to Hildebrand's whereabouts; I am lying in the window,
half musing in the moonlight, half waiting for him as for a mistress,
for I long for a clean shirt. * * * If you were here for only a
moment, and could contemplate now the dull, silvery Danube, the dark
hills on a pale-red background, and the lights which are shining up
from Pesth below, Vienna would lose much in your estimation compared
to Buda-Pescht, as the Hungarian calls it. You see I am not only a
lover, but also an enthusiast, for nature. Now I shall soothe my
excited blood with a cup of tea, after Hildebrand has actually put in
an appearance, and shall then go to bed and dream of you, my love.
Last night I had only four hours of sleep, and the court here is
terribly matutinal; the young gentleman himself rises as early as five
o 'clock, so that I should be a bad courtier if I were to sleep much
longer. Therefore I bid you good-night from afar, with a side-glance
at a gigantic teapot and an enticing plate of cold jellied cuts,
tongue, as I see, among the rest. Where did I get that song that
occurs to me continually today--"_Over the blue mountain, over the
white sea-foam, come, thou beloved one, come to thy lonely home_"? I
don't know who must have sung that to me, some time in _auld lang
syne_. May God's angels keep you today as hitherto.

Your most faithful v.B.


The 24th.

After having slept very well, although on a wedge-shaped pillow, I bid
you good-morning, my heart. The whole panorama before me is bathed in
such a bright, burning sun that I cannot look out at all without being
blinded. Until I begin my calls I am sitting here breakfasting and
smoking all alone in a very spacious apartment--four rooms, all
thickly vaulted, two something like our dining-room in size, thick
walls as at Schönhausen, gigantic nut-wood closets, blue silk
furnishings, a profusion of large spots on the floor, an ell in size,
which a more excited fancy than mine might take for blood, but which I
decidedly declare to be ink; an unconscionably awkward scribe must
have lodged here, or another Luther repeatedly hurled big inkstands
at his opponents. * * * Exceedingly strange figures, brown, with broad
hats and wide trousers, are floating about on long wooden rafts in the
Danube below. I regret I am not an artist; I should like to let you
see these wild faces, mustached, long-haired with excited black eyes,
and the ragged, picturesque drapery which hangs about them, as they
appeared to me all day yesterday. * * * Farewell, my heart. God bless
you and our present and future children.

Your most faithful v.B.


Evening.

I have not yet found an opportunity to send this. Again the lights are
shining up from Pesth, lightning appears on the horizon in the
direction of the Theiss, and there is starlight above us. I have been
in uniform most of the day, handed my credentials to the young ruler
of this country at a solemn audience, and received a very pleasing
impression of him--twenty-year-old vivacity, coupled with studied
composure. He _can_ be very winning, I have seen that; whether he
always will, I do not know, and he need not, for that matter. At any
rate, he is for this country exactly what it needs, and more than that
for the peace of its neighbors, if God does not give him a
peace-loving heart. After dinner all the court went on an excursion
into the mountains, to a romantic spot called the Pretty Shepherdess,
who has long been dead, King Matthias Corvinus having loved her many
hundred years ago. Thence the view is over woody hills, like those on
the Neckar banks to Ofen, its castle, and the plain. A popular
festival had brought thousands up to it, and the Emperor, who mingled
with them, was surrounded with noisy cheers; Czardas danced, waltzed,
sang, played, climbed into the trees, and crowded the court-yard. On a
grassy slope was a supper-table of about twenty persons, sitting along
one side only, leaving the other free for a view of wood, hill, city,
and country, high beeches over us, with Hungarians climbing among the
branches; behind us a densely crowded and crowding mass of people near
by, and, beyond, alternate horn-music and singing, wild gipsy
melodies. Illumination, moonlight, and evening glow, interspersed with
torches through the wood; the whole might have been served, unaltered,
as a great scenic effect in a romantic opera. Beside me sat the
whitebearded Archbishop of Gran, primate of Hungary, in a black silk
talar, with a red cape; on the other side a very amiable and elegant
general of cavalry, Prince Liechtenstein. You see, the painting was
rich in contrasts. Then we rode home by moonlight, escorted by
torches; and while I smoke my evening cigar I am writing to my
darling, and leaving the documents until tomorrow. * * * I have
listened today to the story of how this castle was stormed by the
insurgents three years ago, when the brave General Hentzi and the
entire garrison were cut down after a wonderfully heroic defence. The
black spots on my floor are in part burns, and where I am now writing
to you the shells then danced about, and the combat finally raged on
top of smoking _débris_. It was only put in order again a few weeks
ago, against the Emperor's arrival. Now it is very quiet and cozy up
here; I hear only the ticking of a clock and distant rolling of wheels
from below. For the second time from this place I bid you good-night
in the distance. May angels watch over you--a grenadier with a
bear-skin cap does that for me here; I see his bayonet two arm-lengths
away from me, projecting six inches above the windowsill, and
reflecting my light. He is standing on the terrace over the Danube,
and is, perhaps, thinking of his Nan, too.


Tomsjönäs, August 16, '57.

_My Dearest,_--I make use again of the Sunday quiet to give you a sign
of life, though I do not know what day there will be a chance to send
it out of this wilderness to the mail. I rode about seventy miles
without break, through the desolate forest, in order to reach here,
and before me lie more than a hundred miles more before one gets to
provinces of arable land. Not a city, not a village, far and wide;
only single settlers in wide huts, with a little barley and potatoes,
who find rods of land to till, here and there between dead trees,
pieces of rock, and bushes. Picture to yourself about five hundred
square miles of such desolate country as that around Viartlum, high
heather, alternating with short grass and bog, and with birches,
junipers pines, beeches, oaks, alders, here impenetrably thick, there
thin and barren of foliage, the whole strewn with innumerable stones
of all sizes up to that of a house, smelling of wild rosemary and
rosin, at intervals wonderfully shaped lakes surrounded by woods and
hills of the heath, then you have the land of Smaa, where I am just
now. Really, the land of my dreams, inaccessible to despatches,
colleagues, and Reitzenstein, but unfortunately, to you as well. I
should like ever so much to have a hunting-castle on one of these
quiet lakes and inhabit it for some months with all the dear ones whom
I think of now as assembled in Reinfeld. In winter, to be sure, it
would not be endurable here, especially in the mud that all the rain
would make. Yesterday we turned out at about five, hunted, in burning
heat, up-hill and down, through bush and fen, until eleven, and found
absolutely nothing; walking in bogs and impenetrable juniper thickets,
on large stones and timbers, is very fatiguing. Then we slept in a
hay-shed until two o'clock, drank lots of milk, and hunted again until
sunset, bringing down twenty-five grouse and two mountain-hens. I shot
four of the former; Engel, to his great delight, one of the latter.
Then we dined in the hunting-lodge, a remarkable wooden building on a
peninsula in the lake. My sleeping-room and its three chairs, two
tables, and bedstead are of no other color than that of the natural
pine-boards, like the whole house, whose walls are made of these. A
sofa does not exist; bed very hard; but after such hardships as ours
one does not need to be rocked to sleep. From my window I see a
blooming hill rise from the heath, on it birches rocking in the wind,
and between them I see, in the lake mirror, pine-woods on the other
side. Near the house a camp has been put up for hunters, drivers,
servants, and peasants, then the barricade of wagons, a little city of
dogs, eighteen or twenty huts on both sides of a lane which they form;
from each a throng looks out tired from yesterday's hunt. * * *


Petersburg, April 4, '59.

_My Dear Heart_,--Now that the rush of today noon is past, I sit down
in the evening to write you a few more lines in peace. When I closed
my letter today I did it with the intention of writing to you next a
birthday letter, and thought I had plenty of time for it; it is only
the 23d of March here. I have thought it over, and find that a letter
must go out today exactly to reach Frankfort on the 11th; it is hard
to get used to the seven days' interval which the post needs. So I
hurry my congratulations. May God grant you His rich blessing in soul
and body, for all your love and truth, and give you resignation and
contentment in regard to the various new conditions of life, contrary
to your inclinations, which you will meet here. We cannot get rid of
the sixtieth degree of latitude, and we have not chosen our own lot.
Many live happily here, although the ice is still solid as rock, and
more snow fell in the night, and there are no garden and no Taunus
here.

I could get along very well indeed here if I only knew the same of
you, and, above all, if I had you with me. All official matters--and
in them rests really the calling which in this world has fallen to my
lot, and which you, through your significant "Yes" in the Kolziglow
church, are bound to help bear in joy and sorrow--all official matters
are, in comparison with Frankfort, changed from thorns to roses;
whether they will ever blossom is, indeed, uncertain. The aggravations
of the Diet and the palace venom look from here like childishness. If
we do not wantonly make ourselves disagreeable, we are welcome here.
Whenever the carriages are called here, and "_Prusku passlanika"_
("Prussian carriage") is cried out among those waiting, then all the
Russians look about with pleasant smiles, as though they had just
popped down a ninety-degree glass of schnapps. There is some social
affair every evening, and the people are different from those in
Frankfort. Your aversion to court life will weaken. You cannot fail to
like the Czar; you have seen him already--have you not! He is
extremely gracious to me, as well as the Czarina--the young Czarina, I
mean. And it is easy to get along with the mother, in spite of her
imposing presence. I dined with her today with the Meiendorfs and
Loen,[18] and it was just like that dinner at our house with Prince
Carl and the Princess Anna, when we enjoyed ourselves so much. In
short, only take courage, and things will come out all right. So far I
have only agreeable impressions; the only thing that provokes me is
that smoking is not allowed on the street. One can have no idea in
what disfavor the Austrians are over here; a mangy dog will not take a
piece of meat from them. I am sorry for poor Szechenyi; I do not
dislike him. They will either drive things to a war from here, or let
it come, and then they will stick the bayonet into the Austrians'
backs; however peacefully people talk, and however I try to soften
things down, as my duty demands, the hatred is unlimited, and goes
beyond all my expectations. Since coming here I begin to believe in
war. There seems to be no room in Russian politics for any other
thought than how to strike at Austria. Even the quiet, mild Czar falls
into rage and fire whenever he talks about it, as does the Czarina,
although a Darmstadt Princess; and it is touching when the Dowager
Czarina talks of her husband's broken heart, and of Francis Joseph,
whom he loved as a son, really without anger, but as if speaking of
one who is exposed to God's vengeance. Now I have still much to write
for the carrier tomorrow, and this you will not receive, I suppose,
until two days after your dear birthday, just when I am celebrating
mine by the calendar here. Farewell, my dear, and give each child a
sweet orange from me. Love to all.

Your most faithful v.B.


Petersburg, June 4, '59.

_My Dear Heart_,--At last, day before yesterday, came the
long-yearned-for news from you, with the reassuring post-mark, Stolp.
I could not go to sleep at all in the evening, because of anxious
pictures of my imagination, whose scenes were all the stopping-places
between Berlin and Reinfeld. * * * Yesterday I dined at the Czarina's,
in Zarske, where I found the Grand Princess Marie, who could tell me
at least that she had seen you in Berlin, and that you were all right.
On the way back the Czar met me at the station, and took me into his
coupé--very conspicuous here for a civilian with such an old hat as I
generally wear. In the evening I was, of course, on the islands, on a
lively dark-brown horse, and drank tea there with a nice, old,
white-haired Countess Stroganoff. The lilac, I must tell you, has
flowered here as beautifully as in Frankfort, and the laburnum, too;
and the nightingales warble so happily that it is hard to find a spot
on the islands where one does not hear them. In the city, during these
days, we had such unremitting heat as we almost never have at home.
The captain of the _Eagle_ told me that the temperature in southern
Pomerania was actually refreshing in comparison; with such short
nights, too, the morning brings no real coolness, and I could ride or
drive about for hours in the mysterious gloaming which hovers at
midnight over the surface of the water, if the increasing brightness
did not give warning that another day is waiting with its work and
care, and that sleep demands its rights beforehand. Since I have had
the drosky, in which there is too little room for an interpreter, I am
making, to the smirking delight of Dmitri, the coachman, progress in
Russian, since there is nothing left for me to do but to speak it
_tant bien que mal_. I am sorry that you have not been able to watch
with me the sudden awakening of spring here; as if it had suddenly
occurred to her that she had overslept her time, she is putting on, in
twenty-four hours, her entire green dress, from head to foot. * * *
This whole preparation for war is somewhat premature, and is causing
us unnecessary expense. I hope we shall come to our senses finally
before setting all Europe on fire, for the sake of obliging some
little princes, and, at our own cost, helping Austria in glory out of
her embarrassment. We cannot allow Austria either to be annihilated
or, through brilliant victory, to be strengthened in her feeling of
self-confidence and to make us the footstool of her greatness. But
there is plenty of time for either case before we take the plunge, and
many a piece of Lombard water can be dyed red, for things will not go
forward so easily as hitherto when the Austrians have once placed
themselves in their line of forts, as they should have done at the
first. * * *

It is a misfortune that I always write to you in a steaming hurry; now
the foxy face of the chancery servant, who is in the police pay,
besides, is before me again already, and is hurrying me up, and
everything I wanted to say is shrivelling before the fellow, who is
useful, however. I was just thinking of much more that I wanted to
write, and now I do not know anything except that I should like to
beat him. * * * In the greatest love,

Your most faithful v.B.


Moscow, June 6, '59.

A sign of life, at least, I want to send you from here, my dear, while
I am waiting for the samovar, and a young Russian in a red shirt is
struggling, with vain attempts, to light a fire; he blows and sighs,
but it will not burn. After complaining so much before about the
scorching heat I waked up today between Twer and here, and thought I
was dreaming when I saw the land and its fresh green covered far and
wide with snow. Nothing surprises me any more so when I could no
longer be in doubt about the fact I turned quietly on my other side to
continue sleeping and rolling on, although the play of the
green-and-white colors in the morning red was not without charm. I do
not know whether the snow still lies about Twer; here it is all
melted, and a cool, gray rain is drizzling down on the sheet of roofs.
Russia certainly has a perfect right to claim green as her color. Of
the four hundred and fifty miles hither I slept away one hundred and
eighty, but of the other two hundred and seventy every hand's-breadth
was green, of all shades. Cities and villages, especially houses, with
the exception of the stations, I did not notice; bushy forests,
chiefly birches, cover swamps and hills, fine growth of grass under
them, long meadows between. So it goes for fifty, one hundred, one
hundred and fifty miles. I don't remember to have noticed any fields,
or any heather or sand; lonely grazing cows or horses waken in one now
and then the conjecture that there are people, too, in the
neighborhood. Moscow looks from above like a corn-field, the soldiers
green, the furniture green, and I have no doubt that the eggs lying
before me were laid by green hens. You will want to know how I happen
to be here; I have asked myself the same question, and presently
received the answer that variety is the spice of life. The truth of
this profound observation is especially obvious when one has been
living for ten weeks in a sunny hotel-room, looking out upon stone
pavements. Besides, one's senses become somewhat blunted to the joys
of moving, if repeated often in a short time, so I determined to
forego these same pleasures, handed over all papers to Klüber, gave
Engel my keys, explained that I should take up my lodgings in the
Stenbock house in a week, and rode to the Moscow station. That was
yesterday, twelve noon, and today early, at eight, I alighted here at
the Hôtel de France. * * * It lies in the nature of this people to
harness slowly and drive fast. I ordered my carriage two hours ago,
and to all inquiries which I have been making about every ten minutes
during the last hour and a half they say (Russian), "_Ssitschàss_,"
("immediately"), with unshaken and amiable calm, but there the matter
ends. You know my exemplary patience in waiting, but everything has
its limits; hunting comes later, and horses and carriages are broken
in the bad roads, so that one finally takes to walking. While writing
I have drunk three glasses of tea and made way with a number of eggs;
the attempts at heating up have also been so entirely successful that
I feel the need of getting some fresh air. I should shave myself for
very impatience if I had a mirror, in default of which, however, I
shall send a greeting to my dear Tata, with yesterday's stubble beard.
It is very virtuous really that my first thought is always of you
whenever I have a moment free, and you should make an example of that
fact. Very rambling is this city, and especially foreign-looking, with
its churches and green roofs and countless cupolas, quite different
from Amsterdam, but the two are the most original cities that I know.
Not a single German conductor has any idea of the luggage that can be
slipped into one of these coupés; not a Russian without two real,
covered head-cushions, children in baskets, and masses of provisions
of every sort, although they eat five big meals at the stations on the
way, breakfast at two, dinner five, tea seven, supper ten; it's only
four, to be sure, but enough for the short time. I was complimented by
an invitation into a sleeping-coupé, where I was worse off than in my
easy-chair; it is a wonder to me that so much fuss is made over one
night.


Moscow, June 8th.

This city is really, for a city, the most beautiful and original that
there is; the environs are pleasant, not pretty, not unsightly; but
the view from above out of the Kremlin, over this circle of houses
with green roofs, gardens, churches, towers of the most extraordinary
shape and color, most of them green or red or light blue, generally
crowned on top by a colossal golden bulb, usually five or more on
one church, and surely one thousand towers! Anything more strangely
beautiful than all this, lighted by slanting sunset rays, cannot be
seen.

[Illustration: CORONATION OF KING WILLIAM I AT KÖNIGSBERG. From the
Painting by Adolph von Menzel.]

The weather is clear again, and I should stay here some days longer if
rumors of a big battle in Italy were not going about, which may result
in lots of diplomatic work, so that I must get back to my post. The
house in which I am writing is wonderful enough, really; one of the
few that have outlived 1812--old, thick walls, as in Schönhausen,
Oriental architecture, Moorish, large rooms, almost entirely occupied
by the chancery officers, who administer, or maladminister, Jussupow's
estates. He, his wife, and I have the one livable wing in the midst of
them. Lots of love.

Your most faithful v.B.


Petersburg, July 2, '59.

_My Dear Heart_,--I received your letter of the 25th yesterday, and
you will probably get tomorrow the one that I sent to Stettin on
Wednesday with the Dowager Czarina. My homesick heart follows its
course with yearning thoughts; it was such charming clear weather and
fresh winds when we escorted her Highness on board in Peterhof that I
should have liked to leap on the ship, in uniform and without baggage,
and go along with her. Since then the heat has grown worse, about the
temperature of a freely watered palm-house, and my lack of summer
materials is making itself decidedly felt. I go about in the rooms in
my shirt alone, as the dear blue dressing-gown is too narrow, even now
at six o'clock in the morning. A courier wakened me half an hour ago,
with his war and peace, and I cannot sleep any more now, although I
did not get to bed until towards two. Our politics are drifting more
and more into the Austrian wake, and as soon as we have fired a shot
on the Rhine then it's all over with the war between Italy and
Austria, and, instead of that, a war between France and Prussia will
take the stage, in which Austria, after we have taken the burden from
her shoulders, will stand by us or will not stand by us, just as her
own interests dictate. She will certainly not suffer us to play a
gloriously victorious rôle. It is quite remarkable that in such crises
Catholic ministers always hold the reins of our destiny--Radowitz once
before, now Hohenzollern, who just now has the predominant influence,
and is in favor of war. I look very darkly into the future; our troops
are not better than the Austrian, because they only serve half as
long; and the German troops, on whose support we reckon, are for the
most part quite wretched, and, if things go ill with us, their leaders
will fall away from us like dry leaves in the wind. But God, who can
hold up and throw down Prussia, and the world, knows why these things
must be, and we will not embitter ourselves against the land in which
we were born, and against the authorities for whose enlightenment we
pray. After thirty years, perhaps much sooner, it will be a small
matter to us how things stand with Prussia and Austria, if only the
mercy of God and the deserving of Christ remain to our souls. I opened
the Scriptures last evening, at random, so as to rid my anxious heart
of politics, and my eye lighted immediately on the 5th verse of the
110th Psalm. As God wills--it is all, to be sure, only a question of
time, nations and people, folly and wisdom, war and peace; they come
and go like waves of water, and the sea remains. What are our states
and their power and honor before God, except as ant-hills and
bee-hives which the hoof of an ox tramples down, or fate, in the form
of a honey-farmer, overtakes? * * * Farewell, my sweetheart, and learn
to experience life's folly in sadness; there is nothing in this world
but hypocrisy and jugglery, and whether fever or grape-shot shall bear
away this mass of flesh, fall it must, sooner or later, and then such
a resemblance will appear between a Prussian and an Austrian, if they
are of the same size, like Schrech and Rechberg, for example, that it
will be difficult to distinguish between them; the stupid and the
clever, too, properly reduced to the skeleton state, look a good deal
like each other. Patriotism for a particular country is destroyed by
this reflection, but we should have to despair in any case, even now,
were it linked with our salvation. Farewell once more, with love to
parents and children. How impatient I am to see them! As soon as
_Vriendschap_--so our vessel is called--is in sight, I shall
telegraph. With love, as always,

Your most faithful VON B.


Paris, May 31, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--Only a few lines in the press of business to tell
you I am well, but very lonely, with a view out over the green, in
this dull, rainy weather, while the bumble-bees hum and the sparrows
twitter. Grand audience tomorrow. It's vexatious that I have to buy
linen, towels, table-cloths, and sheets. * * * Farewell. Hearty love,
and write! Your most faithful v.B.


Paris, June 1, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--The Emperor received me today, and I handed over my
credentials; he received me kindly, is looking well, has grown
somewhat stouter, but by no means fat and aged, as he generally is in
caricatures. The Empress is still one of the most beautiful women I
know, in spite of Petersburg; she has, if anything, grown more
beautiful in the past five years. The whole affair was official,
ceremonial; I was taken back in court-carriage with master of
ceremonies, etc. Next time I shall probably have a private audience. I
long for business, for I don't know what to do with myself. Today I
dined alone, the young gentlemen were out; the entire evening rain;
and at home alone. To whom should I go? In the midst of big Paris I am
lonelier than you are at Reinfeld, and sit here like a rat in a
deserted house. The only pleasure I have had was sending the cook away
because of overcharges. You know my indulgence in this matter, but
Rembours was a child in comparison. I am dining for the present in a
café. How long that will last, God knows. I shall probably receive a
summons, by telegram, to Berlin, in eight or ten days, and then
good-by to this song-and-dance. If my opponents only knew what a boon
their victory would be to me, and how heartily I desire it! Then
Rechberg would, perhaps, out of malice, do his best to have me called
to Berlin. You can't have any more aversion to Wilhelmstrasse than
myself, and if I am not persuaded that it must be, then I will not go.
I consider it cowardice and disloyalty to leave the King in the lurch,
under pretence of illness. If it is not to be, then God will permit
those who search to find another _princillon_ who will offer himself
as cover for the pot. If it is to be, then "_s'Bogom"_ ("with God"),
as our Russian drivers used to say, when they took up the reins. * * *

Your v.B.


Bordeaux, July 27, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--You cannot refuse to testify that I am a good
correspondent; I wrote this morning from Chenonceaux to your
birthday-child, and now this evening, from the city of red wine, to
you. But these lines will arrive a day later than those, as the mail
does not leave until tomorrow afternoon. I left Paris only day before
yesterday noon, but it seems to me a week. I have seen very beautiful
castles--Chambord, of which the enclosure (torn out of a book) gives
only an imperfect idea, corresponds, in its desolation, to the fate of
its owner (I hope you know it belongs to the Duke of Bordeaux). In the
wide halls and magnificent rooms, where so many kings kept their
court, with their mistresses and their hunting, the Duke's only
furniture consists now of the children's toys. My guide took me for a
French Legitimist, and squeezed out a tear as she showed me the little
cannon. I paid for the tear-drop, tariff-wise, with an extra franc,
although it is not my vocation to subsidize Carlism. The castle
court-yards lay in the sun as quiet as deserted churches; there is a
distant view round about from the towers, but on all sides silent
woods and heather to the farthest horizon; not a city, not a village,
not a farm-house, either near the castle or in the region round it.
The enclosed sprigs, specimens of heather, will no longer show you how
purple this plant I love so much blooms here, the only flower in the
royal garden, and swallows the only living creatures in the castle; it
is too solitary for sparrows. The situation of the old castle of
Amboise is glorious; from the top you can look up and down the Loire
for about thirty miles. Coming from there to this place one passes
gradually into the south; wheat disappears, giving way to maize;
between, twining vines and chestnut woods, castles and country-seats,
with many towers, chimneys, and gables, all white, with high-pointed
slate roofs. It was boiling hot, and I was very glad to have a
half-coupé to myself. In the evening glorious lightning in the whole
eastern sky, and now an agreeable coolness, which I should find sultry
at home. The sun set at 7.35; in Petersburg one can see now, without a
light, at eleven o'clock. As yet there is no letter for me here;
perhaps I shall find one in Bayonne. I shall stay here probably two
days, to see where our wines grow. Now, good-night, my angel. Dearest
love. Your most faithful v.B.


San Sebastian, August 1, '62.

_My Dear Heart_,--I could not have believed last year that I should
celebrate Bill's birthday this time in Spain. I shall not fail to
drink his health in dark red wine, and pray God earnestly to take and
keep all of you under His protection; it is now half past three, and I
imagine you have just got up from table and are sitting in the front
hall at your coffee, if the sun permits. The sun is probably not so
scalding there as it is here, but it doesn't do me any harm, and I am
feeling splendidly well. The route from Bayonne here is glorious; on
the left the Pyrenees, something like the Dent du Midi and Moléson,
which, however, are here called "Pie" and "Port," in shifting
Alpine panorama, on the right the shores of the sea, like those at
Genoa. The change in entering Spain is surprising; at Behobie, the
last place in France, one could easily believe one's self still on the
Loire; in Fuentarabia a steep street twelve feet wide, every window
with balcony and curtain, every balcony with black eyes and mantillas,
beauty and dirt; at the market-place drums and fifes, and some
hundreds of women, old and young, dancing a fandango, while the men in
their drapery looked on, smoking. Thus far the country is
exceptionally beautiful--green valleys and wooded slopes, with
fantastic lines of fortifications above them, row after row; inlets of
the sea, with very narrow entrances, which cut deep into the land,
like Salzburg lakes in mountain basins. I look down on such a one from
my window, separated from the sea by an island of rocks, set in a
steep frame of mountains with woods and houses, below to the left city
and harbor. My old friend Galen, who is taking the baths here, with
wife and son, received me most warmly; I bathed with him at ten, and
after breakfast we walked, or, rather, crawled, through the heat up to
the citadel, and sat for a long time on a bench there, the sea a
hundred feet below us, near us a heavy fortress-battery, with a
singing sentry. This hill or rock would be an island did not a low
tongue of land connect it with the mainland. This tongue of land
separates two inlets from each other, so you get towards the north a
distant view of the sea from the citadel, towards the east and west a
view of both inlets, like two Swiss lakes, and towards the south of
the tongue of land, with the town on it, and behind it, landward,
mountains as high as the heavens. I wish I could paint you a picture
of it, and if we both were fifteen years younger then we would take a
trip here together. Tomorrow, or day after, I go back to Bayonne. * * * I
am very much sunburned, and should have liked best to float on the
ocean for an hour today; the water bears me up like a piece of wood.
It is still just cool enough to be pleasant. By the time one gets to
the dressing-room one is almost dry, and I put on my hat, only, and
take a walk in my peignoir. The ladies bathe fifty paces away--custom
of the country. * * * I do not like the Spaniards so well as I like
their country; they are not polite, talk too loud, and the conditions
are in many ways behind those in Russia. Custom-houses and passport
annoyances without end, an incredible number of turnpike tolls, four
francs for one hour's drive, or else I should stay here still longer,
instead of bathing in Biarritz, where a bathing-suit is necessary.
Love to our dear parents and children. Farewell, my angel.

Your v.B.


Biarritz, August 4, '62.

* * * I am sitting in a corner room of the Hôtel de l'Europe, with a
charming lookout over the blue sea, which drives its white foam
between wonderful cliffs and against the light-house. I have a bad
conscience, seeing so many beautiful things without you. If one could
only bring you hither through the air, I would go right back again to
San Sebastian. Imagine the Siebengebirge with the Drachenfels placed
by the sea; next to it Ehrenbreitstein, and between the two an arm of
the sea, somewhat wider than the Rhine, forcing its way into the land,
and forming a round bay behind the mountains. In this you bathe in
water transparently clear, and so heavy and salty that you can lie
easily right on top of it and can look through the wide gate of rocks
to the sea, or landward, where the mountain chains tower up one after
another ever higher and ever bluer. The women of the middle and lower
classes are strikingly pretty, sometimes beautiful; the men surly and
impolite, and the comforts of life to which we are accustomed in
civilized lands are entirely lacking. In this respect I find Russia
pleasanter to travel in than Spain. What actually drove me out of the
country was the swinishness in certain indispensable arrangements, and
then the cheating in the hotels, and the tolls. The heat there is no
worse than here, and doesn't bother me; on the contrary, I am very
well, thank Heaven. Day before yesterday there was a storm whose like
I have never seen. I had to make three attempts before I succeeded in
climbing the flight of four steps at the head of the pier. Pieces of
stone and of trees flew through the air; so I unfortunately gave up my
place in a sailing-vessel for Bayonne, as I didn't believe it possible
that all would be quiet and cheerful again in four hours' time; so I
missed a charming sail along the coast, stayed one day longer in San
Sebastian, and left yesterday by the diligence, rather uncomfortably
packed in between attractive little Spanish women, to whom I could not
speak a single word. Still, they understood Italian enough for me to
make clear to them my satisfaction with their exterior. Gr. Gallen and
wife were very kind to me. As I was looking for a fan, they presented
me with theirs for you; it is simple, but painted in style
characteristic of the country. You would like the wife very much; he,
too, is a good fellow, but she amounts to more intellectually. I got
Bernhard's long-expected letter today. He looks very black over
politics, is expecting another child, and is building barns and
stables. I long for news from you and the children. * * * Dearest love
to all.

Your most faithful v.B.


Biarritz, August 10, '62.

_My Beloved Heart,-- * * * I am living about as at Stolpemünde, only
without champagne; I drank some with Orloff today, for the first time
since I left Paris. In the afternoon I wander about among the cliffs,
heaths, and fields, see orchards with aloe, figs, almonds, and borders
of tamarinds, then I do some target-shooting, take my bath, sit on the
rocks smoking, gazing at the sea, and thinking of you all. Politics I
have entirely forgotten; don't read any papers. The 15th has some
claims upon me; for propriety's sake I ought to go to Paris, too,
since I am in France, so as to congratulate the Emperor, hear his
speech, and attend the dinner. But I shall hardly bring myself to the
point of traveling over five hundred miles and interrupting the
air-and-water cure, which is doing me so much good that I actually
hate the thought of the dusty, close air of the royal residence. The
Emperor is too reasonable a gentleman to take my absence amiss, and
from Berlin I have an honest leave of absence. * * * Farewell, my
angel, with dearest love.

Your most faithful v.B.


Hohenmauth, Monday, September 7, '66.

Do you remember, sweetheart, how we passed through here nineteen years
ago, on the way from Prague to Vienna? No mirror showed the future
then, nor in 1852, when I went over this railway with good Lynar. How
strangely romantic are God's ways! We are doing well, in spite of
Napoleon; if we are not unmeasured in our claims and do not imagine we
have conquered the world, we shall achieve a peace that is worth the
trouble. But we are as easily intoxicated as disheartened, and it is
my thankless part to pour water into the foaming wine, and to insist
that we do not live alone in Europe, but with three other powers which
hate and envy us. The Austrians hold position in Moravia, and we are
bold enough to announce our headquarters for tomorrow at the point
where they are now. Prisoners still keep passing in, and cannon, one
hundred and eighty from the 3d to today. If they bring up their
southern army, we shall, with God's gracious help, defeat it too;
confidence is universal. Our people are ready to embrace one another,
every man so deadly in earnest, calm, obedient, orderly, with empty
stomach, soaked clothes, wet camp, little sleep, shoe-soles dropping
off, kindly to all, no sacking or burning, paying what they can and
eating mouldy bread. There must surely be a solid basis of fear of God
in the common soldier of our army, or all this could not be. News of
our friends is hard to get; we lie miles apart from one another, none
knowing where the other is, and nobody to send--that is, men might be
had, but no horses. For four days I have had search made for
Philip,[19] who was slightly wounded by a lance-thrust in the head, as
Gerhard[20] wrote me, but I can't find out where he is, and we have now
come thirty-seven miles farther. The King exposed himself greatly on
the 3d and it was well I was present, for all the warnings of others
had no effect, and no one would have dared to talk so sharply to him
as I allowed myself to do on the last occasion, which gave support to
my words, when a knot of ten cuirassiers and fifteen horses of the
Sixth Cuirassier Regiment rushed confusedly by us, all in blood, and
the shells whizzed around most disagreeably close to the King. He
cannot yet forgive me for having blocked for him the pleasure of being
hit. "At the spot where I was forced by order of the supreme authority
to run away," were his words only yesterday, pointing his finger
angrily at me. But I like it better so than if he were excessively
cautious. He was full of enthusiasm over his troops, and justly so
rapt that he seemed to take no notice of the din and fighting close to
him, calm and composed as at the Kreuzberg, and constantly meeting
battalions that he must thank with "Good-evening, grenadiers," till we
were actually by this trifling brought under fire again. But he has
had to hear so much of this that he will stop it for the future, and
you may feel quite easy; indeed, I hardly believe there will be
another real battle.

When you have of anybody _no_ word whatever, you may assume with
confidence that he is alive and well; for if acquaintances are wounded
it is always known at latest in twenty-four hours. We have not come
across Herwarth and Steinmetz at all, nor has the King. Schreck, too,
I have not seen, but I know they are well. Gerhard keeps quietly at
the head of his squadron, with his arm in a sling. Farewell--I must to
business.

Your faithfullest v.B.


 Zwittau, Moravia, July 11, '66.

_Dear Heart_,--I have no inkstand, all of them being in use; but for
the rest I get on well, after a good sleep on camp bed with air
mattress; roused at eight by a letter from you. I went to bed at
eleven. At Königgrätz I rode the big sandy thirteen hours in the
saddle without feeding him He bore it very well, did not shy at shots
nor at corpses, cropped standing grain and plum-leaves with zest at
the most trying moments, and kept up an easy gait to the last, when I
was more tired than the horse. My first bivouac for the night was on
the street pavement of Horic, with no straw, but helped by a carriage
cushion. It was full of wounded; the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg found
me and shared his chamber with me, Reuss, and two adjutants, and the
rain made this very welcome to me. About the King and the shells I
have written you already. All the generals had a superstition that
they, as soldiers, must not speak to the King of danger, and always
sent me off to him, though I am a major, too. They did not venture to
speak to his reckless Majesty in the serious tone which at last was
effectual. Now at last he is grateful to me for it, and his sharp
words, "How you drove me off the first time," etc., are an
acknowledgment that I was right. Nobody knew the region, the King had
no guide, but rode right on at random, till I obtruded myself to show
the way. * * * Farewell, my heart. I must go to the King.

Your most faithful v.B.


Vendresse, September 3, 1870.

To MRS. VON BISMARCK:

_My Dear Heart_,--Day before yesterday I left my quarters here before
dawn, but came back today, and have meanwhile been through the great
battle of Sedan on the 1st, in which we took some thirty thousand
prisoners, and shut the remainder of the French army, which we had
chased ever since Bar-le-Duc, into the fortress, where they had to
surrender, with the Emperor, as prisoners of war. At five yesterday
morning, after I had discussed the terms of capitulation with Moltke
and the French generals till one o'clock, General Reille, whom I know,
called me up to say that Napoleon wished to speak with me. Without
washing or breakfast, I rode towards Sedan, found the Emperor in an
open carriage with three adjutants, and three more at hand in the
saddle, on the main road before Sedan. I dismounted, saluted him as
politely as in the Tuileries, and asked his commands. He desired to
see the King. I told him, as was true, that his Majesty's quarters
were fourteen miles away, at the place where I am writing now. Upon
his question, whither he should betake himself, I offered him, since I
was unfamiliar with the region, my quarters in Donchery, a village on
the Maas close to Sedan; he accepted them, and drove, escorted by his
six Frenchmen, by me; and by Carl, who meanwhile had ridden after me,
through the lovely morning, towards our lines. He was distressed
before reaching the place because of the possible crowds, and asked me
if he might not stop at a lonely workman's house on the road. I had it
examined by Carl, who reported that it was wretched and dirty.
"_N'importe,_" said Napoleon, and I mounted with him a narrow, rickety
stairway. In a room ten feet square, with a fig-wood table and two
rush-bottomed chairs, we sat an hour, the others staying below. A
mighty contrast to our last interview, in '67, at the Tuileries. Our
conversation was difficult, if I would avoid touching on things which
must be painful to those whom God's mighty hand had overthrown.
Through Carl, I had officers brought from the city, and Moltke
requested to come. We then sent out one of the first to reconnoitre,
and discovered, a couple of miles off, at Fresnoi's, a little château
with a park. Thither I conducted him, with an escort of the Cuirassier
body-guards, which was meanwhile brought up, and there we concluded
the capitulation with Wimpfen, the French general-in-chief. By its
terms, from forty to sixty thousand French--I do not yet know the
number more exactly--became our prisoners, with everything they
have. The two receding days cost France one hundred thousand men and
an emperor. He started early this morning, with all his court, horses,
and wagons, for Wilhelmshöhe, at Cassel.

It is an event in universal history, a triumph for which we will thank
God the Lord in humility, and which is decisive of the war, even
though we must continue to prosecute it against headless France.

I must close. With heartfelt joy I have learned today, from your
letter and Marie's, of Herbert's reaching you. I met Bill yesterday,
as I telegraphed you, and took him to my arms from his horse before
the King's face, while he stood with his limbs rigid. He is entirely
well and in high spirits. Hans and Fritz Carl and both the Billows I
saw with the Second Dragoon guards, well and cheerful.

Farewell, my heart. Kiss the children.

Your v.B.


Gastein, August 30, '71.

Happy the man to whom God has given a virtuous wife, who writes him
every day. I am delighted that you are well, and that you have come to
be three, to whom I hope to add myself as fourth on the 7th or
8th. * * * You see I have enough mental leisure here to devote myself to
the unaccustomed work of making plans; but all on the presupposition
that the excited Gauls do not worry my little friend Thiers to death, for
then I should have to stay with his Majesty and watch which way the
hare runs. I do not think that likely, but with such a stupid nation
as they are anything is possible. Hearty love to both fat children.

Your most faithful v.B.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: From _The Love Letters of Bismarck_. Permission Harper &
Brothers, New York.]

[Footnote 3: This note has been lost.]

[Footnote 4: In subsequent letters he speaks of her "blue gray-black
eyes."]

[Footnote 5: Inspector at Schönhausen.]

[Footnote 6: Compare the enclosure, in which I used often to find the
expression of my inmost thought. Now, never any more. (Enclosed was a
copy of Byron's poem, "To Inez.")]

[Footnote 7: Fraülein von Blumenthal, afterwards Frau von Böhn.]

[Footnote 8: English in the original.]

[Footnote 9: English in the original.]

[Footnote 10: Von Puttkamer Poberow.]

[Footnote 11: Frau von Blanckenburg]

[Footnote 12: English in the original.]

[Footnote 13: English in the original.]

[Footnote 14: "Right honorable," a common form of address on letters.
B. refers more than once to her distinctive way of writing this
title.]

[Footnote 15: English in the original.]

[Footnote 16: _Fiancé_.]

[Footnote 17: Frau von Zanthier, born von Puttkamer.]

[Footnote 18: Military _chargé_.]

[Footnote 19: Von Bismarck, the oldest nephew.]

[Footnote 20: Von Thadden, commanding a squadron in the First Dragoon
Guards.]

       *       *       *       *       *




CORRESPONDENCE OF WILLIAM I. AND BISMARCK [21]

TRANSLATED BY J.A. FORD


BISMARCK TO KING WILLIAM


Berlin, December 8, '63.

YOUR MAJESTY:--

I have the honor most respectfully to submit a Police report, the
printed compilation of the documents relating to the London treaty as
commanded, and the telegrams received up to the present. In my most
humble opinion it seems expedient to maintain our attitude toward
Irminger[22] also outwardly in conformity with that of Austria. It is
awkward that Sydow is charged with the report of the committee in the
Bundestag, for we shall thus always have to make our declaration
first, and before Austria; if your Majesty does not command otherwise
I will leave him without instructions on this point, and await
tomorrow's committee issues, as the next measure, the letter to
Copenhagen, will not be thereby delayed.

The final sentence of the Vienna telegram, that Christian IX. rules also
in Copenhagen only by virtue of the London treaty, is not quite right;
he rules there because the legitimate heir, Prince Friedrich of Hesse,
has resigned in his favor. This legal title, which is in itself
sufficient, has only been _confirmed_ by the London treaty, and then
extended to the Duchies.

v. BISMARCK.

Marginal note by the King:

Prince Friedrich resigned merely in order that the London treaty in
favor of Christian IX. might be effectuated.

W.

       *       *       *       *       *

KING WILLIAM I. TO BISMARCK

Berlin, February 12, '67.

When looking back to the decisive turning point reached by the
destinies of Prussia through the glorious fights of the past year, the
most distant generations will never forget that the elevation of the
Fatherland to new power, and to imperishable honors, that the opening
up of an epoch of a rich and, with God's help, a blessing-bringing
development are essentially due to your penetration, your energy, and
the skilful manner in which you conducted the affairs entrusted to
you.

I have decided to show a renewed appreciation of these your most
distinguished merits, by the bestowal of a gift of four hundred
thousand Thalers.[23] The Minister for Finance has been directed to
place this sum at your disposal.

It would be in accordance with my wishes if you devoted this gift, the
bestowal of which is to manifest my and the Fatherland's thanks, to
the purchase of landed property, and entailed the same, so that with
the glory of your name it also may remain permanently in your family.

Your grateful and faithfully devoted King,

WILHELM.

       *       *       *       *       *

BISMARCK TO KING WILLIAM I.

Donchery, September 2, '70.

After I came here yesterday evening, by your Royal Majesty's command, to
take part in the negotiations on the capitulation, these were
interrupted until 1 o'clock in the night, by time for consideration,
which General Wimpffen solicited, being granted, after General von
Moltke had definitely stated that no other terms will be granted than
the laying down of arms, and that the bombardment would recommence at 9
o'clock in the morning if the capitulation were not concluded by that
time. At about 6 o'clock this morning General Reille was announced, who
informed me that the Emperor wished to see me, and was already on his
way here from Sedan. The General returned at once to report to his
Majesty that I was following, and shortly afterwards I met the Emperor
near Fresnois, about half way between this place and Sedan. His Majesty
was driving in an open carriage with three officers of high rank, and
was escorted by three others on horseback. Of these officers I knew
personally Generals Castelnau, Reille, Moskowa, who seemed to be wounded
in the foot, and Vaubert. As soon as I reached the carriage I
dismounted, walked to the Emperor's side at the carriage door, and asked
for his Majesty's orders. The Emperor at first expressed the wish to see
your Imperial Majesty, evidently in the belief that your Majesty was
also at Donchery. When I replied that at present your Majesty's
headquarters were at Vendresse, thirteen miles away, the Emperor
enquired whether your Majesty had decided where he should go, and what
my opinion on the subject was. I replied that, as it was quite dark when
I arrived here, I knew nothing of the district, and offered to place at
his disposal at once the house in which I was staying at Donchery. The
Emperor accepted this offer, and drove off at a walking pace in the
direction of Donchery; about a hundred yards from the Maas bridge, which
leads into the town, he stopped in front of a lonely, workman's cottage,
and asked me if he could not stay there. I had the house examined by
Councillor of Legation Count Bismarck-Bohlen, who in the meantime had
followed me; when it was reported that the interior arrangements were
very poor and inadequate, but that there were no wounded men in the
house, the Emperor alighted and invited me to accompany him inside.
Here, in a very small room containing a table and two chairs, I had
about an hour's conversation with the Emperor. His Majesty emphasized
especially the wish to obtain more favorable conditions of capitulation
for the army. I declined from the outset to treat this question with his
Majesty, as this was a purely military question, to be settled between
General von Moltke and General von Wimpffen. On the other hand, I asked
if his Majesty were inclined to peace negotiations. The Emperor replied
that, as a prisoner, he was not now in a position to do so, and to my
further enquiry by whom, in his opinion, the executive power was at
present represented in France, his Majesty referred me to the Government
in Paris. When this point, which was indistinct in the Emperor's letter
to your Majesty yesterday, was cleared up, I recognized, and did not
conceal the fact from the Emperor, that the situation today, as
yesterday, was still a purely military one, and emphasized the necessity
arising from it for us to obtain by the capitulation of Sedan above all
things a material pledge for the security of the military results we had
attained. I had already weighed from all sides with General von Moltke
yesterday evening, the question whether it would be possible, without
detriment to the German interests, to offer to the military feelings of
honor of an army which had fought well more favorable terms than those
already laid down. After due and careful consideration we both came to
the conclusion that this could not be done. When, therefore, General von
Moltke, who in the meantime had arrived from the town, went to your
Majesty to submit the Emperor's wishes, he did not do so, as your
Majesty is well aware, with the intention of advocating them.

The Emperor then went out into the open air, and invited me to sit
beside him just outside the door of the cottage. His Majesty asked
whether it would not be practicable to allow the French army to cross
into Belgium, to be disarmed and detained there. I had discussed also
this eventuality with General v. Moltke on the previous evening and
adduced the motive already given for not entering into the question of
this course of procedure. With respect to the political situation, I
myself took no initiative, and the Emperor went no further than to
deplore the ill-fortune of the war, stating that he himself had not
wished the war, but was driven into it by the pressure of public
opinion in France. I did not regard it as my office to point out at
that moment that what the Emperor characterized as public opinion was
only the artificial product of certain ambitious coteries of the
French press, with a very narrow political horizon. I merely replied
that nobody in Germany wished for the war, especially not your
Majesty, and that no German Government would have considered the
Spanish question of so much interest as to be worth a war. I continued
that your Majesty's attitude toward the Spanish succession question
was finally determined by the misgiving whether it was right, for
personal and dynastic considerations, to mar the endeavor of the
Spanish nation to reestablish, by this selection of a King, their
internal organization on a permanent basis; that your Majesty, in view
of the good relations existing for so many years between the Princes
of the Hohenzollern House and the Emperor, had never entertained any
doubt but that the Hereditary Prince would succeed in arriving at a
satisfactory understanding with his Majesty the Emperor respecting the
acceptance of the Spanish election, that, however, your Majesty had
regarded this, not as a German or a Prussian, but as a Spanish affair.

In the meantime, between 9 and 10 o'clock, enquiries in the town, and
especially reconnaissances on the part of the officers of the general
staff, had revealed the fact that the castle of Bellevue, near
Fresnois, was suited for the accommodation of the Emperor, and was not
yet occupied by the wounded. I reported this to his Majesty by
designating Fresnois as the place I should propose to your
Majesty for the meeting, and therefore referred it to the Emperor
whether his Majesty would proceed there at once, as a longer stay in
the little workman's cottage would be uncomfortable, and the Emperor
would perhaps need some rest. His Majesty readily assented, and I
accompanied the Emperor, who was preceded by an escort of honor from
your Majesty's Own Cuirassier Regiment, to the Castle of Bellevue,
where in the meantime the rest of the Emperor's suite and his
carriages, whose coming had, it appears, been considered doubtful, had
arrived from Sedan. General Wimpffen had also arrived, and with him,
in anticipation of the return of General von Moltke, the discussion of
the capitulation negotiations, which were broken off yesterday, was
resumed by General v. Podbielski in the presence of Lieut. Col. von
Verdy and the chief of General v. Wimpffen's staff, these two officers
acting as secretaries. I took part only in the commencement of the
same by setting forth the political and judicial situation in
accordance with the information furnished me by the Emperor himself,
as it was thereupon reported to me by Major Count von Nostitz, by
direction of General von Moltke, that your Majesty wished to see the
Emperor only after the capitulation of the army had been concluded--on
the receipt of which announcement the hope cherished by the opposite
party of securing other terms than those decided on was given up. I
then rode off in the direction of Chehery with the intention of
reporting the situation to your Majesty, met General v. Moltke on the
way, bringing the text of the capitulation approved by your Majesty,
and this, when we arrived with it at Fresnois, was accepted and signed
without opposition. The demeanor of General v. Wimpffen, as also that
of the other French generals, during the previous night was very
dignified, and this brave officer could not forbear expressing to me
how deeply he was pained that he should have been called upon,
forty-eight hours after his arrival from Africa, and half a day after
he had assumed command, to set his name to a capitulation so fatal to
the French arms, that, however, lack of provisions and ammunition, and
the absolute impossibility of any further defence imposed upon him, as
a general the duty of suppressing his personal feelings, as further
bloodshed could in no way alter the situation. The permission for the
officers to be released on parole was received with great
thankfulness, as an expression of your Majesty's intention not to hurt
the feelings of an army, which had fought bravely, beyond the point
demanded by the necessity of our political interests. General v.
Wimpffen also subsequently gave expression to this feeling in a letter
in which he thanks General v. Moltke for the consideration he showed
in conducting the negotiations.

v. BISMARCK.

       *       *       *       *       *

EMPEROR WILLIAM I. TO BISMARCK

Berlin, March 21, '71.

With today's opening of the first German Reichstag after the
reëstablishment of a German Empire, the first public activity of the
same begins. Prussia's history and destiny have for a long time
pointed to an event which is now accomplished by its being summoned to
the head of the newly founded Empire. Prussia owes this less to her
extent of territory and her power, though both have equally increased,
than to her intellectual development and the organization of her army.
The brilliant position now occupied by my country has been attained
through an unexpectedly rapid sequence of great events during the past
six years. The work to which I called you ten years ago falls within
this time. How you have justified the confidence with which I then
summoned you lies open to the world. It is to your counsel, your
circumspection, your unwearying activity that Prussia and Germany owe
the world-historical occurrence which is embodied in my capital today.

Although the reward for such deeds is felt within you, I am
nevertheless urged and bound to express to you publicly and
permanently the thanks of the Fatherland and mine. I elevate you,
therefore, to the rank of a Prussian Prince (Fürst), which is to be
inherited always by the eldest male member of your family.

May you see in this distinction the undying gratitude of Your Emperor
and King

WILHELM.

       *       *       *       *       *

EMPEROR WILLIAM I. TO BISMARCK

Coblenz, July 26, '72.

You will celebrate, on the 28th, a delightful family festival[24]
which the Almighty in His mercy has accorded you. I, therefore, may
and can not remain behind with my sympathy on this occasion, so will
you, and the Princess, your wife, accept my most cordial and warmest
congratulations on this great occasion. That both of you always gave
the first place, among the blessings showered on you by Providence, to
domestic happiness is something for which your prayers of thanksgiving
should ascend to heaven. Our and my prayers of thanksgiving, however,
go further, as they include thanks to God for having placed you at my
side at a decisive moment, and thus opened up a career for my
Government far exceeding thought and comprehension. You also will send
up your feelings of thankfulness that God graciously permitted you to
accomplish such great things. Both in and after all your labors you
always found comfort and peace in your home, and that gives you
strength in your difficult vocation. To preserve and strengthen you
for this is my constant solicitude, and I am glad to learn from your
letter through Count Lehndorff and also from the latter himself that
you will now think more of yourself than of the documents.

In remembrance of your silver wedding a vase will be handed you which
represents a grateful Borussia and which, fragile though the material
of which it is composed may be, shall one day express even in every
fragment what Prussia owes to you in its elevation to the height on
which it now stands.

Your truly devoted grateful King

WILHELM.

       *       *       *       *       *

BISMARCK TO EMPEROR WILLIAM I.

Varzin, August I, '72.

Your Majesty greatly gladdened my wife and me by graciously evincing
sympathy in our family festival, and will, we trust, be graciously
pleased to accept our respectful thanks.

Your Majesty justly emphasizes happiness in the home as being among
the chief blessings for which I have to thank God, but part of the
happiness in my house, for my wife as well as for myself, comes from
the consciousness of your Majesty's satisfaction, and the exceedingly
gracious and kindly words of appreciation which your Majesty's letter
contains are more beneficial to afflicted nerves than is all medical
assistance. In looking back over my life I have such inexhaustible
cause to thank God for His unmerited mercy, that I often fear
everything will not go so well with me until the end. I recognize it
as an especially happy dispensation that God has called me on earth to
the service of a master whom I serve joyfully and with love, as the
innate fidelity of the subject never has to fear, under your Majesty's
leadership, coming into conflict with a warm feeling for the honor and
the welfare of the Fatherland. May God further give me strength to
carry out the will so to serve your Majesty that I obtain the
sovereign satisfaction, of which such a gracious testimony lies before
me today in the form of the autograph letter of the 26th. The vase,
which arrived in good time, is a truly monumental expression of Royal
favor, and at the same time so substantial that I may hope not the
"fragments" but the whole will be evidence to my descendants of the
gracious sympathy evinced by your majesty on the occasion of our
silver wedding.

The officers of the fifty-fourth regiment showed a kindly spirit of
comradeship by sending their band from Colberg. Otherwise, as is
usually the case in the country, we were confined to our family
circle; only Motley, the former American Ambassador in London, a
friend of my early youth, happened to be here on a visit. Besides her
Majesty the Queen, his Majesty the King of Bavaria, and their Royal
Highnesses Prince Carl and Friedrich Carl, and his Imperial Highness
the Crown Prince, honored me with telegraphic congratulations.

In health I am becoming slowly better; I have, it is true, done no
work whatever; but I hope to be able to report myself on duty in time
for the Imperial visits.

v. BISMARCK.

       *       *       *       *       *

EMPEROR WILLIAM I. TO BISMARCK

Berlin, December 18, '81.

I must tell you of an extraordinary dream I had last night, which was
as clear as I now relate it.

The Reichstag met for the first time after the present recess. On
Count Eulenburg's entrance the discussion abruptly ceased; after a
long interval the President called on the last speaker to continue the
debate. Silence! The President thereupon declared the sitting
adjourned. This was the signal for great tumult and clamor. No order,
it was urged, should be bestowed on any member during the session of
the Reichstag; the Monarch may not be mentioned during the session.
The House adjourns till tomorrow. Eulenburg's appearance in the
Chamber is again greeted with hisses and commotion--and then I awoke
in such a state of nervous excitement that it was long before I
recovered, and I could not sleep from half-past four to half-past
six. All this happened in the House in my presence, as clearly as I
have written it down.

I will not hope that the dream will be realized, but it is certainly
peculiar. I dreamt it after six hours of quiet sleep, so it could not
have been directly produced by our conversation.

_Enfin_, I could not but tell you of this curious occurrence.

Your

WILHELM.

       *       *       *       *       *

BISMARCK TO EMPEROR WILLIAM I.

Berlin, December 18, '81.

I thank your Majesty most respectfully for the gracious letter. I
quite believe that the dream owed its origin, not exactly to my
report, but to the general impression obtained during the last few
days from Puttkamer's[25] oral report, the newspaper articles, and my
report. The pictures we have in our minds when awake do not reappear
in the mirror of our dreams until our mental faculties have been well
rested by sleep. Your Majesty's communication encourages me to relate
a dream I had in the troublous days of the spring of 1863. I dreamt,
and I told my dream at once to my wife and to others the next morning,
that I was riding along a narrow Alpine path, to the right an abyss,
and to the left rocks; the path became narrower and narrower, until at
last my horse refused to take another step, and there was no room
either to turn or to dismount. I then struck the smooth rocky wall
with my riding whip in my left hand, and invoked God; the whip became
interminably long, and the wall of rock collapsed like a scene in the
theatre, opening up a wide pathway, with a view over hills and forests
such as one sees in Bohemia. I also caught sight of Prussian troops,
with their banners, and, still in my dreams, wondered how I could best
report this Quickly to your Majesty. This dream was realized, and I
awoke from it glad and strengthened.

[Illustration: FRANZ VON LENBACH EMPEROR WILLIAM I]

The bad dream from which your Majesty awoke nervous and agitated can
be realized only in so far that we shall still have many stormy and
noisy parliamentary debates, which must unfortunately undermine the
prestige of the Parliaments and seriously interfere with State
business. Your Majesty's presence at these debates is an
impossibility; and I regard such scenes as we have lately witnessed in
the Reichstag regrettable enough as a standard of our morals and our
political education, perhaps also our political qualifications, but
not as a misfortune in themselves: _l'excès du mal en devient le
remède_.

Will your Majesty pardon, with your accustomed graciousness, these
holiday reflections, which were suggested by your Majesty's letter;
for from yesterday till January 9th we have holidays and rest.
BISMARCK.

       *       *       *       *       *

EMPEROR WILLIAM I. TO BISMARCK

Berlin, September 23, '87.

You celebrate on September 23, my dear Prince, the day on which,
twenty-five years ago, I called you into my Ministry of State, and
shortly afterwards gave the Premiership into your hands. The
distinguished services you had previously rendered to the Fatherland
in the most varied and important positions justified me in conferring
on you this highest post. The history of the last quarter of a century
proves that I did not err in my choice!

A shining example of true patriotism, of untiring activity often to
the utter disregard of your health, you have been indefatigable in
keeping a close watch on what were frequently overwhelming
difficulties in peace and war, and have used them to lead Prussia in
honor and glory to a Position in the world's history which had never
been dreamed of! Such achievements have been performed that the
twenty-fifth anniversary of September 23 must be celebrated with
thanks to God for placing you at my side in order to execute His will
on earth!

And I now once more impress these thanks on you, as I have so
frequently expressed and manifested them hitherto!

From a heart filled with thankfulness I congratulate you on the
celebration of such a day, and hope from my heart that your strength
may long be preserved unimpaired, to be a blessing to the Crown and to
the Fatherland! Your eternally grateful King and friend

WILHELM.

P.S.--In memory of the past twenty-five years I am sending you a view
of the building in which we have discussed and taken such weighty
resolutions which it is to be hoped will redound to the honor and
welfare of Prussia and of Germany.

       *       *       *       *       *

BISMARCK. TO EMPEROR WILLIAM I.

Friedrichsruh, September 26, '87.

I thank your Majesty in deep respect for the gracious letter of the
23d inst., and for the gracious present of the picture of the palace
in which for so many years I have had the honor to make my reports to
your Majesty, and to take your Majesty's orders. The day received
especial consecration for me through the greeting in your Majesty's
name with which their royal Highnesses Prince William and Prince Henry
honored me. Even without this fresh proof of favor, the feeling with
which I greeted the twenty-fifth anniversary of my appointment as a
Minister was one of most cordial and respectful gratitude to your
Majesty. Every sovereign appoints ministers, but it is a rare
occurrence in modern times for a monarch to retain a Prime Minister
and to uphold him for twenty-five years, in troublous times when
everything does not succeed, against all animosity and intrigues.
During this period I have seen many a former friend become an
opponent, but your Majesty's favor and confidence have remained
unwaveringly with me. The thought of this is a rich reward to me for
all my work, and a consolation in illness and solitude. I love my
Fatherland, the German as well as the Prussian, but I should not have
served it with gladness if it had not been granted to me to serve to
the satisfaction of my King. The high position which I owe to your
Majesty's favor is based on, and has as its indestructible core, your
Majesty's Brandenburg liegeman and Prussian officer, and therefore I
am rendered happy by your Majesty's satisfaction, without which every
popularity would be valueless to me. * * * Besides many telegrams and
addresses from home and abroad, I received very gracious greetings and
congratulations on the twenty-third from their Majesties of Saxony and
Wurtemburg, from his Royal Highness the Regent of Bavaria, the
Grand-Dukes of Weimar, Baden, and Mecklenburg, and other rulers, and
from his Majesty the King of Italy and Minister Crispi. The two latter
touched politics, and were difficult to answer; as the text of their
letters may perhaps interest your Majesty, I have instructed the
Foreign Office to forward them.

I pray God that He may still longer grant me the pleasure of serving
your Majesty to your Majesty's satisfaction.

VOL. X-9 V. BISMARCK.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 21: Permission: Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York.]

[Footnote 22: Admiral Irminger was charged with the task of notifying
in Berlin and Vienna Christian IX.'s accession to the throne; he was
granted no audience in Berlin, and left that city on the 5th for
Vienna as, in Bismarck's opinion, the Emperor would more easily
receive him than the King of Prussia could.]

[Footnote 23: About £60,000.]

[Footnote 24: Silver wedding.]

[Footnote 25: Minister for the Interior, and Vice President of the
Ministry of State.]

       *       *       *       *       *




FROM "THOUGHTS AND RECOLLECTIONS" [26]

TRANSLATED UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF A.J. BUTLER

Late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge

I

TO THE FIRST UNITED DIET

Left school at Easter, 1832, a normal product of our state system of
education; a Pantheist, and, if not a Republican, at least with the
persuasion that the Republic was the most rational form of government;
reflecting too upon the causes which could decide millions of men
permanently to obey _one man_, when all the while I was hearing from
grown up people much bitter or contemptuous criticism of their rulers.
Moreover, I had brought away with me "German-National" impressions
from Plamann's preparatory school, conducted on Jahn's drill-system,
in which I lived from my sixth to my twelfth year. These impressions
remained in the stage of theoretical reflections, and were not strong
enough to extirpate my innate Prussian monarchical sentiments. My
historical sympathies remained on the side of authority. To my
childish ideas of justice Harmodius and Aristogeiton, as well as
Brutus, were criminals, and Tell a rebel and murderer. Every German
prince who resisted the Emperor before the Thirty Years' war roused my
ire; but from the Great Elector onwards I was partisan enough to take
an anti-imperial view, and to find it natural that things should have
been in readiness for the Seven Years' war. Yet the German-National
feeling remained so strong in me that, at the beginning of my
university life, I at once entered into relations with the
_Burschenschaft_, or group of students which made the promotion of a
national sentiment its aim. But, after personal intimacy with its
members, I disliked their refusal to "give satisfaction," as well as
their want of breeding in externals and of acquaintance with the forms
and manners of good society; and a still closer acquaintance bred an
aversion to the extravagance of their political views, based upon a
lack of either culture or knowledge of the conditions of life which
historical causes had brought into existence, and which I, with my
seventeen years, had had more opportunities of observing than most of
these students, for the most part older than myself. Their ideas gave
me the impression of an association between Utopian theories and
defective breeding. Nevertheless, I retained my own private National
sentiments, and my belief that in the near future events would lead to
German unity; in fact, I made a bet with my American friend Coffin
that this aim would be attained in twenty years.

In my first half-year at Göttingen occurred the Hambach festival[27]
(May 27, 1832), the "festal ode" of which still remains in my memory; in
my third the Frankfort outbreak[28](April 3, 1833). These manifestations
revolted me. Mob interference with political authority conflicted with
my Prussian schooling, and I returned to Berlin with less liberal
opinions than when I quitted it; but this reaction was again somewhat
mitigated when I was brought into immediate connection with the workings
of the political machine. Upon foreign politics, with which the public
at that time occupied itself but little, my views, as regards the War of
Liberation, were taken from the standpoint of a Prussian officer. On
looking at the map, the Possession of Strasburg by France exasperated
me, and a visit to Heidelberg, Spires, and the Palatinate made me feel
revengeful and militant. In the period before 1848 succeed in laying a
coat of European varnish over the specifically Prussian bureaucrat. How
these observations acted in practice is clearly shown when we go through
the list of our diplomatists of those days: one is astonished to find so
few native Prussians among them. The fact of being the son of a foreign
ambassador accredited to Berlin was of itself ground for preference. The
diplomatists who had grown up in small courts and had been taken into
the Prussian service had not infrequently the advantage over natives of
greater assurance in Court circles and a greater absence of shyness. An
especial example of this tendency was Herr von Schleinitz. In the list
we find also members of noble houses in whom descent supplied the place
of talent. I scarcely remember from the period when I was appointed to
Frankfort anyone of Prussian descent being appointed chief of an
important mission, except myself, Baron Carl von Werther, Canitz, and
Count Max Hatzfeldt (who had a French wife). Foreign names were at a
premium: Brassier, Perponcher, Savigny, Oriola. It was presumed that
they had greater fluency in French, and they were more out of the
common. Another feature was the disinclination to accept personal
responsibility when not covered by unmistakable instructions, just as
was the case in the military service in 1806 in the old school of the
Frederickian period. Even in those days we were breeding stuff for
officers, even as high as the rank of regimental commander, to a pitch
of perfection attained by no other state; but beyond that rank the
native Prussian blood was no longer fertile in talents, as in the time
of Frederick the Great. Our most successful commanders, Blücher,
Gneisenau, Moltke, Goeben, were not original Prussian products, any more
than Stein, Hardenberg, Motz, and Grolmann in the Civil Service. It is
as though our statesmen, like the trees in nurseries, needed
transplanting in order that their roots might find full development.

Ancillon advised me first of all to pass my examination as
_Regierungs-Assessor,_ and then, by the circuitous route of
employment in the Zollverein to seek admittance into the _German_
diplomacy of Prussia; he did not, it would seem, anticipate in a scion
of the native squirearchy a vocation for European diplomacy. I took
his hint to heart, and resolved first of all to go up for my
examination as _Regierungs-Assessor_.

The persons and institutions of our judicial system with which I was
in the first instance concerned gave my youthful conceptions more
material for criticism than for respect. The practical education of
the _Auscultator_ began with keeping the minutes of the Criminal
Courts, and to this post I was promoted out of my proper turn by the
_Rath_, Herr von Brauchitsch, under whom I worked, because in those
days I wrote a more than usually quick and legible hand. On the
examinations, as criminal proceedings in the inquisitorial method of
that day were called, the one that has made the most lasting
impression upon me related to a widely ramifying association in Berlin
for the purpose of unnatural vice. The club arrangements of the
accomplices, the agenda books, the levelling effect through all
classes of a common pursuit of the forbidden--all this, even in 1835,
pointed to a demoralization in no whit less than that evidenced by the
proceedings against the Heinzes, husband and wife, in October, 1891.
The ramifications of this society extended even into the highest
circles. It was ascribed to the influence of Prince Wittgenstein that
the reports of the case were demanded from the Ministry of Justice,
and were never returned--at least, during the time I served on the
tribunal.

After I had been keeping the records for four months, I was
transferred to the City Court, before which civil causes are tried,
and was suddenly promoted from the mechanical occupation of writing
from dictation to an independent post, which, having regard to my
inexperience and my sentiments, made my position difficult. The
first stage in which the legal novice was called to a more independent
sphere of activity was in connection with divorce proceedings.
Obviously regarded as the least important, they were entrusted to
the most incapable _Rath_, Prätorius by name, and under him were
left to the tender mercies of unfledged _Auscultators_, who had to
make upon this _corpus vile_ their first experiments in the
part of judges--of course, under the nominal responsibility of Herr
Prätorius, who nevertheless took no part in their proceedings. By way
of indicating this gentleman's character, it was told to us young
people that when, in the course of a sitting, he was roused from a
light slumber to give his vote, he used to say, "I vote with my colleague
Tempelhof"--whereupon it was sometimes necessary to point out to him
that Herr Tempelhof was not present.

On one occasion I represented to him my embarrassment at having,
though only a few months more than twenty years old, to undertake the
attempt at a reconciliation between an agitated couple: a matter
crowned, according to my view, with a certain ecclesiastical and moral
"nimbus," with which in my state of mind I did not feel able to cope.
I found Prätorius in the irritable mood of an old man awakened at an
untimely moment, who had besides all the aversion of an old bureaucrat
to a young man of birth. He said, with a contemptuous smile, "It is
very annoying, Herr _Referendarius_, when a man can do nothing for
himself; I will show you how to do it." I returned with him into the
judge's room. The case was one in which the husband wanted a divorce
and the wife not. The husband accused her of adultery; the wife,
tearful and declamatory, asserted her innocence; and, despite all
manner of ill-treatment from the man, wanted to remain with him.
Prätorius, with his peculiar clicking lisp, thus addressed the woman:
"But, my good woman, don't be so stupid. What good will it do you?
When you get home, your husband will give you a jacketing until you
can stand no more. Come now, simply say 'yes,' and then you will be
quit of the sot." To which the wife, crying hysterically, replied: "I
am an honest woman! I will not have that indignity put upon me! I
don't want to be divorced!" After manifold retorts and rejoinders in
this tone, Prätorius turned to me with the words: "As she will not
listen to reason, write as follows, Herr _Referendarius_," and
dictated to me some words which, owing to the deep impression they
made upon me, I remember to this day. "Inasmuch as the attempt at
reconciliation has been made, and arguments drawn from the sphere of
religion and morality have proved fruitless, further proceedings were
taken as follows." My chief then rose and said, "Now, you see how it
is done, and in future leave me in peace about such things." I
accompanied him to the door, and went on with the case. The Divorce
Court stage of my career lasted, so far as I can remember, from four
to six weeks; a reconciliation case never came before me again. There
was a certain necessity for the ordinance respecting proceedings in
divorce cases, to which Frederick William IV. was obliged to confine
himself after his attempts to introduce a _law_ for the substantial
alteration of the Marriage Law had foundered upon the opposition of
the Council of State. With regard to this matter it may be mentioned
that, as a result of this ordinance, the Attorney-General was first
introduced into those provinces in which the old Prussian common law
prevailed as _defensor matrimonii_, and to prevent collusion between
the parties.

More inviting was the subsequent stage of petty cases, where the
untrained young jurist at least acquired practice in listening to
pleadings and examining witnesses, but where more use was made of him
as a drudge than was met by the resulting benefit to his instruction.
The locality and the procedure partook somewhat of the restless bustle
of a railway manager's work. The space in which the leading _Rath_ and
the three or four _Auscultators_ sat with their backs to the public
was surrounded by a wooden screen, and round about the four-cornered
recess formed thereby surged an ever-changing and more or less noisy
mob of parties to the suits.

My impression of institutions and persons was not essentially modified
when I had been transferred to the Administration. In order to
abbreviate the détour to diplomacy, I applied to a Rhenish government,
that of Aachen, where the course could be gone through in two years,
whereas in the "old" provinces at least three years were required.[29]

I can well imagine that in making the appointments to the Rhenish
Governing Board in 1816 the same procedure was adopted as at the
organization of Elsass-Lothringen in 1871. The authorities who had to
contribute a portion of their staff would not be likely to respond to
the call of state requirements by putting their best foot foremost to
accomplish the difficult task of assimilating a newly acquired
population, but would have chosen those members of their offices whose
departure was desired by their superiors or wished by themselves; in
the board were to be found former secretaries of prefectures and other
relics of the French administration. The _personnel_ did not all
correspond to the ideal which floated unwarrantably enough before my
eyes at twenty-one, and still less was this the case with the details
of the current business. I recollect that, what with the many
differences of opinion between officials and governed, or with
internal differences of opinion among each of these two categories,
whose polemics for many years considerably swelled the bulk of the
records, my habitual impression was, "Well, yes, that is _one_ way of
doing it"; and that questions, the decision of which one way or the
other was not worth the paper wasted upon them, created a mass of
business which a single prefect could have disposed of with the fourth
part of the energy bestowed upon them. Nevertheless, except for the
subordinate officials, the day's work was slight; as regards heads of
departments especially, a mere sinecure.

I quitted Aachen with a very poor opinion of our bureaucracy, in
detail and collectively, with the exception of the gifted President,
Count Arnim-Boitzenburg. My opinion of the detail became more
favorable owing to my next subsequent experience in the government at
Potsdam, to which I got transferred in the year 1837; because there,
unlike the arrangement in other provinces, the indirect taxes were at
the disposal of the government, and it was just these that were
important to me if I wanted to make customs-policy the basis of my
future.

The members of the board made a better impression upon me than those
at Aachen; but yet, taking them as a whole, it was an impression of
pigtail and periwig, in which category my youthful presumption also
placed the paternal dignified President-in-Chief, von Bassewitz; while
the President of the Aachen Government, Count Arnim, wore the generic
wig of the state service, it is true, but no intellectual pigtail.
When therefore I quitted the service of the State for a country life,
I imported into the relations which as a landed proprietor I had with
the officials an opinion, which I now see to have been too mean, of
the value of our bureaucracy, and perhaps too great an inclination to
criticize them. I remember that as substitute provincial president I
had to give my verdict on a plan for abolishing the election of those
officials; I expressed myself to the effect that the bureaucracy, as
it ascended from the provincial president, sank in the general esteem;
it had preserved it only in the person of the provincial president,
who wore a Janus head, one face turned towards the bureaucracy, the
other towards the country.

The tendency to interference in the most various relations of life
was, under the paternal government of those days, perhaps greater than
now; but the instruments of such interference were less numerous, and,
as regards culture and breeding, stood much higher than do some of
those of today. The officials of the right worshipful royal Prussian
government were honest, well-read and well-bred officials; but their
benevolent activity did not always meet with recognition, because from
want of local experience they went to pieces on matters of detail, in
regard to which the views of the learned citizen at the green table
were not always superior to the healthy common-sense criticism of the
peasant intelligence. The members of the Governing Boards had in those
days _multa_, not _multum_, to do; and the lack of higher duties
resulted in their not finding a sufficient quantity of important
business, and led them in their zeal for duty to go beyond the needs
of the governed, into a tendency to over-regulation--in a word, into
what the Swiss calls _Befehlerle_.[30] To glance at a comparison with
present conditions, it had been hoped that the state authorities would
have been relieved of business and of officials by the introduction of
the local self-government of today; but, on the contrary, the number
of the officials and their load of business have been very
considerably increased by correspondence, and friction with the
machinery of self-government, from the provincial councillor down to
the rural parish administration. Sooner or later the flaw must be
reached, and we shall be crushed by the burden of clerkdom, especially
in the subordinate bureaucracy.

Moreover, bureaucratic pressure upon private life is intensified by the
mode in which self-government works in practice and encroaches more
sharply than before on the rural parishes. Formerly the provincial
president, who stood in as close relations with the people as with the
State, formed the lowest step in the State bureaucracy. Below him were
local authorities, who were no doubt subject to control, but not in the
same measure as nowadays to the disciplinary powers of the district, or
the ministerial, bureaucracy. The rural population enjoys today, by
virtue of the measure of self-government conceded to it, an autonomy,
not perhaps similar to that which the towns had long ago; but it has
received, in the shape of the official commissioner, a chief who is kept
in disciplinary check by superior instructions proceeding from the
provincial resident, under the threat of penalties, and compelled to
burden his fellow-citizens in his district with lists, notifications,
and inquisitions as the political hierarchy thinks good. The governed
_contribuens plebs_ no longer possess, in the court of the provincial
president, that guarantee against blundering encroachment which, at an
earlier period was to be found in the circumstance that people resident
in the district who became provincial presidents as a rule resolved to
remain so in their own districts all their life long, and sympathized
with the joys and sorrows of the district. Today the post of provincial
president is the lowest step in the ladder of the higher administration,
sought after by young "assessors" who have a justifiable ambition to
make a career. To obtain it they have more need of ministerial favor
than of the goodwill of the local population, and they attempt to win
this favor by conspicuous zeal, and by "taking it out of" the official
commissioners of the so-called local administration, or by carrying out
valueless bureaucratic experiments. Therein lies for the most part the
inducement to overburden their subordinates in the local self-government
system. Thus self-government means the aggravation of bureaucracy,
increase in the number of officials, and of their powers and interference
in private life.

It is only human nature to be more keenly sensitive to the thorns than
to the roses of every institution, and that the thorns should irritate
one against the existing state of things. The old government
officials, when they came into direct contact with the governed
population, showed themselves to be pedantic, and estranged from the
practical working of life by their occupation at the green table; but
they left behind them the impression of toiling honesty and
conscientiously for justice. The same thing cannot be assumed in all
their degrees of the wheels in the machine of the self-government of
today in those country districts where the parties stand in acute
opposition to each other; goodwill towards political friends, frame
of mind as regards opponents, readily become a hindrance to the
impartial maintenance of institutions. According to my experiences in
earlier and more recent times, I should, for the rest, not like to
allow impartiality, when comparing judicial and administrative
decisions, to the former alone, not at least in every instance. On the
contrary, I have preserved an impression that judges of small local
courts succumb more easily to strong party influences than do
administrative officials; nor need we invent any psychological reason
for the fact that, given equal culture, the latter should _a priori_
be considered less just and conscientious in their official decisions
than the former. But I certainly do assume that official decisions do
not gain in honesty and moderation by being arrived at collectively;
for apart from the fact that, in the case of voting by majority,
arithmetic and chance take the place of logical reasoning, that
feeling of personal responsibility, in which lies the essential
guarantee for the conscientiousness of the decision, is lost directly
it comes about by means of anonymous majorities.

The course of business in the two boards of Potsdam and Aachen was not
very encouraging for my ambition. I found the business assigned to
me petty and tedious, and my labors in the department of suits
arising from the grist tax and from the compulsory contribution to
the building of the embankment at Rotzis, near Wusterhausen, have
left behind in me no sentimental regrets for my sphere of work in
those days. Renouncing the ambition for an official career, I
readily complied with the wishes of my parents by taking up the
humdrum management of our Pomeranian estates. I had made up my
mind to live and die in the country, after attaining successes in
agriculture--perhaps in war also, if war should come. So far as my
country life left me any ambition at all, it was that of a lieutenant
in the Landwehr.

The impressions that I had received in my childhood were little
adapted to make a squire of me. In Plamann's educational
establishment, conducted on the systems of Pestalozzi and Jahn, the
"von" before my name was a disadvantage, so far as my childish comfort
was concerned, in my intercourse with my fellow-pupils and my
teachers. Even at the high school at the Grey Friars I had to suffer,
as regards individual teachers, from that hatred of nobility which had
clung to the greater part of the educated _bourgeoisie_ as a
reminiscence of the days before 1806. But even the aggressive tendency
which occasionally appeared in _bourgeois_ circles never gave me any
inducement to advance in the opposite direction. My father was free
from aristocratic prejudices, and his inward sense of equality had
been modified, if at all, by his youthful impressions as an officer,
but in no way by any over-estimate of inherited rank. My mother was
the daughter of Mencken, Privy Councillor to Frederick the Great,
Frederick William II., and Frederick William III., who sprang from a
family of Leipzig professors, and was accounted in those days a
Liberal. The later generations of the Menckens--those immediately
preceding me--had found their way to Prussia in the Foreign Office and
about the Court. Baron von Stein has quoted my grandfather Mencken as
an honest, strongly Liberal official. Under these circumstances, the
views which I imbibed with my mother's milk were Liberal rather than
reactionary; and, if my mother had lived to see my ministerial
activity, she would scarcely have been in accord with its direction,
even though she would have experienced great joy in the external
results of my official career. She had grown up in bureaucratic and
court circles; Frederick William IV. spoke of her as "Mienchen," in
memory of childish games. I can therefore declare it an unjust
estimate of my views in my younger years, when "the prejudices of my
rank" are thrown in my teeth and it is maintained that a recollection
of the privileges of the nobility has been the starting-point of my
domestic policy.

Moreover, the unlimited authority of the old Prussian monarchy was
not, and is not, the final word of my convictions. As to that, to be
sure, this authority of the monarch constitutionally existed in the
first United Diet, but accompanied by the wish and anticipation that
the unlimited power of the King, without being overturned, might fix
the measure of its own limitation. Absolutism primarily demands
impartiality, honesty, devotion to duty, energy, and inward humility
in the ruler. These may be present, and yet male and female favorites
(in the best case the lawful wife), the monarch's own vanity and
susceptibility to flattery, will nevertheless diminish the fruits of
his good intentions, inasmuch as the monarch is not omniscient and
cannot have an equal understanding of all branches of his office. As
early as 1847 I was in favor of an effort to secure the possibility of
public criticism of the government in parliament and in the press, in
order to shelter the monarch from the danger of having blinkers put on
him by women, courtiers, sycophants, and visionaries, hindering him
from taking a broad view of his duties as monarch, or from avoiding
and correcting his mistakes. This conviction of mine became all the
more deeply impressed upon me in proportion as I became better
acquainted with Court circles, and had to defend the interest of the
State from their influences and also from the opposition of a
departmental patriotism. The interests of the State alone have guided
me, and it has been a calumny when publicists, even well-meaning, have
accused me of having ever advocated an aristocratic system. I have
never regarded birth as a substitute for want of ability; whenever I
have come forward on behalf of landed property, it has not been in the
interests of proprietors of my own class, but because I see in the
decline of agriculture one of the greatest dangers to our permanence
as a State. The ideal that has always floated before me has been a
monarchy which should be so far controlled by an independent national
representation--according to my notion, representing classes or
callings--that monarch or parliament would not be able to alter
the existing statutory position before the law _separately_ but only
_communi consensus_ with publicity, and public criticism, by press and
Diet, of all political proceedings.

Whoever has the conviction that uncontrolled Absolutism, as it was
first brought upon the stage by Louis XIV., was the most fitting form
of government for German subjects, must lose it after making a special
study in the history of Courts, and such critical observations as I
was enabled to institute at the court of Frederick William IV. (whom
personally I loved and revered) in Manteuffel's days. The King was a
religious absolutist with a divine vocation, and the ministers after
Brandenburg were content as a rule if they were covered by the royal
signature even when they could not have personally answered for the
contents of what was signed. I remember that on one occasion a high
Court official of absolutist opinions, on hearing of the news of the
royalist rising at Neuchâtel, observed, with some confusion, in the
presence of myself and several of his colleagues: "That is a royalism
of which nowadays one has to go very far from Court to get
experience." Yet, as a rule, sarcasm was not a habit of this old
gentleman.

Observations which I made in the country as to the venality and
chicanery of the "district sergeants" and other subordinate officials,
and petty conflicts which I had with the government in Stettin as
deputy of the "Circle" and deputy for the provincial president,
increased my aversion to the rule of the bureaucracy. I may mention
one of these conflicts. While I was representing the President, then
on leave, I received an order from the government to compel the patron
of Külz, that was myself, to undertake certain burdens. I put the
order aside, meaning to give it to the president on his return, was
repeatedly worried about it, and fined a thaler, to be forwarded
through the post. I now drew up a statement, in which I figured as
having appeared, first of all as representative of the _Landrath_,
and secondly as patron of Külz. The party cited made the prescribed
representations to himself in his capacity as No. 1, and then
proceeded in his capacity of No. 2 to set forth the ground on which he
had to decline the application; after which the statement was approved
and subscribed by him in his double capacity. The government
understood a joke, and ordered the fine to be refunded. In other
cases, things resulted in less pleasant heckling. I had a critical
disposition, and was consequently liberal, in the sense in which the
word was then used among landed proprietors to imply discontent with
the bureaucracy, the majority of whom on their side were men more
liberal than myself, though in another sense.

I again slipped off the rails of my parliamentary liberal tendencies,
with regard to which I found little understanding or sympathy
in Pomerania, but which in Schönhausen met with the acquiescence
of men in my own district, like Count Wartensleben of Karow,
Schierstädt-Dahlen, and others (the same men of whom some were among
the party of Church patrons in the New Era subsequently condemned).
This was the result of the style, to me unsympathetic, in which the
opposition was conducted in the first United Diet, to which I was
summoned, only for the last six weeks of the session, as substitute
for Deputy von Brauchitsch, who was laid up with illness. The speeches
of the East Prussians, Saucken-Tarputschen and Alfred Auerswald, the
sentimentality of Beckerath, the Gallo-Rhenish liberalism of Heydt and
Mevissen, and the boisterous violence of Vincke's speeches, disgusted
me; and even at this date when I read the proceedings they give me the
impression of imported phrases made to pattern. I felt that the King
was on the right track, and could claim to be allowed time, and not be
hurried in his development.

I came into conflict with the Opposition the first time I made a
longer speech than usual, on May 17, 1847, when I combatted the legend
that the Prussians had gone to war in 1813 to get a constitution, and
gave free expression to my natural indignation at the idea that
foreign domination was in itself no adequate reason for fighting.[31]
It appeared to me undignified that the nation, as a set-off to its
having freed itself, should hand in to the King an account payable in
the paragraphs of a constitution. My performance produced a storm. I
remained in the tribune turning over the leaves of a newspaper which
lay there, and then, when the commotion had subsided, I finished my
speech.

At the Court festivities, which took place during the session of the
United Diet, I was avoided in a marked manner both by the King and the
Princess of Prussia, though for different reasons: by the latter
because I was neither Liberal nor popular; by the former for a reason
which only became clear to me later. When, on the reception of the
deputies, he avoided speaking to me--when, in the Court circle, after
speaking to every one in turn, he broke off immediately he came to me,
turned his back, or strolled away across the room--I considered myself
justified in supposing that my attitude as a Royalist Hotspur had
exceeded the limits which the King had fixed for himself. Only some
months later, when I reached Venice on my honeymoon, did I discover
that this explanation was incorrect. The King, who had recognized me
in the theatre, commanded me on the following day to an audience and
to dinner; and so unexpected was this to me that my light travelling
luggage and the incapacity of the local tailor did not admit of my
appearing in correct costume. My reception was so kindly, and the
conversation, even on political subjects, of such a nature as to
enable me to infer that my attitude in the Diet met with his
encouraging approval. The King commanded me to call upon him in the
course of the winter, and I did so. Both on this occasion at smaller
dinners at the palace I became persuaded that I stood high in the
favor of both the King and the Queen, and that the former, in avoiding
speaking to me in public, at the time of the session of the Diet, did
not mean to criticize my political conduct, but at the time did not want
to let others see his approval of me.

       *       *       *       *       *


II

VISIT TO PARIS


In the summer of 1855 Count Hatzfeldt, our ambassador in Paris,
invited me to visit the Industrial Exhibition;[32] he still shared the
belief then existent in diplomatic circles that I was very soon to be
Manteuffel's successor at the Foreign Office. Although the King had
entertained such an idea on and off, it was already then known in the
innermost Court circles that a change had taken place. Count William
Redern, whom I met in Paris, told me that the ambassadors continued to
believe I was destined to be made a minister and that he himself had
also believed this; but that the King had changed his mind--of further
details he was ignorant. Doubtless since Rügen.

August 15, Napoleon's day, was celebrated among other ways by a
procession of Russian prisoners through the streets. On the 19th the
Queen of England made her entry, and on August 25 a State ball was
given in her honor at Versailles at which I was presented to her and
to Prince Albert.

The Prince, handsome and cool in his black uniform, conversed with
me courteously, but in his manner there was a kind of malevolent
curiosity from which I concluded that my anti-occidental influence
upon the King was not unknown to him. In accordance with the mode
of thought peculiar to him, he sought for the motives of my conduct not
where they really lay, that is, in the anxiety to keep my country
independent of foreign influences--influences which found a fertile soil
in our narrow-minded reverence for England and fear of France--and in
the desire to hold ourselves aloof from a war which we should not have
carried on in our own interests but in dependence upon Austrian and
English policy.

In the eyes of the Prince--though I of course did not gather this from
the momentary impression made during my presentation, but from
ulterior acquaintance with facts and documents--I was a reactionary
party man who took up sides for Russia in order to further an
Absolutist and "Junker" policy. It was not to be wondered at that this
view of the Prince's and of the then partisans of the Duke of Coburg
had descended to the Prince's daughter, who shortly after became our
Crown Princess.

Even soon after her arrival in Germany, in February, 1858, I became
convinced, through members of the royal house and from my own
observations, that the Princess was prejudiced against me personally.
The fact itself did not surprise me so much as the form in which her
prejudice against me had been expressed in the narrow family
circle--"she did not trust me." I was prepared for antipathy on
account of my alleged anti-English feelings and by reason of my
refusal to obey English influences; but from a conversation which I
had with the Princess after the war of 1866 while sitting next to her
at table I was obliged to conclude that she had subsequently allowed
herself to be influenced in her judgment of my character by
further-reaching calumnies. I was ambitious, she said, in a
half-jesting tone, to be a king or at least president of a republic. I
replied in the same semi-jocular tone that I was personally spoilt for
a republican; that I had grown up in the royalist traditions of the
family and had need of a monarchical institution for my earthly
well-being: I thanked God, however, I was not destined to live like a
king, constantly on show, but to be until death the king's faithful
subject. I added that no guarantee could, however, be given that this
conviction of mine would be universally inherited, and this not
because royalists would give out, but because perhaps kings might.
_Pour faire un civet, il faut un lièvre, et pour faire une monarchie
il faut un roi_. I could not answer for it that for want of such the
next generation might not be republican. I further remarked that in
thus expressing myself I was not free from anxiety at the idea of a
change in the occupancy of the throne without a transference of the
monarchical traditions to the successor. But the Princess avoided
every serious turn and kept up the jocular tone as amiable and
entertaining as ever; she rather gave me the impression that she
wished to tease a political opponent.

During the first years of my ministry I frequently remarked in the
course of similar conversation that the Princess took pleasure in
provoking my patriotic susceptibility by playful criticism of persons
and matters.

At that ball at Versailles Queen Victoria spoke to me in German. She
gave me the impression of beholding in me a noteworthy but
unsympathetic personality, but still her tone of voice was without
that touch of ironical superiority that I thought I detected in Prince
Albert's. She continued to be amiable and courteous like one unwilling
to treat an eccentric fellow in an unfriendly way.

In comparison with Berlin it seemed a curious arrangement to me that
at supper the company ate in three classes, with gradations in the
menu, and that such guests as were to sup at all were assured of this
by having a ticket bearing a number handed to them as they entered.
The tickets of the first class also bore the name of the lady
presiding at the table to which they referred. These tables were
arranged to accommodate fifteen or twenty. On entering I received one
of these tickets for Countess Walewska's table and later on in the
ball-room two more from two other lady patronesses of diplomacy and of
the Court. No exact plan for placing the guests had therefore been
made out. I chose the table of Countess Walewska, to whose department
I belonged as a foreign diplomatist. On the way to the room in
question I came across a Prussian officer in the uniform of an
infantry regiment of the guard, accompanied by a French lady; he was
engaged in an animated dispute with one of the imperial household
stewards who would not allow either of them to pass, not being
provided with tickets. After the officer, in answer to my inquiries,
had explained the matter and indicated the lady as a duchess bearing
an Italian title of the First Empire, I told the court official that I
had the gentleman's ticket, and gave him one of mine. Now, however,
the official would not allow the lady to pass and I therefore gave the
officer my second ticket for his duchess. The official then said
significantly to me: "_Mais vous ne passerez pas sans carte_." On my
showing him the third, he made a face of astonishment and allowed all
three of us to pass. I recommended my two _protégés_ not to sit down
at the tables indicated on the tickets, but to try and find seats
elsewhere; nor did any complaints concerning my distribution of
tickets ever come to my ears. The want of organization was so great
that our table was not fully occupied, a fact due to the absence of
any understanding among the _dames patronesses_. Old Prince Pückler
had either received no ticket or had been unable to find his table;
after he had turned to me, whom he knew by sight, he was invited by
Countess Walewska to take one of the seats that had remained empty.
The supper, in spite of the triple division, was neither materially
nor as regards its preparation upon a level with what is done in
Berlin at similar crowded festivities; the waiting only was efficient
and prompt.

What struck me most was the difference in the regulations for the free
circulation of the throng. In this respect the palace of Versailles
offers much greater facilities than that of Berlin on account of the
larger number and, if we except the White Hall, the greater
spaciousness of the apartments. Here those who had supped in class 1
were ordered to make their exit by the same way as the hungry ones of
class 2 entered, their impetuous charge betraying certainly less
acquaintance with the customs of Court society. Personal collisions
occurred among the belaced and beribboned gentlemen and superelegant
ladies, giving rise to scuffles and abusive language, such as would
be impossible in our palace. I retired with the satisfactory
impression that in spite of all the splendor of the imperial Court the
Court service, the breeding and manners of Court society were on a
higher level with us, as well as in St. Petersburg and Vienna, than in
Paris, and that the times were past when one could go to France and to
the Court of Paris to receive a schooling in courtesy and good
manners. Even the etiquette of small German Courts, antiquated as it
was, especially in comparison with St. Petersburg, was more dignified
than the practice of the imperial Court. It is true that I had already
received this impression in Louis Philippe's time, during whose reign
it became quite the fashion in France to distinguish oneself in the
direction of excessively free and easy manners, and of abstention from
courtesy, especially towards ladies. Although it had become better in
this respect during the Second Empire, the tone in official and Court
society and the demeanor of the Court itself still remained below the
standard of the three great eastern Courts. Only in the Legitimist
circles aloof from the official world were things different both in
the time of Louis Philippe and in that of Louis Napoleon; there the
tone was faultless, courteous, and hospitable, with occasional
exceptions of the younger gentlemen spoilt by their contact with
Paris, who borrowed their habits not from the family but from the
club.

The Emperor, whom I saw for the first time during this visit to Paris,
gave me to understand in several interviews, but at that time only in
general phrases, his desire and intentions respecting a
Franco-Prussian alliance. His words were to the effect that these two
neighboring States, which by reason of their culture and their
institutions stood at the head of civilization, were naturally thrown
upon each other's assistance. Any inclination to express before me
such grievance as might arise from our refusal to join the Western
Powers was kept out of the foreground. I had the feeling that the
pressure which England and Austria exercised in Berlin and Frankfort
to compel us to render assistance in the western camp was much
stronger, one might say more passionate and rude, than the desires and
promises expressed to me in an amicable form, with which the Emperor
supported his plea for our understanding with France in particular. He
was much more indulgent than England and Austria respecting our sins
against occidental policy. He never spoke German to me, either then or
later.

That my visit to Paris had caused displeasure at the court at home,
and had intensified, especially in the case of Queen Elizabeth, the
ill-feelings already entertained towards me, I was able to perceive at
the end of September of the same year. While the King was proceeding
down the Rhine to Cologne to attend the cathedral building festival, I
reported myself at Coblentz and was, with my wife, invited by his
Majesty to perform the journey to Cologne on the steamer; my wife,
however, was ignored by the Queen on board and at Remagen.[33] The
Prince of Prussia, who had observed this, gave my wife his arm and led
her to table. At the conclusion of the meal I begged for permission to
return to Frankfort, which was granted me.

It was not until the following winter, during which the King had again
approached me, that he asked me once at dinner, straight across the
table, my opinion concerning Louis Napoleon; his tone was ironical. I
replied: "It is my impression that the Emperor Napoleon is a discreet
and amiable man, but that he is not so clever as the world esteems
him. The world places to his account everything that happens, and if
it rains in eastern Asia at an unseasonable moment chooses to
attribute it to some malevolent machination of the Emperor. Here
especially we have become accustomed to regard him as a kind of _génie
du mal_ who is forever only meditating how to do mischief in the
world.[34] I believe he is happy when he is able to enjoy anything
good at his ease; his understanding is overrated at the expense of his
heart; he is at bottom good-natured and has an unusual measure of
gratitude for every service rendered him."

The King laughed at this in a manner that vexed me and led me to ask
whether I might be permitted to guess his Majesty's present thoughts.
The King consented, and I said: "General von Canitz used to lecture to
the young officers in the military school on the campaigns of
Napoleon. An assiduous listener asked him how Napoleon could have
omitted to make this or that movement. Canitz replied: 'Well, you see
just what this Napoleon was--a real goodhearted fellow, but so
stupid!' which naturally excited great mirth among the military
scholars. I fear that your Majesty is thinking of me much as General
von Canitz thought of his pupils."

The King laughed and said: "You may be right; but I am not
sufficiently acquainted with the present Napoleon to be able to impugn
your impression that his heart is better than his head." That the
Queen was dissatisfied with my view I was enabled to gather from the
external trifles by which impressions are made known at court.

The displeasure felt at my intercourse with Napoleon sprang from the
idea of "Legitimacy," or, more strictly speaking, from the word
itself, which was stamped with its modern sense by Talleyrand, and
used in 1814 and 1815 with great success and to the advantage of the
Bourbons as a deluding spell.

       *       *       *       *       *


III

THE EMS TELEGRAM


On July 2, 1870, the Spanish ministry decided in favor of the accession
to that throne of Leopold, Hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern. This gave
the first stimulus in the field of international law to the subsequent
military question, but still only in the form of a specifically Spanish
matter. It was hard to find in the law of nations a pretext for France
to interfere with the freedom of Spain to choose a King; after people in
Paris had made up their minds to war with Prussia, this was sought for
artificially in the name Hohenzollern, which in itself had nothing more
menacing to France than any other German name. On the contrary, it might
have been assumed, in Spain as well as in Germany, that Prince
Hohenzollern, on account of his personal and family connections in
Paris, would be a _persona grata_ beyond many another German Prince. I
remember that on the night after the battle of Sedan I was riding along
the road to Donchéry in thick darkness, with a number of our officers,
following the King in his journey round Sedan. In reply to a question
from some one in the company I talked about the preliminaries to the
war, and mentioned at the same time that I had thought Prince Leopold
would be no unwelcome neighbor in Spain to the Emperor Napoleon, and
would travel to Madrid _via_ Paris, in order to get into touch with the
imperial French policy, forming as it did a part of the conditions under
which he would have had to govern Spain. I said: "We should have been
much more justified in dreading a close understanding between the
Spanish and French crowns than in hoping for the restoration of a
Spanish-German anti-French constellation after the analogy of Charles
V.; a king of Spain can only carry out Spanish policy, and the Prince by
assuming the crown of the country would become a Spaniard." To my
surprise there came from the darkness behind me a vigorous rejoinder
from the Prince of Hohenzollern, of whose presence I had not the least
idea; he protested strongly against the possibility of presuming any
French sympathies in him. This protest in the midst of the battlefield
of Sedan was natural for a German officer and a Hohenzollern Prince, and
I could only answer that the Prince, as King of Spain, could have
allowed himself to be guided by Spanish interests only, and prominent
among these, in view of strengthening his new kingdom, would have been a
soothing treatment of his powerful neighbor on the Pyrenees. I made my
apology to the Prince for the expression I had uttered while unaware of
his presence.

This episode, introduced before its time, affords evidence as to the
conception I had formed of the whole question. I regarded it as a
Spanish and not as a German one, even though I was delighted at seeing
the German name of Hohenzollern active in representing monarchy in
Spain, and did not fail to calculate all the possible consequences
from the point of view of our interests--a duty which is incumbent on
a foreign minister when anything of similar importance occurs in
another State. My immediate thought was more of the economic than of
the political relations in which a Spanish King of German extraction
could be serviceable. For Spain I anticipated from the personal
character of the Prince, and from his family relations, tranquillizing
and consolidating results, which I had no reason to grudge the
Spaniards. Spain is among the few countries which, by their
geographical position and political necessities, have no reason to
pursue an anti-German policy; besides which, she is well adapted, by
the economic relations of supply and demand, for an extensive trade
with Germany. An element friendly to us in the Spanish government
would have been an advantage which in the course of German policy
there appeared no reason to reject _a limine_, unless the apprehension
that France might be dissatisfied was to be allowed to rank as one. If
Spain had developed again more vigorously than hitherto has been the
case, the fact that Spanish diplomacy was friendly toward us might
have been useful to us in time of peace; but it did not seem to me
probable that the King of Spain, on the outbreak of the war between
Germany and France, which was evidently coming sooner or later, would,
with the best will in the world, be in a position to prove his
sympathy with Germany by an attack on France or a demonstration
against her; and the conduct of Spain after the outbreak of the war
which we had drawn upon us by the complaisance of German princes
showed the accuracy of my doubt.

[Illustration: ADOLPH VON MENZEL KING WILLIAM'S DEPARTURE FOR THE
FRONT AT THE BEGINNING OF THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR.]

The chivalrous Cid would have called France to account for
interference in Spain's free choice of a king, and not have left the
vindication of Spanish independence to foreigners. The nation,
formerly so powerful by land and sea, cannot at the present day hold
the cognate population of Cuba in check; and how could one expect her
to attack a Power like France from affection towards us? No Spanish
government, and least of all an alien king, would possess power enough
in the country to send even a regiment to the Pyrenees out of
affection toward Germany. Politically I was tolerably indifferent to
the entire question. Prince Anthony was more inclined than myself to
carry it peacefully to the desired goal. The memoirs of his Majesty
the King of Roumania are not accurately informed as regards details of
the ministerial coöperation in the question. The ministerial council
in the palace which he mentions did not take place. Prince Anthony was
living as the King's guest in the palace, and had invited him and some
of the ministers to dinner. I scarcely think that the Spanish question
was discussed at table. If the Duke of Gramont[35] labors to adduce
proof that I did not stand aloof from and averse to the Spanish
proposal, I find no reason to contradict him. I can no longer recall
the text of my letter to Marshal Prim, which the Duke has heard
mentioned; if I drew it up myself, about which I am equally uncertain,
I should hardly have called the Hohenzollern candidature "_une
excellente chose_": the expression is not natural to me. That I
regarded it as "opportune," not "_à un moment donné_," but in
principle and in time of peace is correct. I had not the slightest
doubt in the matter that the grandson of the Murats, a favorite at
the French Court, would secure the goodwill of France towards his
country.

The intervention of France at its beginning concerned Spanish and not
Prussian affairs; the garbling of the matter in the Napoleonic policy,
by virtue of which the question was to become a Prussian one, was
internationally unjustifiable and exasperating, and proved to me that
the moment had arrived when France sought a quarrel against us and was
ready to seize any pretext that seemed available. I regarded the
French intervention in the first instance as an injury, and
consequently as an insult to Spain, and expected that the Spanish
sense of honor would resist this encroachment. Later on, when the turn
of affairs showed that, by her encroachment on Spanish independence,
France intended to threaten us with war, I waited for some days
expecting that the Spanish declaration of war against France would
follow that of the French against us. I was not prepared to see a
self-assertive nation like Spain stand quiet behind the Pyrenees with
ordered arms, while the Germans were engaged in a deadly struggle
against France on behalf of Spain's independence and freedom to choose
her king. The Spanish sense of honor which proved so sensitive in the
Carlist question simply left us in the lurch in 1870. Probably in both
cases the sympathies and international ties of the Republican parties
were decisive.

The first demands of France respecting the candidature for the Spanish
throne, and they were unjustifiable, had been presented on July 4, and
answered by our Foreign Office evasively, though in accordance with
truth, that the _ministry_ knew nothing about the matter. This was
correct so far, that the question of Prince Leopold's acceptance of
his election had been treated by his Majesty simply as a family
matter, which in no way concerned either Prussia or the North German
Confederation, and which affected solely the personal relations
between the Commander-in-Chief and a German officer, and those between
the head of the family and, not the royal family of Prussia,
but the entire family of Hohenzollern, or all the bearers of that
name.

In France, however, a _casus belli_ was being sought against Prussia
which should be as free as possible from German national coloring; and
it was thought one had been discovered in the dynastic sphere by the
accession to the Spanish throne of a candidate bearing the name of
Hohenzollern. In this the overrating of the military superiority of
France and the underrating of the national feeling in Germany was
clearly the chief reason why the tenability of this pretext was not
examined either with honesty or judgment. The German national outburst
which followed the French declaration, and resembled a stream bursting
its sluices, was a surprise to French politicians. They lived,
calculated, and acted on recollections of the Confederation of the
Rhine, supported by the attitude of certain West German ministers;
also by Ultramontane influences, in the hope that the conquests of
France, "_gesta Dei per Francos_," would make it easier in Germany to
draw further consequences from the Vatican council, with the support
of an alliance with Catholic Austria. The Ultramontane tendencies of
French policy were favorable to it in Germany and disadvantageous in
Italy; the alliance with the latter being finally wrecked by the
refusal of France to evacuate Rome. In the belief that the French army
was superior the pretext for war was lugged out, as one may say, by
the hair; and, instead of making Spain responsible for its reputed
anti-French election of a king, they attacked the German Prince who
had not refused to relieve the need of the Spaniards, in the way they
themselves wished, by the appointment of a useful king, and one who
would presumably be regarded as _persona grata_ in Paris; and the King
of Prussia, whom nothing beyond his family name and his position as a
German fellow-countryman had brought into connection with this Spanish
affair. In the very fact that the French cabinet ventured to call
Prussian policy to account respecting the acceptance of the election,
and to do so in a form which, in the interpretation put upon it by the
French papers, became a public threat, lay a piece of international
impudence which, in my opinion, rendered it impossible for us to draw
back one single inch. The insulting character of the French demand was
enhanced, not only by the threatening challenges of the French press,
but also by the discussions in parliament and the attitude taken by the
ministry of Gramont and Ollivier upon these manifestations. The utterance
of Gramont in the session of the "Corps Législatif" of July 6:

"We do not believe that respect for the rights of a neighboring
people binds us to suffer a foreign Power to set one of its Princes
on the throne of Charles V. * * * This event will not come to pass,
of that we are quite certain. * * * Should it prove otherwise we
shall know how to fulfil our duty without shrinking and without
weakness"--this utterance was itself an official international threat,
with the hand on the sword hilt. The phrase, _La Prusse cane_ (Prussia
climbs down), served in the press to illustrate the range of the
parliamentary proceedings of July 6 and 7; which, in my feeling,
rendered all compliance incompatible with our sense of national honor.

On July 12 I decided to hurry off from Varzin to Ems to discuss with
his Majesty about summoning the Reichstag for the purpose of the
mobilization. As I passed through Wussow my friend Mulert, the old
clergyman, stood before the parsonage door and warmly greeted me; my
answer from the open carriage was a thrust in carte and tierce in the
air, and he clearly understood that I believed I was going to war. As
I entered the courtyard of my house at Berlin, and before leaving the
carriage, I received telegrams from which it appeared that the King
was continuing to treat with Benedetti, even after the French threats
and outrages in parliament and in the press, and not referring him
with calm reserve to his ministers. During dinner, at which Moltke and
Roon were present, the announcement arrived from the embassy in Paris
that the Prince of Hohenzollern had renounced his candidature in order
to prevent the war with which France threatened us. My first idea was
to retire from the service, because, after all the insolent challenges
which had gone before, I perceived in this extorted submission a
humiliation of Germany for which I did not desire to be responsible.
This impression of a wound to our sense of national honor by the
compulsory withdrawal so dominated me that I had already decided to
announce my retirement at Ems. I considered this humiliation before
France and her swaggering demonstrations as worse than that of Olmütz,
for which the previous history on both sides, and our want of
preparation for war at the time, will always be a valid excuse. I took
it for granted that France would lay the Prince's renunciation to her
account as a satisfactory success, with the feeling that a threat of
war, even though it had taken the form of international insult and
mockery, and though the pretext for war against Prussia had been
dragged in by the head and shoulders, was enough to compel her to draw
back, even in a just cause; and that even the North German
Confederation did not feel strong enough to protect the national honor
and independence against French arrogance. I was very much depressed,
for I saw no means of repairing the corroding injury I dreaded to our
national position from a timorous policy, unless by picking quarrels
clumsily and seeking them artificially. I saw by that time that war
was a necessity, which we could no longer avoid with honor. I
telegraphed to my people at Varzin not to pack up or start, for I
should be back again in a few days. I now believed in peace; but, as I
would not represent the attitude by which this peace had been
purchased, I gave up the journey to Ems and asked Count Eulenburg to
go thither and represent my opinion to his Majesty. In the same sense
I conversed with the Minister of War, von Roon: we had got our slap in
the face from France, and had been reduced, by our complaisance, to
look like seekers of a quarrel if we entered upon war, the only way in
which we could wipe away the stain. My position was now untenable,
solely because, during his course at the baths, the King, under
pressure of threats, had given audience to the French ambassador for
four consecutive days, and had exposed his royal person to insolent
treatment from this foreign agent without ministerial assistance.
Through this inclination to take state business upon himself in person
and alone, the King had been forced into a position which I could not
defend; in my judgment his Majesty while at Ems ought to have refused
every business communication from the French negotiator, who was not
on the same footing with him, and to have referred him to the
department in Berlin. The department would then have had to obtain his
Majesty's decision by a representation at Ems, or, if dilatory
treatment were considered useful, by a report in writing. But his
Majesty, however careful in his usual respect for departmental
relations, was too fond not indeed of deciding important questions
personally, but, at all events, of discussing them, to make a proper
use of the shelter with which the Sovereign is purposely surrounded
against importunities and inconvenient questionings and demands. That
the King, considering the consciousness of his supreme dignity which
he possessed in so high a degree, did not withdraw at the very
beginning from Benedetti's importunity was to be attributed for the
most part to the influence exercised upon him by the Queen, who was at
Coblenz close by. He was seventy-three years old, a lover of peace,
and disinclined to risk the laurels of 1866 in a fresh struggle; but
when he was free from the feminine influence, the sense of honor of
the heir of Frederick the Great and of a Prussian officer always
remained paramount. Against the opposition of his consort, due to her
natural feminine timidity and lack of national feeling, the King's
power of resistance was weakened by his knightly regard for the lady
and his kingly consideration for a Queen, and especially for his own
Queen. I have been told that Queen Augusta implored her husband with
tears, before his departure from Ems to Berlin, to bear in mind Jena
and Tilsit and avert war. I consider the statement authentic, even to
the tears.

Having decided to resign, in spite of the remonstrances which Roon
made against it, I invited him and Moltke to dine with me alone on the
13th, and communicated to them at table my views and projects for
doing so. Both were greatly depressed, and reproached me indirectly
with selfishly availing myself of my greater facility for withdrawing
from service. I maintained the position that I could not offer up my
sense of honor to politics, that both of them, being professional
soldiers and consequently without freedom of choice, need not take the
same point of view as a responsible Foreign Minister. During our
conversation I was informed that a telegram from Ems, in cipher, if I
recollect rightly, of about 200 "groups," was being deciphered. When
the copy was handed to me it showed that Abeken had drawn up and
signed the telegram at his Majesty's command, and I read it out to my
guests,[36] whose dejection was so great that they turned away from
food and drink. On a repeated examination of the document I lingered
upon the authorization of his Majesty, which included a command,
immediately to communicate Benedetti's fresh demand and its rejection
both to our ambassadors and to the press. I put a few questions to
Moltke as to the extent of his confidence in the state of our
preparations, especially as to the time they would still require in
order to meet this sudden risk of war. He answered that if there was
to be war he expected no advantage to us by deferring its outbreak;
and even if we should not be strong enough at first to protect all the
territories on the left bank of the Rhine against French invasion, our
preparations would nevertheless soon overtake those of the French,
while at a later period this advantage would be diminished; he
regarded a rapid outbreak as, on the whole, more favorable to us than
delay.

In view of the attitude of France, our national sense of honor
compelled us, in my opinion, to go to war; and if we did not act
according to the demands of this feeling, we should lose, when on the
way to its completion, the entire impetus towards our national
development won in 1866 while the German national feeling south of the
Main, aroused by our military successes in 1866, and shown by the
readiness of the southern states to enter the alliances, would have to
grow cold again. The German feeling, which in the southern states
lived long with the individual and dynastic state feeling, had, up to
1866, silenced its political conscience to a certain degree with the
fiction of a collective Germany under the leadership of Austria,
partly from South German preference for the old imperial State, partly
in the belief of her military superiority to Prussia. After events had
shown the incorrectness of that calculation, the very helplessness in
which the South German states had been left by Austria at the
conclusion of peace was a motive for the political Damascus that lay
between Varnbüler's "_Væ victis_" and the willing conclusion of the
offensive and defensive alliance with Prussia. It was confidence in
the Germanic power developed by means of Prussia, and the attraction
which is inherent in a brave and resolute policy if it is successful,
and then proceeds within reasonable and honorable limits. This nimbus
had been won by Prussia; it would have been lost irrevocably, or at
all events for a long time, if in a question of national honor the
opinion gained ground among the people that the French insult, _La
Prusse cane_, had a foundation in fact.

In the same psychological train of thought in which during the Danish
war in 1864 I desired, for political reasons, that precedence should
be given not to the old Prussian, but to the Westphalian battalions,
who so far had had no opportunity of proving their courage under
Prussian leadership, and regretted that Prince Frederick Charles had
acted contrary to my wish, did I feel convinced that the gulf, which
diverse dynastic and family influences and different habits of life
had in the course of history created between the south and north of
the Fatherland, could not be more effectually bridged over than by a
joint national war against the neighbor who had been aggressive for
many centuries. I remembered that even in the short period from 1813
to 1815, from Leipzig and Hanau to Belle-Alliance, the joint
victorious struggle against France had rendered it possible to put an
end to the opposition between a yielding Rhine-Confederation policy
and the German national impetus of the days between the Vienna
congress and the Mainz commission of inquiry, days marked by the names
of Stein, Görres, Jahn, Wartburg, up to the crime of Sand. The blood
shed in common from the day when the Saxons came over at Leipzig down
to their participation at Belle-Alliance under English command had
fostered a consciousness before which the recollections of the
Rhine-Confederation were blotted out. The historical development in
this direction was interrupted by the anxiety aroused by the
over-haste of the national craving for the stability of state
institutions.

This retrospect strengthened me in my conviction, and the political
considerations in respect to the South German states proved applicable
likewise, _mutatis mutandis_, to our relations with the populations of
Hanover, Hesse, and Schleswig-Holstein. That this view was correct is
shown by the satisfaction with which, at the present day, after a
lapse of twenty years, not only the Holsteiners, but likewise the
people of the Hanse towns, remember the heroic deeds of their sons in
1870. All these considerations, conscious and unconscious,
strengthened my opinion that war could be avoided only at the cost of
the honor of Prussia and of the national confidence in it. Under this
conviction I made use of the royal authorization communicated to me
through Abeken, to publish the contents of the telegram; and in the
presence of my two guests I reduced the telegram by striking out
words, but without adding or altering, to the following form: "After
the news of the renunciation of the hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern
had been officially communicated to the imperial government of France
by the royal government of Spain, the French ambassador at Ems further
demanded of his Majesty the King that he would authorize him to
telegraph to Paris that his Majesty the King bound himself for all
future time never again to give his consent if the Hohenzollerns
should renew their candidature. His Majesty the King thereupon decided
not to receive the French ambassador again, and sent to tell him
through the aide-de-camp on duty that his Majesty had nothing further
to communicate to the ambassador." The difference in the effect of the
abbreviated text of the Ems telegram as compared with that produced by
the original was not the result of stronger words but of the form,
which made this announcement appear decisive, while Abeken's version
would only have been regarded as a fragment of a negotiation still
pending, and to be continued at Berlin.

After I had read out the concentrated edition to my two guests, Moltke
remarked: "Now it has a different ring; it sounded before like a
parley; now it is like a flourish in answer to a challenge." I went on
to explain: "If in execution of his Majesty's order I at once
communicate this text, which contains no alteration in or addition to
the telegram, not only to the newspapers, but also by telegraph to all
our embassies, it will be known in Paris before midnight, and not only
on account of its contents, but also on account of the manner of its
distribution, will have the effect of a red rag upon the Gallic bull.
Fight we must if we do not want to act the part of the vanquished
without a battle. Success, however, essentially depends upon the
impression which the origination of the war makes upon us and others;
it is important that we should be the party attacked, and this Gallic
overweening and touchiness will make us if we announce in the face of
Europe, so far as we can without the speaking-tube of the Reichstag,
that we fearlessly meet the public threats of France."

This explanation brought about in the two generals a revulsion to a
more joyous mood, the liveliness of which surprised me. They had
suddenly recovered their pleasure in eating and drinking and spoke in
a more cheerful vein. Roon said: "Our God of old lives still and will
not let us perish in disgrace." Moltke so far relinquished his passive
equanimity that, glancing up joyously towards the ceiling and
abandoning his usual punctiliousness of speech, he smote his hand upon
his breast and said: "If I may but live to lead our armies in such a
war, then the devil may come directly afterwards and fetch away the
'old carcass.'" He was less robust at that time than afterwards, and
doubted whether he would survive the hardships of the campaign.

How keenly he wanted to put in practice his military and strategic
tastes and ability I observed not only on this occasion, but also in the
days before the outbreak of the Bohemian war. In both cases I found my
military colleague in the King's service changed from his usual dry and
silent habit; he became cheerful, lively, even merry. In the June night
of 1866, when I had invited him for the purpose of ascertaining whether
the march of the army could not be begun twenty-four hours sooner, he
answered in the affirmative and was pleasantly excited by the hastening
of the struggle. As he left my wife's drawing-room with elastic step, he
turned round at the door and asked me in a serious tone: "Do you know
that the Saxons have _blown up_[37] the bridge at Dresden?" Upon my
expression of amazement and regret he replied: "Yes, with water, for the
dust." An inclination to innocent jokes very seldom, in official
relations like ours, broke through his reserve. In both cases his love
of combat and delight in battles were a great support to me in carrying
out the policy I regarded as necessary, in opposition to the
intelligible and justifiable aversion in a most influential quarter. It
proved inconvenient to me in 1867, in the Luxemburg question, and in
1875 and afterwards on the question whether it was desirable, as regards
a war which we should probably have to face sooner or later, to bring it
on _antici-pando_ before the adversary could improve his preparations. I
have always opposed the theory which says "Yes"; not only at the
Luxemburg period, but likewise subsequently for twenty years, in the
conviction that even victorious wars cannot be justified unless they are
forced upon one, and that one cannot see the cards of Providence far
enough ahead to anticipate historical development according to one's own
calculation. It is natural that in the staff of the army not only
younger officers, but likewise experienced strategists, should feel the
need of turning to account the efficiency of the troops led by them, and
their own capacity to lead, and of making them prominent in history. It
would be a matter of regret if this effect of the military spirit did
not exist in the army; the task of keeping its results within such
limits as the nations' need of peace can justly claim is the duty of the
political, not the military, heads of the State. That at the time of the
Luxemburg question, during the crisis of 1875, invented by Gortchakoff
and France, and even down to the most recent times, the staff and its
leaders have allowed themselves to be led astray and to endanger peace,
lies in the very spirit of the institution, which I would not forego. It
only becomes dangerous under a monarch whose policy lacks sense of
proportion and power to resist one-sided and constitutionally
unjustifiable influences.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 26: From _Bismarck: The Man and the Statesman._ Permission
Harper & Brothers, New York.]

[Footnote 27: a gathering of, it is said, 30,000 at the Castle of
Hambach in the Palatinate; where speeches were made in favor of
Germany, unity, and the Republic.]

[Footnote 28: An attempt made by a handful of students and peasants to
blow up the Federal Diet in revenge for some Press regulations passed
by it. They stormed the guard house, but were suppressed.]

[Footnote 29: See the "Proceedings during my stay at Aachen" in
_Bismarck-Jahrbuch III.,_ and the "Samples of Examination for the
Referendariat" in _Bismarck-Jahrbuch II._]

[Footnote 30: Say "red tape."]

[Footnote 31: _Polstiche Reden_ (Cotta's edition), i. 9.]

[Footnote 32: See _Bismarck-Jahrbuch_, iii. 86.]

[Footnote 33: Cf. Bismarck's letter to Gerlach of October 7, 1855.]

[Footnote 34: Cf. Bismarck's utterance in the Imperial Diet on January
8, 1885. _Politische Reden_, x. 373.]

[Footnote 35: Gramont, _La France et la Prusse avant la guerre_.
Paris, 1872, p. 21.]

[Footnote 36: The telegram handed in at Ems on July 13, 1870, at 3.50
p. m. and received in Berlin at 6.9, ran as deciphered:

"His Majesty writes to me: "Count Benedetti spoke to me on the
promenade, in order to demand from me, finally in a very importunate
manner, that I should authorize him to telegraph at once that I bound
myself for all future time never again to give my consent if the
Hohenzollerns should renew their candidature. I refused at last
somewhat sternly, as it is neither right nor possible to undertake
engagements of this kind _à tout jamais_. Naturally I told him that I
had as yet received no news, and as he was earlier informed about
Paris and Madrid than myself, he could clearly see that my government
once more had no hand in the matter." His Majesty has since received a
letter from the Prince. His Majesty, having told Count Benedetti that
he was awaiting news from the Prince, has decided, with reference to
the above demand, upon the representation of Count Eulenburg and
myself, not to receive Count Benedetti again, but only to let him be
informed through an aide-de-camp: That his Majesty had now received
from the Prince confirmation of the news which Benedetti had already
received from Paris, and had nothing further to say to the ambassador.
His Majesty leaves it to your Excellency whether Benedetti's fresh
demand and its rejection should not be at once communicated both to
our ambassadors and to the press."]

[Footnote 37: Play on the word _gesprengt_.]

       *       *       *       *       *




BISMARCK AS AN ORATOR

By EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


Bismarck was not an orator in the ordinary sense of the word, nor did
he wish to be one. On the contrary, he looked with mistrust on
silver-tongued orators. "You know," he said in the Diet on February 3,
1866, "I am not an orator.... I cannot appeal to your emotions with a
clever play of words intended to obscure the subject-matter. My speech
is simple and clear." And a few years later he said: "Eloquence has
spoiled many things in the world's parliaments. Too much time is
wasted, because everybody who thinks he knows anything wishes to
speak, even if he has nothing new to say. More breath is wasted on the
air than thought is bestowed on the questions under discussion.
Everything has been settled in party caucuses, and in the House the
representatives talk for no other purpose than to show the people how
clever they are, or to please the newspapers, which are expected to be
lavish with their praise in return. If things go on like this, the
time will come when eloquence will be considered a common nuisance,
and a man will be punished if he has spoken too long."

Bismarck's most famous words against mere eloquence were uttered in
the Reichstag on April 29, 1881: "You must be something of a poet if
you wish to be a good orator, and you must possess the gift of
improvisation. When I was younger there were public entertainments in
which music alternated with oratorical improvisations. The
improvisator was given a theme of which he knew nothing, and on which
he discoursed, often brilliantly. It even happened that he was
altogether convincing until we remembered where we were. I am
merely saying this to show that we should not entrust the direction of
big affairs to the mere masters of eloquence any more than to the
improvisators. Least of all should these people be placed in charge of
bureaus, or be given a minister's portfolio. I only wish to prove that
eloquence is a gift which exerts today an influence out of proportion
to its worth. It is overestimated. A good orator must be something of
a poet, which means that he cannot be a stickler for truth and
mathematical accuracy. He must be inspiring, quick, and excitable,
able himself to kindle the enthusiasm of others. But a good orator I
fear will rarely play a good game of whist or of chess, and will be
even less satisfactory as a statesman. The emotional element and not
cool reason must predominate in his make-up. Physiologically, I
believe, the same man cannot be a good orator and a calm judge. I am
reminded of the list of qualities enumerated by Mephisto in Goethe's
_Faust_: 'The lion's strength, the deer's celerity.' Such things are
never found united in one human body. And thus we often find eloquence
overtopping and dangerously controlling reason, to the complete
satisfaction of thoughtless multitudes. But a man of discretion, cool
and accurate in his deliberations, to whom we are glad to entrust the
direction of big and weighty matters, can scarcely ever be a perfect
orator."

In this last sentence Bismarck apparently wished to draw a line of
distinction between himself and some of his parliamentary opponents
whom he admired as fluent orators, but whose leadership he deemed to
be unsafe. If he considered himself a poor public speaker he was
greatly mistaken. His contemporaries held different views, and several
of them fortunately were so deeply impressed by his power that they
analyzed the means with which he won his great parliamentary
victories. His bitter political opponent, Ludwig Bamberger, for
instance, said:

"Bismarck controls his audience by the noticeable force and the
exhaustiveness of his mental labor. He has improved with
practice, and the description of him given in 1866 is no longer quite
fair--'No charm of voice, no sonorous phrases, nothing to captivate an
audience. His voice while clear and distinct, is dry and
unsympathetic. He speaks monotonously, with many pauses, at times he
almost stutters, as if an obstinate tongue refused to obey orders, and
as if he had to wrestle for the adequate expression of his thoughts.
He rocks to and fro, somewhat restlessly, and in no relation to what
he is saying. But the longer he speaks the more he overcomes all
difficulties, he succeeds in adapting his words, without the least
waste, to his thoughts, and generally reaches a powerfully effective
end.' It is still true that his words advance at first slowly, then
with a rush, and again haltingly. But for all those who do not
consider the even and melodious flow of an address to be its greatest
perfection Bismarck's way of speaking is not without some charm. It
enables the hearer to follow the mental exertions of the speaker, and
thus rivets attention better than many a smooth and sonorous diction
which glides along nicely because it has no inner difficulties to
overcome. Often Bismarck succeeds in taking hold of his subject with
trenchant wit, and in illustrating it with arguments which he boldly
takes from every day life.... We must confess that his speeches, if
art-less, are yet full of imagery. His cool and clear mind does not
despise the charm of warm color, just as his robust constitution is
not void of nervous irritability. His ingenuous appearance, with which
he is apt to surprise an audience, should not win our ready
confidence, for all who have had to do with him know that his
astonishingly intimate remarks are calculated to mislead by their
excessive frankness, or their excessive lack of it. If he dissembles,
he often misses his mark by exaggeration, and one can truly say that
he has deceived his opponents more frequently by speaking the truth
than by making false pretenses. Behind his blustering behavior you can
often spy the merry wag. To his opponents he can be provoking,
malicious, even spiteful, but he is never false! He does not belong
to that class of public men who believe that the world can be governed
with sentimental phrases, or that evil conditions are alleviated when
the discussion is interspersed with pompous generalities. On the
contrary, he loves to turn his phrases so that everything will appear
in a strong and glaring light."

Another observer, quoted by Hans Kraemer in his "Speeches of Prince
Bismarck," sums up his impressions as follows:

"Bismarck has before him a narrow strip of paper on which, in
preparation, he has jotted down a few words with his inspired
quill-pen. Occasionally he looks at his notes, while he is speaking,
rocking himself very slowly to and fro, and twisting his thumbs. He
often hesitates, almost stutters, and sometimes even makes a slip of
the tongue. He seems to be wrestling with his thoughts, while his
words seem to ascend against their wish, for he makes a very brief
pause after every two or three words.... He speaks without gestures,
pathos or intonation, and without emphasizing any of his words. Is
this the man who as early as 1847 was the leader of the nobility in
the old Diet and their quickest man at repartee; who, in 1849 and 1850
as a member of the Second House and the United Parliament of Erfurt,
whipped the liberal majority to a frenzy of fury with his bitter and
poignant speeches; who as the President of the Ministry since 1862 has
faced, almost alone, the solid phalanx of the Liberals, replying to
their ebullitions of pride and confidence in their own strain, and
answering on the spot and with brilliant presence of mind their
sarcastic and malicious attacks, yes even challenging them with witty
impromptus, and hurting his opponents to the core? Yes, he is the same
man, and occasionally he can be as witty and bitter as he used to be.
But since his great victories he has shown the more serious demeanor
of a statesman. He is calmly objective and conciliatory, as befits his
greatness, which is today universally recognized. The longer he
speaks the more the peculiar attractions of his way of speaking become
manifest. His expression is original and fresh, pithy and robust,
honest and straightforward."

Bismarck did not write out his speeches, and the published accounts of
what he said are copied from the official stenographic reports.
Logically Bismarck never left a sentence incomplete, but grammatically
he often did so when the wealth of ideas qualifying his main thought
had grown to greater proportions than he had anticipated. His diction
was at all times precise, which led to a multiplicity of
qualifications--adjectives, appositions, adverbs, parentheses, and the
like. Desirous of convincing his hearers, he often felt the need of
repeating the same thought in various ways until he at last hammered
it in, as it were, with one big blow--with one phrase easily
remembered and readily quoted. It is these phrases which have given
the names to many of his speeches, namely: "The Honest Broker,"
"Practical Christianity," or "We shall never go to Canossa."

He himself readily quoted from the sayings and writings of other great
men; and was in this respect wholly admirable both for the catholicity
of his taste and the singular appropriateness of his citations. He was
apparently as familiar with the great authors of antiquity as with the
modern German, French and English writers. Nor was he afraid of using
a foreign tongue when no German phrase occurred to him to match the
exact meaning of his thought.

The reader will realize, even more than the hearer, that it was not
the form of Bismarck's speeches which swept his audiences off their
feet, and often changed a hostile Reichstag or Diet into an assembly
of men eager to do his bidding, but that it was his firm grasp on the
realities of life and his supreme command of everything which makes
for true statesmanship. His policies were not based on snap judgments,
they were the result of serious thought. All this showed in his
speeches, and made him one of the most powerfully effective speakers
of all times.

       *       *       *       *       *



_SPEECHES OF PRINCE BISMARCK_

       *       *       *       *       *

PROFESSORIAL POLITICS

December 21, 1863

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON HACK, PH.D.


[In the Prussian Diet the representative, Johann Ludwig Tellkampf,
professor of economics and political science in the University of
Breslau, had attacked the policy of Bismarck in regard to
Schleswig-Holstein. Bismarck replied as follows:]

The conception which the previous speaker has of the politics of
Europe reminds me of a man from the plains who is on his first journey
to the mountains. When he sees a huge elevation loom up before him,
nothing seems easier than to climb it. He does not even think that he
will need a guide, for the mountain is in plain sight, and the road to
it apparently without obstacles. But when he starts, he soon comes
upon ravines and crevasses which not even the best of speeches will
help him to cross. The gentleman comforted us concerning similar
obstacles in the path of politics by saying things like these: "It is
well known that Russia can do nothing at present; it does not appear
that Austria will take a contrary step; England knows very well that
her interests are counselling peace; and finally, France will not act
against her national principles." If we should believe these
assurances, and think more highly of the estimate which the gentleman
has made of the politics of Europe than of our own official judgment,
and should thereby drive Prussia to an isolated and humiliating
position, could we then excuse ourselves by saying, "We could see the
danger coming, but we trusted the speaker, thinking he knew probably
more than we?" If this is impossible how can we attach to the remarks
of the speaker the weight which he wishes us to attach to them!

For all official positions, those of the judges for instance and even
those of the subalterns in the army, we require examinations and a
practical knowledge--difficult examinations. But high politics--oh,
any one can practise them who feels himself called upon to do so.
Nothing is easier than to make endless assertions in this field of
conjectures and to cast caution to the winds. You know that one must
write a whole book to controvert one erroneous thought, and he who
voiced the error remains unconvinced. It is a dangerous and far-spread
mistake which assumes that a naïve intuition will reveal to the
political dilettante what remains hidden from the wisdom of the
expert.

[Professor Tellkampf replied, in great excitement: "My whole life as a
professor of political science has been devoted to the study of
politics, and I should like to ask the president of the ministry,
whether he knew more of political science, when he began his political
career as a dike-master, than a professor of this science knows?" To
which Bismarck replied:]

I do not at all deny the familiarity of the previous speaker with
political theories. But he has wandered from the field of theory into
that of practice. He has announced with complete assurance to me and
to this assembly what each European cabinet will probably do in this
concrete case. These are the very things which, I believe, I must know
better than he. This belief I have expressed. The previous speaker has
referred to his activity in theoretical politics as a professor
through many years. If the gentleman had served even one year in
practical politics, possibly as a bureau chief in the ministry of
foreign affairs, he would not have said what he said today from the
speaker's desk. And his advice, after this one year of practical
training, would be of greater value to me than if he had been active,
even more years than he says, as a professor on the lecture platform.

       *       *       *       *       *




SPEECH FROM THE THRONE

Written by Bismarck and delivered by William I., July 19, 1870

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.

[Disturbed by the increasing bonds of union between the northern and
the southern German states, in which France saw a lessening of her own
prestige across the Rhine, the ministers of Napoleon III. had decided
on war against Prussia. They found a pretext in the candidacy of a
Hohenzollern prince for the throne of Spain. Contrary to diplomatic
usage, they requested the King of Prussia to force the withdrawal of
the prince, and even when the father of the prince announced the
withdrawal of his son, they were not satisfied, but instructed
Benedetti, the French ambassador, to secure from the King of Prussia a
humiliating promise for the future. The King indignantly refused, and
Bismarck published the occurrence in the famous "Despatch of Ems,"
July 13, 1870. Thereupon the French cabinet declared war, on July 15,
1870. The formal notice was served on Bismarck, July 19, and on the
same day the King of Prussia opened a special session of the Reichstag
with the following address, which had been prepared by Bismarck.]




GENTLEMEN OF THE REICHSTAG OF THE NORTH GERMAN FEDERATION:

When I welcomed you here at your last assembly, it was with joy and
gratitude because God had crowned my efforts with success. I could
announce to you that every disturbance of peace had been avoided, in
response to the wishes of the people and the demands of civilization.

If now the allied governments have been compelled by treats of war and
its danger to summon you to a special session, you will feel not less
convinced than we that it was the wish of the North German Federation
to develop the forces of the German people as a support of universal
peace, and not as a possible source of danger to it. If we call upon
these forces today for the protection of our independence, we are
doing nothing but what honor and duty demand.

The candidacy of a German prince for the Spanish throne, with which
the allied governments had nothing to do--neither when it was pressed
nor when it was withdrawn--and which interested the North German
Federation only in so far as the government of a friendly nation
seemed to expect of it the assurance of a peaceful and orderly
government for its much harassed land--this candidacy offered to the
emperor of France the pretense of seeing in it a cause for war,
contrary to the long established custom of diplomacy. When the
pretense no longer existed, he kept to his views in utter disregard of
the rights which our people have to the blessings of peace--views
which find their analogy in the history of former rulers of France.

When in earlier centuries Germany suffered in silence such attacks on
her rights and her honor, she did so because she was divided and did
not know her strength. Today when the bonds of the spiritual and
political union, which began with the War of Liberation, are knitting
the German races more closely together as time advances, and when our
armor no longer offers an opening to the enemy, Germany carries in her
bosom the will and the strength to defend herself against renewed
French violence.

It is not presumption which dictates these words. The allied
governments and I myself--we are fully conscious of the fact that
victory and defeat rest with the Lord of battles. We have measured
with clear vision the responsibility which attaches, before God and
men, to him who drives two peace-loving peoples in the heart of Europe
to war. The German and the French people, enjoying in equal measure
the blessings of Christian morals and o growing prosperity, are meant
for a more wholesome contest than the bloody contest of war.

[Illustration: PRINCE BISMARCK FRANZ VON LENBACH]

The rulers of France, however, have known how to exploit by calculated
deception, the just, although excitable, pride of the great French
nation in furtherance of their own interests and for the gratification
of their own passions.

The more conscious the allied governments are of having done
everything permitted by their honor and their dignity to preserve for
Europe the blessings of peace, and the more apparent it is to
everybody that the sword has been forced upon us, the greater is the
confidence with which we rely on the unanimous decision of the German
governments of the South as well as of the North, and appeal to the
patriotism and self-sacrifice of the German people, calling them to
the defense of their honor and their independence.

We shall fight, as our fathers did, against the violence of foreign
conquerors, and for our freedom and our right. And in this fight, in
which we have no other aim than that of securing for Europe lasting
peace, God will be with us as He was with our fathers.




ALSACE-LORRAINE A GLACIS AGAINST FRANCE

May 2,1871

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[After the war France had been obliged to return to Germany the two
provinces, Alsace and Lorraine, which she had attached to herself in
the times of Germany's weakness. It might have been better to unite
these provinces with one of the German states, but it was feared that
so valuable an increase in territory of one of the twenty-five states
that had just been federated in the empire, might lead to renewed
dissension. The suggestion, therefore, was made to administer the two
provinces, for the present, as common property, and to leave the final
arrangements to the future. A bill concerning the immediate
disposition of Alsace and Lorraine was submitted to the Reichstag on
May 2, 1871; when Prince Bismarck opened the discussion with the
following speech.]

In introducing the pending bill I shall have to say only a few words,
for the debate will offer me the opportunity of elucidating the
various details. The underlying principles are, I believe, not subject
to a difference of opinion; I mean the question whether Alsace and
Lorraine should be incorporated in the German empire. The form in
which this should be done, and especially what steps should first be
taken, will be the subject of your deliberations. You will, moreover,
find the allied governments ready to weigh carefully all suggestions
different from our own which may be made in this connection.

I believe that there will be no difference of opinion concerning the
principle itself, because there was none a year ago, nor has any
appeared during this year of the war. If we imagine ourselves back one
year--or more accurately ten months--we can say to ourselves that all
Germany was agreed in her love of peace. There was not a German who
did not wish to be at peace with France, as long as this was honorably
possible. Those morbid exceptions which possibly desired war in the
hope of seeing their own country defeated--they are not worthy of
their name, I do not count them among the Germans!

I insist, the Germans were unanimous in their desire for peace. But
when war was forced upon them, and they were compelled to take to
arms, then the Germans were fully as unanimous in their determination
to look for assurances against the likelihood of another similar war,
provided God were to give them the victory in this one which they were
resolved to wage manfully. If, however, another such war should occur
in the future, they intended to see to it now, that our defence then
would be easier. Everyone remembered that there probably had not been
a generation of our fathers, for three hundred years, which had not
been forced to draw the sword against France, and everybody knew the
reason why Germany had previously missed the opportunity of securing
for herself a better protection against an attack from the west, even
at those times when she had happened to be among the conquerors of
France. It was because the victories had been won in company with
allies whose interests were not ours. Everybody therefore was
determined that if we should conquer this time, independently and
solely by our own might and right, we should strive to make the future
more secure for our children.

In the course of centuries the wars against France had resulted almost
always to our disadvantage, because Germany had been divided. This had
created a geographical and strategic frontier which was full of
temptations for France and of menace for Germany. I cannot describe
our condition before the last war, and especially that of South
Germany, more strikingly than with the words of a thoughtful South
German sovereign. When Germany was urged to take the part of the
western powers in the oriental war, although her governments were not
convinced that this was in their interest, this sovereign--there is
no reason why I should not name him, it was the late King William of
Würtemberg--said to me: "I share your view, that we have no call to
mix in this war, and that no German interests are at stake of
sufficient worth to spill a drop of German blood for them. But what
will happen if we should quarrel with the western powers on this
account? You may count on my vote in the Bundestag until war is at
hand. Then conditions will be altered. I am as ready as the next man
to fulfil my obligations. But take care lest you judge people
differently from what they are. Give us Strassburg, and we shall be
with you at all hazards. As long as Strassburg is a sally-port for an
ever armed force, I must fear that my country will be inundated by
foreign troops before the North German Alliance can come to my
assistance. Personally I shall not hesitate a moment to eat the hard
bread of exile in your camp, but my people, weighed down by
contributions, will write to me urging a change of policy upon me. I
do not know what I shall do, nor whether all will remain sufficiently
firm. The crux of the situation is Strassburg, for as long as it is
not German, it will prevent South Germany from giving herself
unreservedly to German unity and to a national German policy. As long
as Strassburg is a sally-port for an ever ready army of from 100,000
to 150,000 men, Germany will find herself unable to appear on the
upper Rhine with an equally large army on time--the French will always
be here first."

I believe this instance taken from an actual occurrence says
everything. I need not add one word.

The wedge which Alsace pushed into Germany near Weissenburg separated
South Germany from North Germany more effectively than the political
line of the Main. It needed a high degree of determination, national
enthusiasm, and devotion for our South German allies not to hesitate
one moment but to identify the danger of North Germany with their own
and to advance boldly in our company, in spite of that other danger in
their own immediate proximity to which a clever conduct of the war on
the part of France would have exposed them. That France in her
superior position had been ready to yield to the temptation, which
this advanced outpost of Strassburg offered her against Germany,
whenever her internal affairs made an excursion into foreign lands
desirable, we had seen for many decades. It is well known that the
French ambassador entered my office as late as August 6, 1866, with
the briefly worded ultimatum: "Either cede to France the city of
Mayence, or expect an immediate declaration of war." I was, of course,
not one moment in doubt about my reply. I said to him: "Well, then, it
is war." He proceeded with this reply to Paris. There they changed
their mind after a few days, and I was given to understand that this
instruction had been wrung from Emperor Napoleon during an attack of
illness. The further attempts on Luxembourg and the consequent issues
are known to you. I will not revert to them, nor do I believe that it
is necessary to prove that France did not always show a sufficiently
strong character to resist the temptations which the possession of
Alsace brought with it.

The question was, how to secure a guarantee against this. It had to be
of a territorial nature, because the guarantees of foreign powers were
not of much use to us, such guarantees having at times been subject to
supplementary and attenuating declarations. One might have thought
that all Europe would have felt the need of preventing the ever
recurring wars of two great and civilized peoples in the heart of
Europe, and that it would have been natural to assume that the
simplest way to do this was to strengthen the defences of that one of
the two participants who doubtless was the more pacific. I cannot,
however, say that at first this idea appeared convincing everywhere.
Other expedients were looked for, and the suggestion was often made
that we should be satisfied with an indemnity and the razing of the
French fortresses in Alsace and Lorraine. This I always opposed,
because I considered it an impracticable means of maintaining peace.
The establishment of an easement on foreign territory is very
oppressive and disagreeable to the sense of sovereignty and
independence of those who are affected by it. The cession of a
fortress is felt scarcely more bitterly than the injunction by
foreigners not to build on the territory which is under one's own
sovereignty. French passions have probably been excited more
frequently and more successfully by a reference to the razing of that
unimportant place of Hüningen than by the loss of any conquered
territory which France had to suffer in 1815. I placed, therefore, no
confidence in this means, especially since the geographical
configuration of this advanced outpost--as I took the liberty of
calling it--would have put the starting place for the French troops
just as near to Stuttgart and Munich as it had always been. It was
important to put it farther back.

Metz, moreover, is a place of such a topographical configuration, that
very little art is needed to transform it into a strong fortress. If
anyone should destroy these additions to nature--which would be a very
expensive undertaking--they could be quickly restored. Consequently I
looked also upon this suggestion as insufficient.

There might have been one other means--and one which the inhabitants
of Alsace and Lorraine favored--of founding there a neutral territory
similar to Belgium and Switzerland. There would then have been a chain
of neutral states from the North Sea to the Swiss Alps, which would
have made it impossible for us to attack France by land, because we
are accustomed to respect treaties and neutrality, and because we
should have been separated from France by this strip of land between
us. France would have received a protecting armor against us, but
nothing would have prevented her from occasionally sending her fleet
with troops to our coast--a plan she had under consideration during
the last war, although she did not execute it--or from landing her
armies with her allies, and entering Germany from there. France would
have received a protecting armor against us, but we should have been
without protection by sea, as long as our navy did not equal the
French. This was one objection, although one of only secondary
importance. The chief reason was that neutrality can only be
maintained when the inhabitants are determined to preserve an
independent and neutral position, and to defend it by force of arms,
if need be. That is what both Belgium and Switzerland have done. As
far as we were concerned in the last war no action on their part would
have been necessary, but it is a fact that both these countries
maintained their neutrality. Both are determined to remain neutral
commonwealths. This supposition would not have been true, in the
immediate future, for the neutrality newly to be established in Alsace
and Lorraine. On the contrary, it is to be expected that the strong
French elements, which are going to survive in the country for a long
while, and whose interests, sympathies, and memories are connected
with France, would have induced the people to unite with France in the
case of another Franco-German war, no matter who their sovereign might
be. The neutrality of Alsace-Lorraine, therefore, would have been
merely a sham, harmful to us and helpful to France. Nothing was left,
therefore, but to bring both these countries with their strong
fortresses completely under German control. It was our purpose to
establish them as a powerful glacis in Germany's defence against
France, and to move the starting point of a possible French attack
several days' marches farther back, if France, having regained her
strength or won allies, should again throw down the gauntlet to us.

The chief obstacle to the realization of this idea, which was to
satisfy the incontestable demands of our safety, was found in the
opposition of the inhabitants themselves, who did not wish to be
separated from France. It is not my duty here to inquire into the
causes which made it possible for a thoroughly German community to
become so deeply attached to a country speaking a different tongue and
possessing a government which was not always kind and considerate. To
a great extent this may have been due to the fact that all those
qualities which distinguish the Germans from the French are found to
such a high degree in Alsace-Lorraine, that the inhabitants of this
country formed--I may say it without fear of seeming presumption--an
aristocracy in France as regards proficiency and exactness. They were
better qualified for service, and more reliable in office. The
substitutes in the army, the gendarmes, and the civil officers were
from Alsace-Lorraine in numbers entirely out of proportion to the
population of these provinces. There were one and one half million
Germans who knew how to make use of these virtues among a people who
have other virtues but who are lacking in these particular ones.
Thanks to their excellence they enjoyed a favored position, which made
them unmindful of many legal iniquities. It is, moreover,
characteristic of the Germans that every tribe lays claim to some kind
of superiority, especially over its immediate neighbors. As long as
the people of Alsace and Lorraine were French, Paris with its splendor
and the grandeur of a united France stood behind them; they could meet
their fellow Germans with the consciousness that Paris was theirs, and
thus find a reason for their sense of exclusive superiority. I do not
wish to discuss further the reasons why everyone attaches himself more
readily to a big political system which gives scope to his abilities,
than to a divided, albeit related, nation, such as existed formerly on
this side of the Rhine, in so far as the Alsatians were concerned. The
fact is that such disinclination existed, and that it is our duty to
overcome it by patience. We have, it seems to me, many means at our
disposal. We Germans are accustomed to govern more benevolently,
sometimes more awkwardly--but in the long tun really more benevolently
and humanely, than the French statesmen. This is a merit of the German
character which will soon appeal to the Alsatian heart and become
manifest. We are, moreover, able to grant the inhabitants a far
greater degree of communal and individual freedom than the French
institutions and traditions ever permitted.

If we watch the present movement in Paris (the Commune), we shall
find, what is true of every movement possessing the least endurance,
that it contains at bottom a grain of sense in spite of all the
unreasonable motives which attach to it, influencing its individual
partisans. Without this no movement can attain even that degree of
force which the Commune exercises at present. This grain of sense--I
do not know how many people believe in it, but surely the most
intelligent and best who at present are fighting against their
countrymen do believe in it--is, to put it briefly, the German
municipal government. If the Commune possessed this, then the better
element of its supporters--I do not say all--would be satisfied. We
must differentiate according to the facts. The militia of the usurpers
consists largely of people who have nothing to lose. There are in a
city of two million inhabitants many so-called "_repris de justice_,"
or as we should say "people under police supervision," who are
spending in Paris the interval between two terms in prison. They are
congregating in the city in considerable numbers and are ready to
serve disorder and pillage wherever it may be. It is these people who
gave to the movement, before we had scrutinized its theoretical aims,
the occasionally prominent character which seemed to threaten
civilization, and which, in the interest of humanity, I now hope has
been overcome. It is, of course, quite possible that it may recur.

In addition to this flotsam, which is found in large masses in every
big city, the militia which I mentioned consists of many adherents of
an international European republic. I have been told the figures with
which the foreign nations are there represented, but I remember only
that almost eight thousand Englishmen are said to be in Paris for the
sake of seeing the realization of their plans. I assume that these
so-called Englishmen are largely Irish Fenians. And then there are
many Belgians, Poles, adherents of Garibaldi, and Italians. They
are people who really do not care much for the "Commune" and French
liberty. They expect something else, and they were, of course, not
meant, when I said that there is a grain of sense in every movement.

The needs and wishes of the large French communities are thoroughly
justified, considering not only their own political past, which grants
them a very moderate amount of freedom, but also the tradition of the
French statesmen who are offering to the cities their very best
possible compromise with municipal freedom. The inhabitants of Alsace
and Lorraine have felt these needs most forcefully owing to their
German character, which is stronger than the French character in its
demands for individual and municipal independence. Personally I am
convinced that we can grant the people of Alsace and Lorraine, at the
very start, a freer scope in self government without endangering the
empire as a whole. Gradually this will be broadened until it
approaches the ideal, when every individual and every community
possesses as much freedom as is at all compatible with the order of
the State as a whole. I consider it the duty of reasonable
statesmanship to try to reach this goal or to come as near to it as
possible. And this is much easier, with our present German
institutions, than it will ever be in France with the French character
and the French centralized system of government. I believe, therefore,
that, with German patience and benevolence, we shall succeed in
winning the men of Alsace and Lorraine--perhaps in a briefer space of
time than people today expect.

But there will always be some residuary elements, rooted with every
personal memory in France and too old to be transplanted, or
necessarily connected with France by material interests. For them
there will be no compensation for the broken French bonds, or at least
none for some time to come. We must, therefore, not permit ourselves
to believe that the goal is in sight, and that Alsace will soon be as
intensely German in feeling as Thuringia. On the other hand, we need
not give up the hope of living to see the realization of our plans
provided we fulfill the time generally allotted to man.

The problem of how to approach this task, gentlemen, will now
primarily concern you. What should be the form of our immediate
procedure? for it should surely not bind us irrevocably for all the
future. I would ask you not to deliberate as if you were to create
something that will hold good for eternity. Do not endeavor to form a
definite idea of the future as you may think it should be after the
lapse of several decades. No man's foresight, I hold, can reach as far
as that. The conditions are abnormal; they had to be so--our entire
task was so--not only as regards the mode of taking possession of
Alsace, but also as regards the present owners. An alliance of
sovereign princes and free cities making a conquest which it is
compelled to keep for its own protection, and which is, therefore,
held in joint possession, is very rare in history. It is in fact, I
believe, unique, if we disregard a few ventures by some Swiss cantons,
which after all did not intend to assimilate the countries which they
had jointly conquered, but rather to manage them as common provinces
in the interest of the conquerors. Considering, therefore, the
abnormal conditions and our abnormal task, we are most especially
called upon to guard against overestimating the perspicacity in human
affairs of even the most far sighted politicians. I for one do not
feel capable of foretelling with certainty what the conditions in
Alsace-Lorraine will be three years hence. To do this one would need
an eye capable of piercing the future. Everything depends on factors
whose development, conduct, and good will are beyond our power of
regulation. What we are proposing to you is merely an attempt to find
the right beginning of a road, the end of which we shall know only
when we have been taught the necessary lessons by actual experience
with the conditions of the future. Let me ask you, therefore, to
follow at first the same empirical road which the governments have
followed, and to take conditions as they are, and not as we may wish
they should be. If one has nothing better to put in the place of
something that one does not entirely like, one had better, I believe,
let matters take their own course, and rest satisfied at first with
conditions as they are. As a matter of fact the allied governments
have jointly taken these countries, while their common possession and
common administration, although constituting an established premise,
may be modified in future by our own necessities and the needs of the
people of Alsace and Lorraine. As regards the definite form which the
proposition may take some day, I sincerely urge you to follow the lead
of the governments and to defer your judgment. If you are bolder than
we are in prejudging what will happen, we shall gladly meet your
wishes, since we must work together. The caution with which I have
announced to you the convictions of the allied governments, and with
which these governments have formed their convictions, is an
indication to you of our willingness to be set right, if you should
offer us a better plan, especially if experience--even a short
experience--should have proved it to be a better plan.

When I announce to you our willingness to work hand in hand with you,
you are, I am sure, equally ready to join us in exercising German
patience and German love toward all, and especially toward our new
countrymen, and in endeavoring to discover, and finally to reach, the
right goal.




WE SHALL NEVER GO TO CANOSSA!

May 14, 1872

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[Early in 1872 the German government tried to bring about a peaceful
understanding with the ultramontane (i. e., Catholic) party by
courteous advances made to the pope. The cardinal prince
Hohenlohe-Schillings-fürst was designated as ambassador to His
Holiness the Pope who was asked whether the prince would be
acceptable. The pope replied in the negative, and thereby deeply hurt
the emperor. When the expenses of this post in the budget were under
discussion in the Reichstag, Mr. von Bennigsen expressed the hope that
they would be struck from the budget in future, to which Bismarck
replied as follows:]

I can readily understand how the idea may arise that the expenses for
this embassy have become unnecessary, because there is no longer a
question here of protecting German subjects in those parts. I am,
nevertheless, glad that no motion has been made to abolish this
position, for it would have been unwelcome to the government.

The duties of an embassy are in part, it is true, the protection of
its countrymen, but in part also the mediation of the political
relations which the government of the empire happens to maintain with
the court where the ambassador is accredited. There is no foreign
sovereign authorized by the present state of our legislation to
exercise as extensive rights within the German empire as the pope.
While these rights are almost those of a sovereign, they are not
guarded by any constitutional responsibility. Considerable importance,
therefore, attaches to the kind of diplomatic relations which the
German empire is able to maintain with the head of the Roman Church,
who exerts such a remarkably strong and, for a foreign sovereign,
unusual influence among us. Considering the prevailing tendencies of
the Catholic Church at the present time, I scarcely believe that any
ambassador of the German empire would succeed in inducing His Holiness
the Pope, by the most skilful diplomacy and by persuasion, to modify
the position which he has taken, on principle, in all secular affairs.
There can, of course, be no question here of forceful actions, such as
may occur between two secular powers. In view of the recently
promulgated doctrines of the Catholic Church, I deem it impossible for
any secular power to reach a concordat without effacing itself to a
degree and in a way which, to the German empire at least, is
unacceptable. You need not be afraid, we shall never go to Canossa,
either actually or in spirit.

Nevertheless, I cannot deny that the position of the empire as regards
its religious peace is somewhat shaken. It is not my duty here to
investigate motives, or to ask which one of the two parties is at
fault, but to defend an item of the budget. The united governments of
the German empire are searching eagerly and, in justice to their
Catholic and their Evangelical subjects, diligently for means which
will secure a more agreeable state of affairs than the present, and
which will do so as peacefully as possible, and without unnecessarily
disturbing the religious relations of the empire. I doubt whether this
can be done except by legislation--I mean general and national
legislation, for which the governments will have to ask for the
assistance of the Reichstag.

But you will agree with me that this legislation should proceed with
great moderation and delicacy, and with due regard for every one's
freedom of conscience. The governments must be careful to avoid
anything which will render their task more difficult, such as errors
of information or ignorance of the proper forms, and must strive to
readjust their internal peace with tender regard for religious
sensibilities, even those which are not shared by all. In this
connection it is, of course, necessary that the Holy See should be at
all times well informed of the intentions of the German governments,
certainly more so than has been the case heretofore. One of the chief
causes of the present disturbance in religious matters is, I believe,
the misinformation which has reached His Holiness the Pope concerning
the conditions in Germany and the intentions of the German
governments, and which has been due either to excitement or to the
wrong color given it by evil motives.

I had hoped that the choice of an ambassador, who possessed the full
confidence of both parties, would be welcome in Rome, of a man who
loves truth and deserves confidence, and whose character and bearing
are conciliatory; in short, of a man like the well known prince of the
Church whom His Majesty the Emperor had appointed to this post. I had
hoped that this choice would be regarded as a pledge of our peaceful
attitude and willingness to make advances, and would serve as a bridge
to a mutual understanding. I had hoped that it would give the
assurance that we should never ask anything of His Holiness the Pope
but what a prince of the Church, allied to him by the most intimate
ties, could present and convey to him, and that the forms would always
be in keeping with those which characterize the intercourse of one
prince of the Church with another. This would have avoided all
unnecessary friction in a case which is difficult enough.

Many fears were expressed both by the Protestants and the liberals
concerning this appointment, based, I believe, on an erroneous
interpretation of the position of an envoy or an ambassador. An
ambassador really is a vessel which reaches its full value only when
it is filled with the instructions of its master. In such delicate
matters as these, however, it is desirable that the vessel should be
agreeable and acceptable, and that it should be incapable of
containing poisons or potions without immediately revealing them, as
people used to say of ancient crystals. Unfortunately, and for
reasons which have not yet been given, these intentions of the
Imperial Government could not be carried out because they met with a
curt refusal on the part of the Holy See. I can truly say that such a
case does not often happen. When a sovereign has made his choice of an
ambassador, it is customary for him to inquire, from courtesy, whether
the ambassador will be _persona grata_ with the sovereign to whom he
will be accredited, but the receipt of a negative reply is most
unusual, for it necessitates the repeal of an appointment already
made. What the emperor can do toward the appointment he does before
asking the question. In other words he has made the appointment before
he asks the question. The negative reply, therefore, is a demand that
a step once taken shall be repealed, a declaration which says: "You
have made a wrong choice!"

I have been foreign minister for about ten years, and have been
engaged in questions of higher diplomacy for twenty-one years, and I
am not mistaken, I believe, when I say that this is the first and only
case in my experience where such a question has been answered in the
negative. I have known more than once of doubts expressed concerning
ambassadors who had served for some time, and of courts confidentially
conveying their wish that a change be made in the person accredited to
them. In every case, however, the court had had the experience of
diplomatic relations with the particular person through several years,
and was convinced that he was not qualified to safeguard the good
relations which it wished to maintain with us. It explained,
therefore, in a most confidential and delicate way, generally by means
of an autograph letter from one sovereign to the other, why it had
taken this step. Such requests are rarely, if ever, made
unconditionally. In recent times, as you know, a few cases have
occurred, one of which at least was a very flagrant one, when the
recall of an ambassador was demanded; but as I have said, I do not
remember another instance where an ambassador was refused when he was
to be newly appointed. My regrets at this refusal are exceedingly
keen, but I am not justified in translating these regrets into a
feeling of vexation, for in justice to our Catholic fellow-citizens
the Government should not relax its exertions in trying to find ways
and means of regulating the dividing line between the spiritual and
the secular powers. Such a division is absolutely necessary in the
interest of our internal peace, and it should be brought about in the
most delicate manner, and in a way which will give least offence to
either confession. I shall, therefore, not be discouraged by what has
happened, but shall continue to use my influence with his Majesty the
Emperor to the end that a representative of the empire may be found
for Rome who enjoys the confidence of both powers, if not in equal
measure, at least in measure sufficient for his duties. I cannot, of
course, deny that our task has been rendered decidedly more difficult
by what has happened.

       *       *       *       *       *




BISMARCK AS THE "HONEST BROKER"

February 19, 1878

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[The complete victory which Russia had won in the Turkish war had
greatly disturbed the European powers, and in Germany much
apprehension was felt for the safety of Austria. England, too, was
much concerned, for she had been displeased at Bismarck's refusal to
intervene in the war. German public opinion was aroused, and the
representative von Bennigsen joined with four colleagues in the
following interpellation, which they made in the Reichstag on February
8: "Is the Chancellor willing to inform the Reichstag of the political
situation in the Orient, and of the position which the German empire
has taken or intends to take in regard to it?" The interpellation was
put on the calendar of February 19, and while Bismarck regarded it as
ill timed he was ready to reply, lest his silence be misunderstood.]

I first ask the indulgence of the Reichstag if I should not be able to
stand while I say everything I have to say. I am not so well as I
look.

With regard to the question, I cannot deny that I was in doubt, when I
first saw the interpellation, not whether I would answer it--for its
form gives me the right to answer it with a "No"--but whether I should
not have to say "No." Do not assume, gentlemen, as one generally does
in such cases, that the reason was because I had to suppress a good
deal which would compromise our policy or restrict it in an
undesirable manner. On the contrary, I have hardly enough to say in
addition to what is already generally known to induce me, of my own
initiative, to make a statement to the representatives of the empire.

The discussions in the English parliament have almost exhaustively
answered one part of the question "What is the political
situation in the Orient at the present time?" If, in spite of the
paucity of the information with which I am addressing you, I do not
say "No" it is because I fear the inference that I have much to
suppress, and because such an inference is always disquieting,
especially when it is coupled with the desire to make capital out of
my silence. I am the more pleased to address you with complete
frankness, because the interpellation and the way it was introduced
have given me the impression that if the German policy wishes to
correspond to the majority opinion of the Reichstag--in so far as I
may consider the recent comments an expression of this opinion--it has
only to continue along the path which it has thus far followed.

Regarding the present situation, I suspect that you already know
everything I can say about it. You know from the press and the English
parliamentary debates that at present one can say in the Orient, "The
arms are idle, and the storms of war are hushed"--God grant, for a
long while! The armistice which has been concluded grants the Russian
army an unbroken position from the Danube to the sea of Marmora, with
a base which it lacked formerly. I mean the fortresses near the
Danube. This fact, which is nowhere denied, seems to me to be the most
important of the whole armistice. There is excluded from the Russian
occupation, if I begin in the north, a quadrangular piece, with Varna
and Shumla, extending along the shore of the Black Sea to Battshila in
the north, and not quite to the Bay of Burgas in the south, thence
inland to about Rasgrad--a pretty exact quadrangle. Constantinople and
the peninsula of Gallipoli are also excluded, the very two points on
whose independence of Russia several interested powers are laying much
stress.

Certain peace preliminaries preceded the armistice, which at the risk
of telling you things you already know I shall nevertheless review
because they will answer the question whether German interests are at
stake in any one of them. There is, in the first place, the
establishment of Bulgaria "within the limits determined by the
majority of the Bulgarian population, and not smaller than indicated
by the conference of Constantinople."

The difference between these two designations is not of sufficient
importance, I believe, to constitute a reasonable danger to the peace
of Europe. The ethnographical information which we possess is, it is
true, not authentic nor without gaps, and the best we know has been
supplied by Germans in the maps by Kiepert. According to this the
national frontier--the frontier of the Bulgarian nationality--runs
down in the west just beyond Salonica, along a line where the races
are rather unmixed, and in the east with an increased admixture of
Turkish elements in the direction of the Black Sea. The frontier of
the conference, on the other hand, so far as it is possible to trace
it, runs--beginning at the sea--considerably farther north than the
national frontier, and two separate Bulgarian provinces are
contemplated. In the west it reaches somewhat farther than the
national frontier into the districts which have an admixture of
Albanian races. The constitution of Bulgaria according to the
preliminaries would be similar to that of Servia before the evacuation
of Belgrade and other strongholds; for this first paragraph of the
preliminaries closes with these words, "The Ottoman army will not
remain there," and, in parenthesis, "barring a few places subject to
mutual agreement."

It will, therefore, devolve upon the powers who signed the Paris
treaty of 1856 to discuss and define those sentences which were left
open and indefinite there, and to come to an agreement with Russia, if
this is possible, as I hope it may be.

Then there follow "The Independence of Montenegro * * * also of
Roumania and Servia;" and directions concerning Bosnia and
Herzegovina, whose reforms "should be analogous."

None of these things, I am convinced, touches the interests of Germany
to such an extent that we should be justified in jeopardizing for
its sake our relations with our neighbors--our friends. We may accept
one or the other definition without loss in our spheres of interest.

Then there follows, under paragraph five, a stipulation concerning the
indemnity of war, which leaves the question open, whether "it should
be pecuniary or territorial." This is a matter which concerns the
belligerents in so far as it may be pecuniary, and the signers of the
Paris treaty of peace in so far as it may be territorial, and will
have to be settled by their consent.

Then there follows the provision concerning the Dardanelles. This, I
believe, has given cause for much more anxiety in the world than is
justified by the actual possibilities of any probable outcome. "His
Majesty the Sultan declares his willingness to come to an agreement
with His Majesty the Emperor of Russia with a view of safeguarding the
rights and interests of Russia in the straits of the Bosphorus and the
Dardanelles."

The question of the Dardanelles is freighted with importance when it
means placing the control there--the key of the Bosphorus--in other
hands than heretofore, and deciding whether Russia shall be able to
close and to open the Dardanelles at will. All other stipulations can
have reference only to times of peace, for in the more important times
of war the question will always hinge on whether the possessor of the
key to the Dardanelles is in alliance with or dependent on those
living outside or inside the Dardanelles, on Russia or on the
opponents of Russia. In case of war, I believe no stipulation which
may be made will have the importance which people fear, provided the
Dardanelles are in times of peace in the possession of people who are
fully independent of Russia. It may be of interest for the people on
the shores of the Mediterranean to know whether the Russian Black Sea
fleet shall be permitted in times of peace to sail through the
Dardanelles and to show itself on their shores. If, however, it shows
itself there, I should infer Peace, like good weather from the
barometer; when it withdraws and carefully secludes itself, then it
is time to suspect that clouds are gathering. The question, therefore,
whether men-of-war shall be permitted to pass the Dardanelles in times
of peace, although by no means unimportant, is to my way of thinking
not sufficiently important to inflame Europe.

The question whether the possession of the Dardanelles shall be
shifted to other owners is entirely different. It constitutes,
however, a conjectural eventuality which the present situation does
not contemplate, I believe, and on which I shall, therefore, express
no opinion. My only concern at present is to give an approximate
definition, as best I can, of those weighty interests which may lead
to another war after the Russian-Turkish war has been actually
concluded. For this reason I deem it important to affirm that the
stipulations of peace concerning the Dardanelles mean less for the
men-of-war than for the merchant marine. The preëminent German
interest in the Orient demands that the waterways, the straits as well
as the Danube from the Black Sea upward, shall continue as free and
open to us as they have been until now. I rather infer that we shall
surely obtain this, for as a matter of fact it has never even been
questioned. An official communication on this point which I have
received from St. Petersburg simply refers to the existing
stipulations of the treaty of Paris. Nothing is jeopardized; our
position can be no worse and no better than it has been.

The interest which we have in a better government of a Christian
nation and in the safeguards against those acts of violence which have
occurred at times, under Turkish rule, is taken care of by the
agreements mentioned above. And this is the second interest which
Germany has in this whole affair. It is less direct, but is dictated
by humanity.

The rest of the preliminary stipulations consists--I will not say of
phrases, for it is an official paper--but it has no bearing on our
present discussion.

With these explanations I have answered to the best of my ability the
first part of the interpellation concerning the present state of
affairs in the Orient, and I fear, gentlemen, that I have said nothing
new to any one of you.

The other parts of the question refer to the position which Germany
has taken or intends to take in view of the now existing conditions
and innovations.

As to the position which we have already taken I cannot now give you
any information, for officially we have been in possession of the
papers to which I have referred only a very short while, I may say
literally only since this very morning. What we knew beforehand was in
general agreement with these papers, but not of a nature to make
official steps possible. It consisted of private communications for
which we were indebted to the courtesy of other governments.

Official steps, therefore, have not yet been taken, and would be
premature in view of the conference, which I hope is at hand. All this
information will then be available and we shall be in a position to
exchange opinions concerning these matters. Any alterations,
therefore, of the stipulations of 1856 will have to be sanctioned. If
they should not be, the result would not necessarily be another war,
but a condition of affairs which all the powers of Europe, I think,
have good cause to avoid. I am almost tempted to call it making a
morass of matters. Let us assume that no agreement about what has to
be done can be reached in the conference, and that the powers who have
a chief interest in opposing the Russian stipulations should say: "At
the present moment it does not suit us to go to war about these
questions, but we are not in accord with your agreements, and we
reserve our decision"--would not that establish a condition of affairs
which cannot be agreeable even to Russia? The Russian policy rightly
says, "We are not desirous of exposing ourselves to the necessity of a
Turkish campaign every ten or twenty years, for it is exhausting,
strenuous, and expensive." But the Russian policy, on the other
hand, cannot wish to substitute for this Turkish danger an
English-Austrian entanglement recurring every ten or twenty years. It
is, therefore, my opinion that Russia is equally interested with the
other powers in reaching an agreement now, and in not deferring it to
some future and perhaps less convenient time.

That Russia could possibly wish to force the other powers by war to
sanction the changes which she deems necessary I consider to be beyond
the realm of probability. If she could not obtain the sanction of the
other signers of the clauses of 1856, she would, I suppose, be
satisfied with the thought "_Beati possidentes_" (happy are the
possessors). Then the question would arise whether those who are
dissatisfied with the Russian agreements and have real and material
interests at stake, would be ready to wage war in order to force
Russia to diminish her demands or to give up some of them. If they
should be successful in forcing Russia to give up more than she could
bear, they would do so at the risk of leaving in Russia, when the
troops come home, a feeling similar to that in Prussia after the
treaties of 1815, a lingering feeling that matters really are not
settled, and that another attempt will have to be made.

If this could be achieved by a war, one would have to regard, as the
aim of this war, the expulsion of Russia from the Bulgarian
strongholds which she is at present occupying, and from her position
which no doubt is threatening Constantinople--although she has given
no indication of a wish to occupy this city. Those who would have
accomplished this by a victorious war, would then have to shoulder the
responsibility of deciding what should be done with these countries of
European Turkey. That they should be willing simply to reinstate the
Turkish rule in its entirety after everything said and determined in
the conference, is, I believe, very improbable. They would, therefore,
be obliged to make some kind of a disposition, which could not differ
very much in principle from what is being proposed now. It might
differ in geographical extent and in the degree of independence, but I
do not believe that Austria-Hungary, for instance, the nearest
neighbor, would be ready to accept the entire heritage of the present
Russian conquest, and be responsible for the future of these Slavic
countries, either by incorporating them in the state of Hungary or
establishing them as dependencies. I do not believe that this is an
end which Austria can much desire in view of her own Slavic subjects.
She cannot wish to be the editor of the future in the Balkan
peninsula, as she would have to be if she won a victory.

I mention all these eventualities, in which I place no faith, for the
sake of proving how slight the reasonable probability of a European
war appears to be. It is not reasonably probable that the greater or
lesser extent of a tributary State--unless conditions were altogether
unbearable--should induce two neighboring and friendly powers to start
a destructive European war in cold blood! The blood will be cooler, I
assure you, when we have at last come together in a conference.

It was to meet these eventualities that the idea of a conference was
first proposed by the government of Austria-Hungary. We were from the
start ready to accept it, and we were almost the first to do so.
Concerning the selection of a place where the conference should be
held, difficulties arose which I consider out of proportion to the
significance of the whole matter. But even in this direction we have
raised no objections and declared ourselves satisfied with the places
which have been mentioned. They were Vienna, Brussels, Baden-Baden,
Wiesbaden, Wildbad, a place in Switzerland--I should, however, say
Wildbad was mentioned by no one but itself. Stuttgart was also
mentioned. Any of these places would have been agreeable to us. It now
seems--if I am correctly informed, and the decision must be made in a
few days--that the choice will fall on Baden-Baden. Our interest,
which is shared by those powers with whom we have corresponded, is the
despatch of the conference irrespective of the choice of a place,
which is for us of little consequence. As regards places in Germany I
have expressed no opinion beyond this, that on German soil the
presidency would have to be German. This view has nowhere been
opposed. After the general acceptance of this principle it will depend
on the men sent to attend this conference whether for reasons of
expediency it must be adhered to. Personally I believe the conference
is assured, and I expect that it will take place in the first half of
next March. It would be desirable that the conference should take
place sooner--and the uncertainty concerning it be ended. But before
the powers join in a conference, they naturally desire an exchange of
opinion the one with the other; and the connections with the seat of
war are really very slow. The delay of the communications which
reached us was, and still is, explained by the delay with which news
comes from the seat of war. The suspicion which has for some time been
felt in the press that this delay was intentional becomes unfounded
when one realizes that the advance of the Russian army following
January 30 was in consequence of the stipulations of the armistice,
and did not constitute an advantage taken of an opportune moment. The
boundaries within which the Russian army is stationed today are the
lines of demarcation expressly mentioned in the armistice. I do not
believe in any intentional delay from anywhere; on the contrary, I
have confidence in the good intentions everywhere to send
representatives to the conference speedily. We certainly shall do our
part to the best of our ability.

I now come to the most difficult part--excuse me if I continue for the
present seated--I come to the most difficult part of the task set me,
an explanation, so far as this is possible, of the position which
Germany is to take in the conference. In this connection you will not
expect from me anything but general indications of our policy. Its
programme Mr. von Bennigsen has developed before you clearly and
comprehensively, almost more so than nay strength at the present
moment permits me to do.

When from many quarters the demand has been made upon us--to be sure
from no government, but only from voices in the press and other well
meaning advisers--that e should define our policy from the start and
force it on the other governments in some form, I must say that this
seems to me to be newspaper diplomacy rather than the diplomacy of a
statesman.

Let me explain to you at once the difficulty and impossibility of such
a course. If we did express a definite programme, which we should be
obliged to follow when we had announced it officially and openly not
only before you, but also before the whole of Europe, should we not
then place a premium on the contentiousness of all those who
considered our programme to be not favorable to themselves!

We should also render the part of mediation in the conference, which I
deem very important, almost impossible for ourselves, because
everybody with the _menu_ of the German policy in his hand could say
to us: "German mediation can go just so far; it can do this, and this
it cannot do." It is quite possible that the free hand which Germany
has preserved, and the uncertainty of Germany's decisions have not
been without influence on the preservation of peace thus far. If you
play the German card, laying it on the table, everybody knows how to
adapt himself to it or how to avoid it. Such a course is impracticable
if you wish to preserve peace. The adjustment of peace does not, I
believe, consist in our playing the arbiter, saying: "It must be thus,
and the weight of the German empire stands behind it." Peace is
brought about, I think, more modestly. Without straining the simile
which I am quoting from our everyday life, it partakes more of the
behavior of the honest broker, who really wishes to bring about a
bargain.

As long as we follow this policy we are in the position to save a
power which has secret wishes from the embarrassment of meeting with a
refusal or an unpleasant reply from its--let me say, congressional
opponent. If we are equally friendly with both, we can first sound one
and then say to the other: "Do not do that, try to arrange matters in
this way." These are helps in business which should be highly
esteemed. I have an experience of many years in such matters, and it
has been brought home to me often, that when two are alone the thread
drops more frequently and is not picked up because of false shame. The
moment when it could be picked up passes, people separate in silence,
and are annoyed. If, however, a third person is present, he can pick
up the thread without much ado, and bring the two together again when
they have parted. This is the function of which I am thinking and
which corresponds to the amicable relations in which we are living
with our friendly neighbors along our extensive borders. It is
moreover in keeping with the union among the three imperial courts
which has existed for five years, and the intimacy which we enjoy with
England, another one of the powers chiefly concerned in this matter.
As regards England we are in the fortunate position of not having any
conflicting interests, except perhaps some trade rivalries or passing
annoyances. These latter cannot be avoided, but there is absolutely
nothing which could drive two industrious and peace-loving nations to
war. I happily believe, therefore, that we may be the mediator between
England and Russia, just as I know we are between Austria and Russia,
if they should not be able to agree of their own accord.

The three-emperor-pact, if one wishes to call it such, while it is
generally called a treaty, is not based on any written obligations,
and no one of the three emperors can be voted down by the other two.
It is based on the personal sympathy among the three rulers, on the
personal confidence which they have in one another, and on the
personal relations which for many years have existed among the leading
ministers of all three empires.

We have always avoided forming a majority of two against one when
there was a difference of opinion between Austria and Russia, and we
have never definitely taken the part of one of them, even if our own
desires drew us more strongly in that direction. We have refrained
from this for fear that the tie might not be sufficiently strong
after all. It surely cannot be so strong that it could induce one of
these great powers to disregard its own incontestably national
interests for the sake of being obliging. That is a sacrifice which no
great power makes _pour les beaux yeux_ of another. Such a sacrifice
it makes only when arguments are replaced by hints of strength. Then
it may happen that the great power will say: "I hate to make this
concession, but I hate even worse to go to war with so strong a power
as Germany. Still I will remember this and make a note of it." That is
about the way in which such things are received. And this leads me to
the necessity of vigorously opposing all exaggerated demands made on
Germany's mediation. Let me declare that they are out of the question
so long as I have the honor of being the adviser of His Majesty.

I know that in saying this I am disappointing a great many
expectations raised in connection with today's disclosures, but I am
not of the opinion that we should go the road of Napoleon and try to
be, if not the arbiter, at least the schoolmaster of Europe.

I have here a clipping given me today from the _Allgemeine Zeitung,_
which contains a noteworthy article entitled "The Policy of Germany in
the Decisive Hour." This article demands as necessary the admission of
a third power to the alliance of England and Austria. That means, we
shall take part with England and Austria and deprive Russia of the
credit of voluntarily making the concessions which she may be willing
to grant in the interest of European peace. I do not doubt that Russia
will sacrifice for the sake of peace in Europe whatever her sense of
nationality and her own interests and those of eighty million Russians
permit. It is really superfluous to say this. And now please assume
that we took the advice of the gentlemen who think that we should play
the part of an arbiter--I have here another article from a Berlin
paper, called "Germany's Part as Arbiter"--and that we declared to
Russia in some polite and amicable way: "We have been friends, it is
true, for hundreds of years, Russia has ever been true-blue to us when
we were in difficulties, but now things are different. In the
interest of Europe, as the policemen of Europe, as a kind of a justice
of the peace, we must do as we are requested, we can no longer resist
the demands of Europe ...," what would be the result?

There are considerable numbers of Russians who do not love Germany,
and who fortunately are not at the helm now, but who would not be
unhappy if they were called there. What would they say to their
compatriots, they and perhaps other statesmen who at present are not
yet avowedly hostile to us? They would say: "With what sacrifices of
blood and men and money have we not won the position which for
centuries has been the ideal of Russian ambition! We could have
maintained it against those opponents who may have a real interest in
combating it. It was not Austria, with whom we have lived on
moderately intimate terms for some time, it was not England, who
possesses openly acknowledged counter-interests to ours--no, it was
our intimate friend Germany who drew, behind our back, not her sword
but a dagger, although we might have expected from her services in
return for services rendered, and although she has _no_ interests in
the Orient."

Those approximately would be the phrases, and this the theme which we
should hear in Russia. This picture which I have drawn in exaggerated
lines--but the Russian orators also exaggerate--corresponds with the
truth. We, however, shall never assume the responsibility of
sacrificing the certain friendship of a great nation, tested through
generations, to the momentary temptation of playing the judge in
Europe.

To jeopardize the friendship which fortunately binds us to most
European states and at the present moment to all,--for the parties to
whom it is an eyesore are not in power,--to jeopardize, I say, this
friendship with one friend in order to oblige another, when we as
Germans have no direct interests, and to buy the peace of others at
the cost of our own, or, to speak with college boys, to substitute at
a duel--such things one may do when one risks only one's own life, but
I cannot do them when I have to counsel His Majesty the Emperor as
regards the policy of a great State of forty million people in the
heart of Europe. From this tribune I therefore take the liberty of
saying a very definite "No" to all such imputations and suggestions. I
shall under no condition do anything of the kind; and no government,
none of those primarily interested, has made any such demands.
Germany, as the last speaker remarked, has grown to new
responsibilities as it has grown stronger. But even if we are able to
throw a large armed force into the scales of European policies, I do
not consider anybody justified in advising the emperor and the princes
(who would have to discuss the matter in the Bundesrat if we wished to
wage an offensive war) to make an appeal to the proven readiness of
the nation to offer blood and money for a war. The only war which I am
ready to counsel to the emperor is one to protect our independence
abroad and our union at home, or to defend those of our interests
which are so clear that we are supported, if we insist on them, not
only by the unanimous vote of the Bundesrat, which is necessary, but
also by the undivided enthusiasm of the whole German nation.




SALUS PUBLICA--BISMARCK'S ONLY LODE-STAR

February 24, 1881

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[On February 24, 1881, the budget of the empire for the ensuing year
was under discussion. The representative, Mr. Richter, made use of
this opportunity to attack the home-politics of the chancellor in
their entirety. He felt great concern about the growing power of the
chancellor, and called upon his liberal colleagues to stem the tide,
and to curb the power of the chancellor. "Only if this is done will
the great gifts which distinguish the chancellor continue to be
fruitful for Germany. If this is not possible, and if we go on as we
have been going, the chancellor will ruin himself, and he will ruin
the country." Prince Bismarck replied:]

The remarks of the previous speaker have hardly touched on the subject
under discussion, the budget, since I have been here. Consequently I
am excused, I suppose, from adding anything to what the secretary of
the treasury has said. The previous speaker has mainly concerned
himself with a critique of my personality. The number of times the
word "chancellor" appears in his speech in proportion to the total
number of words sufficiently justifies my assertion. Well, I do not
know what is the use of this critique, if not to instruct me and to
educate me. But I am in my sixty-sixth year and in the twentieth of my
tenure of office--there will not be much in me to improve. You will
have to use me up as I am or push me aside. I, on my part, have never
made the attempt to educate the Honorable Mr. Richter--I do not think
I am called upon to do it; nor have I endeavored to force him from his
sphere of activity--I should not have the means of doing this, nor do
I wish it. But I believe he in his turn will lack the means of forcing
me from my position. Whether he will be able to compress me and
circumscribe me, as toward the end of his speech he said was
desirable, I do not know. I am, however, truly grateful to him for the
concern he expressed about my health. Unfortunately, if I wish to do
my duty, I cannot take such care of myself as Mr. Richter deems
desirable--I shall have to risk my health.

When he said that every evil troubling us, even the rate of interest
and I know not what else, was based on the uncertainty of our
conditions, and when he quoted the word of a colleague of a "hopeless
confusion"--well, gentlemen, then I must repeat what I have said
elsewhere and in the hearing of the Honorable Mr. Richter: Make a
comparison and look about you in other countries! If our conditions
with their ordered activities and their assured future at home and
abroad constitute a "hopeless confusion," how shall we characterize
the conditions of many another country? I can see in no European
country a condition of safety and an assured outlook into the future
similar to that prevailing in the German empire. I have already said
on the former occasion that my position as minister of foreign affairs
made it impossible for me to be specific. But everyone who will follow
my remarks with a map in his hand, and a knowledge of history during
the past twenty years, will have to say that I am right. I do not know
what is the use of these exaggerations of a "hopeless confusion" and
"a lack of assurance and uncertainty of the future." Nobody in the
country believes it; and isn't that the chief thing? The people in the
country know perfectly well how they are off, and all who do not fare
as they wish are pleased to blame the government for it. When a
candidate comes up for election, and says to them: "The government--or
to quote the previous speaker--the chancellor is to blame for all
this," he may find many credulous people, but in the majority he will
find people who will say: "The chancellor surely has his faults and
drawbacks"--but most people will not be convinced that I am to blame
for everything. I am faring in this respect like Emperor Napoleon
twelve years and more ago, who was accused, not in his own country
but in Europe, as the cause of all evils, from Tartary to Spain, and
he was not nearly so bad a creature as he was said to be--may I not
also claim the benefit of this doubt with Mr. Richter? I, too, am not
so bad as I am painted. His attack upon me, moreover, if he will stop
to reflect, is largely directed not against me personally, or against
that part of my activities in which I possess freedom of action,
no--it is directed primarily against the constitution of the German
empire. The constitution of the German empire knows no other
responsible officer but the chancellor. I might assert that my
constitutional responsibility does not go nearly so far as the one
actually placed upon me; and I might take things a little easier and
say: "I have nothing to do with the home policies of the empire, for I
am only the emperor's executive officer." But I will not do this. From
the beginning I have assumed the responsibility, and also the
obligation, of defending the decisions of the Bundesrat, provided I
can reconcile them with my responsibility, even if I find myself there
in the minority. This responsibility I will take as public opinion
understands it. Nobody, however, can be held responsible for acts and
resolves not his own. No responsibility can be foisted on anybody--nor
did the imperial constitution intend to do this--for acts which do not
depend on his own free will, and into which he can be forced. The
responsible person, therefore, must enjoy complete independence and
freedom within the sphere of his responsibility. If he does not, all
responsibility ceases; and _I_ do not know on whose shoulders it will
rest--so far as the empire is concerned it has disappeared completely.

As long, therefore, as Mr. Richter does not change the constitution,
you yourselves must insist on having a chancellor who is absolutely
free and independent in his decisions, for no man can hold him
responsible for those things which he is unable to decide for himself,
freely and independently. Mr. Richter has expressed the wish of
limiting in several directions this constitutional independence of the
chancellor. In the first place, in one direction where it is already
limited and where he wishes to have it disappear entirely. This
concerns his responsibility for those acts in our political life which
the constitution assigns to the emperor in connection with the
decisions of the Bundesrat and the Reichstag. There can be no doubt
that these acts include also those which have to be performed, as the
constitution says, in the name of the emperor; the submission, for
instance, to the Reichstag of a resolve of the Bundesrat. Mr. Richter
has correctly quoted an incident, mentioned in the _North German
Gazette_, concerning the resolves on some collected cases of
accidents, which I considered it incompatible with my responsibility
to submit to you in the name of the emperor. I, therefore, did not do
it. One may well ask: What has the constitutional law to say on this
point? Was I justified in not acting? Was the emperor justified in not
acting! Or was His Majesty the Emperor bound by the constitution to
submit to you the resolve of the Bundesrat?

At the time when the constitution was being drawn I once discussed
this point with an astute jurist, who had long been and still is with
us in an important position--Mr. Pape. He said to me: "The emperor has
no veto." I replied, "Constitutionally he has not, but suppose a
measure is expected of him which he thinks he should not take, and
against which his then chancellor warns him, saying: I cannot advocate
it, and I shall not countersign it. Well, in this case is the emperor
obliged to look for another chancellor, and to dismiss him who opposes
the measure? Is he obliged to accept anyone as chancellor, suggested
perhaps by the other party? Will he look for a second or third
chancellor, both of whom may say: We cannot assume the responsibility
for this bill by submitting it to the Reichstag?" Hereupon Mr. Pape
replied: "You are right, the emperor possesses an indirect but actual
veto."

I do not even go so far, for none of these cases are pressed to their
logical conclusion. Let us, however, take a concrete case, which will
make these matters perfectly clear. Suppose the majority of the
Bundesrat had passed a bill with the approval of Prussia, but Prussia
had made the mistake of not calling upon the Prussian minister
designated to instruct the Prussian delegation in the Bundesrat; or
even--Prussia had consented and the minister had been present, and had
been in the minority also in the Prussian cabinet, and the emperor had
directed him to submit the resolves of the Bundesrat to the Reichstag,
to which the chancellor had replied: "I do not believe that I can
answer for this, or that my responsibility permits me to do it." Then
there results the possibility of the emperor's saying: "If that is so,
I must look for another chancellor." This did not happen; another
thing happened, namely--the resolve was not submitted. The ensuing
situation is this, that the persons entitled to complain--if there are
any--constitute the majority of the governments who passed this
resolve in the Bundesrat.

This points the proper way, and I believe in weighty questions it
would be taken to the end. In the present case if one were to make a
test of what is really right, the majority of the Bundesrat would have
to represent to His Majesty as follows: "We have passed a resolve, and
our constitutional right demands that the emperor submit it to the
Reichstag. We demand that this be done." The emperor might reply: "I
will not investigate the law of the case to see whether I am obliged
to act. I will assume that I am, and I do not refuse to act, but for
the present I have no chancellor willing to countersign the order." In
such a case can the chancellor be ordered to sign, because he shall
and must do so? Can he be threatened with imprisonment as is done with
recalcitrant witnesses? What would then become of his responsibility!
If the chancellor continues to refuse, the majority of the Bundesrat
may say to the emperor: "You must dismiss this chancellor and get
another. We insist that our resolve be laid before the Reichstag. If
this is not done, the constitution will be broken." Well, gentlemen,
why not wait and see whether this will happen, and whether those
entitled to complain will take this course, and if they do, whether
His Majesty the Emperor will not be ready to say after all: "All
right, I shall try to find a chancellor who is willing to submit the
resolve."

I shall, of course, not enter here upon a discussion of the reasons
which determined me in this concrete case. They were reasons not found
in shut-in offices, but in God's open country, and they induced me to
deem the enactment of this law undesirable. I did not possess the
certainty that a majority of this house would have seen the
impossibility of carrying out the law, but I did not wish to expose
the country to the danger--it was a danger according to my way of
thinking--of getting this law. The only moment when I could guard
against this danger was when the law was to be submitted in the name
of the emperor. The constitutional remedy against such a use of an
opportunity is a change of chancellors. I can see no other remedy.

Mentioning the Reichstag brings me to my coöperation with it. Mr.
Richter's ideal is, it seems to me, a bashful, cautious chancellor who
throws out careful feelers whether he may offend here, if he does
this, or offend there--one who does not wait for a final vote of the
Reichstag, but rushes home excitedly, as I have often seen my
colleagues do, exclaiming: "Oh God, the law is lost, this man and that
man are opposed to it"--and three weeks later the law has Passed in
spite of them. I cannot enter upon such a policy of conjecture and
proof by inference of what may be determined in the Reichstag when the
tendency of those who talk the loudest, but who are not always the
most influential, happens to be against a bill; and if Mr. Richter
should succeed in procuring such a timid chancellor anxiously listening
for every hint, my advice to you, gentlemen, is to tolerate him in
this position as briefly as possible. For if a leading minister--and
such he is in the empire--has no opinion his own, and must hear from
others what he should believe and do, then you do not need him at
all. What Mr. Richter proposes is the government of the State by the
Reichstag, the government of the State by itself, as it has been
called in France, by its own chosen representatives. A chancellor, a
minister who does not dare to submit a bill of the ultimate success of
which he is not absolutely sure is no minister. He might as well move
among you with the white sign (of a page) inquiring whether you will
permit him to submit this or that. For such a part I am not made!

To what extent I am ready to submit to the Bundesrat I have already
tried to explain, and I have closed with these words "_sub judice lis
est_" (the case is still in court). I need not say now whether my
constitutional conviction would make me yield to the majority of the
Bundesrat, if they should demand it. This question has not yet arisen;
the majority has not demanded it. Whether I shall maintain my
opposition, if the demand is pressed, to this question I reply: _non
liquet_ (it is a moot-point); we shall see what happens. Such things
are eventually decided by the old law which the Romans were astonished
to find with the Germans, and of which they said, "They call it
usage." Such a usage has not yet developed in connection with the
interpretation of our constitution.

Finally, Mr. Richter has found in me too much independence in a third
direction. He has been pleased to believe--if I understood him
correctly--that the law concerning ministerial deputies would give me
the welcome opportunity of withdrawing to a more ornamental position,
to use his own expression, and to leave the duties and activities to
those who are deputed to represent me, establishing thus also in the
imperial government the famous arcanum of decisions by majorities. But
here, too, I must say that Mr. Richter will have to change the
constitution before I shall be able to subordinate myself to the
highest officials of the empire. How can I appear before you saying:
"Well, gentlemen, I am very doubtful whether I can advocate this
measure, but the secretary in whose bureau it was worked out thinks
so, and following Mr. Richter's advice I have yielded to his
authority. If you do not adopt this measure you will gratify me, but
not the secretary?" This, too, would be an altogether impossible
position, although Mr. Richter is expecting it of me.

The chiefs of the bureaus are not responsible for me, except in so far
as the law of deputies substitutes them for me but I am responsible
for their actions. I have to guarantee that they are statesmen in
general accord with the policy of the empire which I am willing to
advocate. If I miss this accord in one of them, not once but
continually and on principle, then it is my duty to tell him: "We
cannot remain in office, both of us." This, too, is a task which I
have never shirked when it has presented itself. It is simply my duty.
I have never had need of such artful machinations and pyrotechnics as
people claimed I instituted very wilfully last week. You need not
think that ministers stick to their posts like many other high
officials, whom not even the broadest hints can convince that their
time has come. I have not yet found a minister in these days who had
not to be persuaded every now and then to continue a little longer in
office, and not to be discouraged by his hard and exhausting labor,
due to the simultaneous friction with three parliamentary bodies--a
House of Representatives, a House of Lords, and a Reichstag--where one
relieves another, or two, without waiting to be relieved, are in
session at the same time. And when the fight is over and the
representatives have returned home well satisfied, then a bureau chief
comes to the minister on the day after, saying: "It is time now to get
the recommendations for the next session into shape."

The whole business, moreover, while very honorable, is scarcely
pleasurable. Is any one obliged to submit to such public, sharp and
impolite criticisms as a German minister? Is it true of anyone but him
that the behavior customary among people of culture does not prevail
when he addressed? Without the least scruple one says things to him
publicly which one would be ashamed to say to him privately, if one
were to meet him in a drawing-room, for instance. I should not say
this here if the Reichstag did not hold an exceptional position in
Germany in these matters as well as in everything else. Here I have
never had to hear, so far as I remember, as sharp remarks as in other
assemblies. At any rate I have a conciliatory memory. But on the whole
you will agree with me that the tone of our public debates is less
elevated than that of our social gatherings, especially when our
ministers are addressed, but at times even among fellow members,
although of this I am no competent critic. I do not even criticize the
behavior toward the ministers, for I am hardened by an experience of
many years and can stand it. I am merely describing the reasons why no
minister clings to his post, and why you do me an injustice if you
believe that it takes an artful effort to make a minister yield his
place. Not many of them have been accustomed to see a totally ignorant
correspondent tear an experienced minister to pieces in the press as
if he were a stupid schoolboy. We see this in every newspaper every
day, but we can stand it. We do not complain. But can anyone say that
the members of the government--the bureau chiefs frequently fare even
worse--meet in the parliamentary debates with that urbaneness of
demeanor which characterizes our best society? I do not say "no,"
leaving it to you to answer this question. I only say that the
business of being a minister is very arduous and cheerless, subject to
vexations and decidedly exhausting. This brings it about that the
ministers are habitually in a mood which makes them readily give up
their places as soon as they have found another excuse than the
simple: I have had enough, I do not care for more, I am tired of it.

The changes of ministers, however, have not been so many nor so quick
with us as they are in other countries, and this I may mention to Mr.
Richter as a proof of my amiability as a colleague. Count, if you
will, the number of ministers who have crossed the public stage since
I entered office in 1862, and sum up the resignations due to other
than parliamentary reasons, and you will find a result exceedingly
favorable to the accommodating spirit of the German minister when it
is compared with that of any other country. I consider, therefore, the
insinuating references to my quarrelsome disposition and fickleness
distinctly wide of the mark.

In this connection I shall take the liberty of referring with one more
word to the reproaches, often occurring in the press and also in the
Reichstag, that I had frequently and abruptly changed my views. Well,
I am not one of those who at any time of their life have believed, or
believe today, that they can learn no more. If a man says to me:
"Twenty years ago you held the same opinion as I; I still hold it, but
you have changed your views," I reply: "You see, I was as clever
twenty years ago as you are today. Today I know more, I have learned
things in these twenty years." But, gentlemen, I will not even rely on
the justice of the remark that the man who does not learn also fails
to progress and cannot keep abreast of his time. People are falling
behind when they remain rooted in the position they occupied years
ago. However, I do not at all intend to excuse myself with such
observations, for _I have always had one compass only, one lode-star
by which I have steered: Salus Publica, the welfare of the State_.
Possibly I have often acted rashly and hastily since I first began my
career, but whenever I had time to think I have always acted according
to the question, "What is useful, advantageous, and right for my
fatherland, and--as long as this was only Prussia--for my dynasty, and
today--for the German nation?" I have never been a theorist. The
systems which bin and separate parties are for me of secondary
importance. The nation comes first, its position in the world and its
independence, and above all our organization along lines inch will
make it possible for us to draw the free breath of a great nation.

Everything else, a liberal, reactionary, or conservative
constitution--gentlemen, I freely confess, all this I consider in
second place. It is the luxury of furnishing the house, when the house
is firmly established. In the interest of the country I can parley now
with one person, now with another in purely party questions. Theories
I barter away cheaply. First let us build a structure secure on the
outside and firmly knit on the inside, and protected by the ties of a
national union. After that, when you ask my advice about furnishing
the house with more or less liberal constitutional fittings, you may
perhaps hear me say, "Ah well, I have no preconceived ideas. Make your
suggestions, and, when the sovereign whom I serve agrees, you will
find no objections on principle on my part." It can be done thus, and
again thus. There are many roads leading to Rome. There are times
when one should govern liberally, and times when one should govern
autocratically. Everything changes. Nothing is eternal in these
matters. But of the structure of the German empire and the union of
the German nation I demand that they be free and unassailable, with
not only a passing field fortification on one side. I have given to
its creation and growth my entire strength from the very beginning.
And if you point to a single moment when I have not steered by this
direction of the compass-needle, you may perhaps prove that I have
erred, but you cannot prove that I have for one moment lost sight of
the national goal.

[Illustration: PRINCE BISMARCK FRANZ VON LENBACH]

       *       *       *       *       *



PRACTICAL CHRISTIANITY

April 2, 1881

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[Prince Bismarck was trying to fight the revolutionary parties, not
only with such restrictive laws as had been passed against the
Socialists, but also with constructive measures like the one which had
been submitted to the Reichstag on March 8, 1881. It proposed the
insurance of the workingman against accidents, and the founding of a
governmental insurance company. The bill was severely criticized,
notably by Eugen Richter, who did not miss the opportunity of
attacking also the chancellor personally. Prince Bismarck's reply made
a deep impression in the country at large. The bill itself, however,
was so badly amended in the Reichstag, that Bismarck urged the
Bundesrat to reject it, which it did. Several changes, thereupon, were
made in the bill, and, after having been delayed in committee, it was
again brought up for discussion in 1884, when another exhaustive
speech by the chancellor, on March 15, brought about its acceptance.]

Before turning to the subject in hand, I wish to reply to some remarks
of the previous speaker, lest I forget them--they are of so little
weight. He finished by saying that my prestige was waning. If he were
right, I should feel like saying "Thank God," for prestige is a very
burdensome affair. One suffers under its weight, and quickly gets
tired of it. I do not care a farthing for it. When I was very much
younger, about as old as the previous speaker is now, and when I was
possibly still more ambitious than he, I lived for years without
prestige, and was actually disliked, if not hated, by the majority of
my fellow-citizens. At that time I felt better and more contented, and
was healthier than during the years when I was most popular.

Such things do not mean much to me. I am doing my duty, let come what
may.

As proof of his assertion the previous speaker claimed that the
workingmen are refusing the help which the Imperial Government is
trying to offer them. This he cannot possibly know. He has no idea of
what the great mass of the workingmen are thinking. Probably he has
some accurate information of what the eloquent place-hunters are
thinking of the bill, people who are at the head of the labor
movements, and the professional publicists, who need a following of
workingmen--dissatisfied workingmen. But as to the workingman in
general, we had better wait and see what he is thinking. I do not know
whether the full meaning of this question has even yet sufficiently
penetrated into his circles to make it a subject of discussion, except
in the learned clubs of laborers, and among the leading place-hunters
and speakers. In the next election we shall be able to tell whether
the workingmen have formed their opinion of the bill by then, not to
speak of now.

The legislation on which we are entering with this bill has to do with
a question which will probably stay on your calendar for a long while.
The previous speaker has correctly said that "it opens up a very deep
perspective," and it is not at all impossible that it may also make
the moderate Socialists judge more kindly of the government. We have
been talking of a social question for fifty years; and, since the
passage of the law against the Socialists, I have been constantly
reminded, officially, from high quarters, and by the people, that we
gave a promise at that time. Something positive should be done to
remove the causes for Socialism, in so far as they are legitimate. _I_
have received such reminders daily. Nor do I believe that this social
question, which has been before us for fifty years now, will be
definitely settled even by our children and children's children. No
political question ever reaches so complete a mathematical solution
that the books can be balanced. Such questions arise, abide a while
and finally give way to other historical problems. This is the way of
organic developments.

I deem it my duty to take up this question quietly and without party
vehemence, because I do not know who else could do this successfully
if not the Imperial Government. It is a pity that party questions
should be mixed up in it. The previous speaker has referred to a
supposedly active exchange of telegrams between "certain parties" and
"an high official," which in this case, I must believe, means me. I am
mentioning this, in passing, because he said the same thing a few days
ago in another speech. Gentlemen, this is a very simple matter. I
receive thousands of telegrams; and, being a polite man, I should
probably reply also to a telegram from Mr. Richter, if he were to
honor me with a friendly despatch. When I am cordially addressed in a
message, I have to reply in cordial terms. I cannot possibly have the
police ascertain to what party the senders belong. Nor am I so
diffident in my views that I should wish to catechize the senders as
to their political affiliations. If anybody takes pleasure in making
me appear to be a member of anti-semitic societies, let him do so. I
have kept away from all undesirable movements, as my position demands,
and I could wish that also you gentlemen would refrain more than
heretofore from inciting the classes against each other, and from
oratorical phrases which fan class-hatred. This refers especially to
those gentlemen who have bestowed their kind attention upon the
Government and upon me personally. When we heard the representative,
Mr. Lasker, say the other day that the policy of the government was
aristocratic, this term was bound to render the whole aristocracy and
what belongs to it suspected of selfishness in the eyes of the poor
men, at whose expense the aristocracy seemingly exists. When such
expressions fall on anti-semitic ground, how is it possible to avoid
reprisals? The anti-semites will coin their own word with which to
designate--as they think appropriately--the policies opposed to ours.
The resulting epithet I do not care to mention; every one will think
of it himself. When afterwards a newspaper like the _Tribune_, which
is said to be owned by Mr. Bamberger, makes itself the mouthpiece of
Mr. Lasker's expression, claiming it to be correct, and hailing the
invention of this word as a discovery worthy of Columbus, and when the
_Tribune_ finally asserts that "care for the poor" and "aristocracy"
cannot exist in the same train of thought, can you not imagine what
will happen when all this is turned around, and altered by an
anti-semite? Are you in doubt what he will substitute for
"aristocracy," and do you not know that he will repeat every twist and
turn of speech with which Mr. Bamberger's sheet imputes selfish
injustice to the aristocracy?

The representative Mr. Richter has called attention to the
responsibility of the State for everything it does in the field on
which it is entering today. Well, gentlemen, I feel that the State may
become responsible also for the things it does _not_ do. I do not
believe that the "_laissez faire, laissez aller_, theory," and the
unadulterated political theories of Manchester, such as "let each one
do what he chooses, and fare as he will," or "who is not strong enough
to stand, let him be crushed," or "he who has will receive more, and
he who has not from him let us take," can be practised in any State,
least of all in a monarchical State, governed by the father of his
country. On the contrary, I believe that those who shudder at the
State exerting its influence for the protection of the weaker
brethren, themselves intend to capitalize their strength--be it
financial, rhetorical, or what not--that they may gain a following, or
oppress the rest, or smooth their own way to party control. They
become angry, of course, as soon as their plans are spoiled by the
rising influence of the State.

The representative Mr. Richter says this legislation does not go far
enough. If he will have patience, we may perhaps be able to satisfy
him a little later--one should not be hasty or try to do everything at
once! Such laws are not made arbitrarily out of theories and as the
result of asking "what kind of law would it be wise to make now?"
They are the gradual outgrowth of earlier events. The reason why we
come to you today only with an accident-insurance law is because this
branch of the care of the poor and the weak was especially vigorous
even before I seriously concerned myself with such matters. Bequests,
suggestions, and notes for such a bill were on file when I assumed
office. According to the records this bill was needed more than any
other. When I began to study it, I must confess that it did not seem
to me to go far enough in theory, and that I was tempted to change the
words which occur, I believe in the first paragraph, "every workingman
who" and "shall be reimbursed in such and such a way," to read, "every
German." There is something ideal in this change. If one thinks of it
more seriously, however, and especially if one plans to include also
the independent workmen, who meet with an accident at no one's behest
but their own, the question of insurance is even more difficult. No
two hours' speech of any representative can give us so much concern as
this problem has given us: "How far is it possible to extend this law
without creating at the very start an unfavorable condition, or
reaching out too far and thus overreaching ourselves?" As a farmer I
was tempted to ask, whether it would be possible to extend the
insurance, for instance, also to the farmhands, who constitute the
majority of the workingmen in our eastern provinces. I shall not give
up hope that this may be possible, but there are difficulties, which
for the time being have prevented us from doing this; and concerning
these I wish to say a few words.

The farming industry, in so far as it has to do with machinery and
elemental forces, is, of course, not excluded from the law. But the
remaining great majority of the country population also comes in
frequent contact with machines, although these are set in motion not
by elemental forces, but by horses or fellow-laborers. Such
occupations are often dangerous and unwholesome, but it is
exceedingly difficult to gather statistics and percentages, and to
define the necessary amount of contributions to an insurance fund.
The representative Mr. Richter knows, apparently from experience, the
proper percentage in every branch of human occupation, for he has
quoted his figures with much assurance. I should be grateful to him if
he would mention also the source of his valuable information. We have
done the best we could. The preliminary drafts of the bill were based
on carefully selected facts--notice please, selected facts, and not
arbitrary statistics based on conjecture. If we had discovered those
figures, which the quicker eye of the honorable Mr. Richter seems to
have detected at a glance, and if we had believed them to be accurate,
we should have gone further in this bill.

When I say that I do not give up hope that the farming industry may
yet be included, I am thinking of an organization which cannot be
created at one session of the Reichstag. Like the child which must be
small if it is to be born at all, and which gradually assumes its
proper proportions by growth, so also this organization will have to
develop gradually. Eventually the various branches of industry which
have insured their laborers should be formed into incorporated
associations, and each association should raise among its own members
the premiums needed for the proper insurance of its laborers. It
should at the same time exercise supervision over its members to the
extent that the dues should be as low as possible. Or, to put it
differently, the personal interest of the contributing members should
see to it that adequate means for the prevention of accidents are
adopted. If this can be accomplished by a gradual advance based on
experience, we may also hope to find, by experience, the proper
percentage as regards that branch of farming which does not employ
elemental forces.

Our lack of experience in these matters has also induced us to be very
careful about the assessment of the necessary contributions. I
certainly should not have the courage to press this bill if the
expenses which it entails were to be borne exclusively by the various
industries. If the assistance which the State would render--either by
provincial or county associations, or directly--were to be entirely
omitted, I should not dare to answer to our industries for the
consequences of this law. Perhaps this can be done, and after a few
years of experience we may be able to judge whether it is possible.
The State contribution, therefore, may be limited at first to three
years, or to whatever period you wish. But without any actual
experience, without any practical test of what we are to expect, I do
not dare to burden our industries with all the expenses of this
government-institution, and to add to their taxes. I do not dare to
place upon them the whole burden of caring for the injured factory or
mill hands. The county associations used to do this, and in the future
it will be done more fully and in a more dignified way by the insurers
and the State.

No entirely new charges are here contemplated; the charges are merely
transferred from the county associations to the State. I do not deny
that the tax of him who pays and the advantages which accrue to the
laborer will be increased. The increase, however, does not equal the
full third which the State is to bear, but only the difference between
what at present the county associations are obliged to do for the
injured workingmen, and what these men will receive in future. You
see, it is purely a question of improving the lot of the laboring man.
This difference, therefore, is the only new charge on the State, with
which you have to reckon. And you will have to ask yourselves: "Is the
advantage gained worth this difference,--when we aim to procure for
the laborer who has been injured a better and more adequate support,
and relieve him of the necessity of having to fight for his right in
court, and when he will receive without delay the moderate stipend
which the State decrees?" I feel like answering the question with a
strong affirmative.

Our present poor laws keep the injured laboring man from starvation.
According to law, at least, nobody need starve. Whether in reality
this never happens I do not know. But this is not enough in order to
let the men look contentedly into the future and to their own old age.
The present bill intends to keep the sense of human dignity alive
which even the poorest German should enjoy, if I have my way. He
should feel that he is no mere eleemosynary, but that he possesses a
fund which is his very own. No one shall have the right to dispose of
it, or to take it from him, however poor he may be. This fund will
open for him many a door, which otherwise will remain closed to him
and it will secure for him better treatment in the house where he has
been received, because when he leaves he can take away with him
whatever contributions he has been making to the household expenses.

If you have ever personally investigated the conditions of the poor in
our large cities, or of the village paupers in the country, you have
been able to observe the wretched treatment which the poor
occasionally receive even in the best managed communities, especially
if they are physically weak or crippled. This happens in the houses of
their stepmothers, or relatives of any kind, yes also in those of
their nearest of kin. Knowing this, are you not obliged to confess
that every healthy laboring man, who sees such things, must say to
himself: "Is it not terrible that a man is thus degraded in the house
which he used to inhabit as master and that his neighbor's dog is not
worse off than he?" Such things do happen. What protection is there
for a poor cripple, who is pushed into a corner, and is not given
enough to eat? There is none. But if he has as little as 100 or 200
marks of his own, the people will think twice before they oppress him.
We have been in a position to observe this in the case of the military
invalids. Although only five or six dollars are paid every month, this
actual cash amounts to something in the household where the poor are
boarded, and the thrifty housewife is careful not to offend or to lose
the boarder who pays cash.

I, therefore, assure you that we felt the need of insisting by this
law on a treatment of the poor which should be worthy of humanity.
Next year I shall be able fully to satisfy Mr. Richter in regard to
the amount and the extent of attention which the State will give to a
better and more adequate care of all the unemployed. This will come as
a natural consequence, whether or no the present bill is passed. Today
this bill is a test, as it were. We are sounding to see how deep the
waters are, financially, into which we are asking the State and the
country to enter. You cannot guard yourselves against such problems by
delivering elegant and sonorous speeches, in which you recommend the
improvement of our laws of liability, without in the least indicating
how this can be done. In this way you cannot settle these questions,
for you are acting like the ostrich, who hides his head lest he see
his danger. The Government has seen its duty and is facing, calmly and
without fear, the dangers which we heard described here a few days ago
most eloquently and of which we were given convincing proofs.

We should, however, also remove, as much as possible, the causes which
are used to excite the people, and which alone render them susceptible
to criminal doctrines. It is immaterial to me whether or no you will
call this Socialism. If you call it Socialism, you must have the
remarkable wish of placing the Imperial Government, in so far as this
bill of the allied governments is concerned, in the range of the very
critique which Mr. von Puttkamer passed here on the endeavors of the
Socialists. It would then almost seem that with this bill only a very
small distance separated us from the murderous band of Hasselmann, the
incendiary writings of Most, and the revolutionary conspiracies of the
Congress of Wyden; and that even this distance would soon disappear.
Well, gentlemen, this is, of course, the very opposite of true. Those
who fight with such oratorical and meaningless niceties are counting
on the many meanings of the word "socialism." As a result of the kind
of programs which the Socialists have issued, this term is, in our
public opinion today, almost synonymous with "criminal." If the
government endeavors to treat the injured workingmen better in the
future, and especially more becomingly, and not to offer to their as
yet vigorous brethren the spectacle, as it were, of an old man on the
dump heap slowly starving to death, this cannot be called socialistic
in the sense in which that murderous band was painted to us the other
day. People are playing a cheap game with the shadow on the wall when
they call our endeavors socialistic.

If the representative Mr. Bamberger, who took no offense at the word
"Christian," wishes to give a name to our endeavors which I could
cheerfully accept, let it be: "Practical Christianity," but _sans
phrase_, for we shall not pay the people with words and speeches, but
with actual improvements. Yet, death alone is had for the asking. If
you refuse to reach into your pocketbook, or that of the State, you
will not accomplish anything. If you should place the whole burden on
the industries, I do not know whether they could bear it. Some might
be able to do it, but not all. Those who could do it are the
industries where the wages are but a small fraction of the total cost
of production. Among such I mention the chemical factories, and the
mills which with twenty mill hands can do an annual business of
several million marks. The great mass of laborers, however, does not
work in such establishments, which I am tempted to call
aristocratic--without wishing to excite any class-hatred. They are in
industries where the wages amount to 80 or 90 per cent, of the cost of
production. Whether the latter can bear the additional burden I do not
know.

It is, moreover, perfectly immaterial whether the assessment is made
on the employer or on the employee. In either case the industry will
have to bear it, for the contribution of the laborer will
eventually, and of necessity, be added to the expenses of the
industry. There is a general complaint that the average wages of the
laborers make the saving of a surplus impossible. If you wish,
therefore, to add a burden to the laborers whose present wages are no
more than sufficient, the employers will have to increase the wages,
or the laborers will leave them for other occupations.

The previous speaker called the bill defective, because the principle
of relieving the laborer from all contributions had not been
consistently followed; and he spoke as if this principle had not been
at all followed. Laborers, receiving more than 750 marks in three
hundred working days, are, it is true, not affected by it; and this is
due to the origin of the bill. The first draft read that one-third of
the contributions should be made by those county associations which
would have to support the injured man in conformity with the poor-laws
of the State. We did not wish merely to make a gift to these
associations, which at present are responsible for 80 per cent. of all
injured working-men, that is for those who do not come under the law
of liability. We, therefore, accepted as just the proposition that
these associations should pay one-third toward the insurance of those
men who formerly would have become their charges. Laborers, however,
whose pay is large enough to keep them from becoming public charges,
when they meet with an accident, hold an exceptional position. I am,
nevertheless, perfectly willing to drop this exception in the bill, as
I have said repeatedly. But since the Reichstag in its entirety has
thus far placed itself on record as opposed to any contribution from
the State, I should not gain thereby any votes for the bill. I wish to
declare, however, that this limit of 750 marks is of no consequence
compared with the theory on which the bill is based. It arose from a
sense of justice toward the county associations, which were not to be
burdened with higher taxes than would equal their savings under this
bill. Later it was discovered from many actual examples that the
insurance according to the existing county associations was
impossible, because the State, which really is responsible for the
care of the poor, had distributed it in an arbitrary and unjust way on
the various county associations. Small and weak country communities
are often overburdened with the care of poor people, while large and
wealthy communities may have practically no charges, since the
geographical position alone has determined the membership in the
various county associations. The result, therefore, of levying the
necessary contributions on these associations would have been a very
uneven distribution of the assessments. Being convinced of this, I
suggested the substitution of "provincial association" for "county
association"; and thus the bill read for several weeks, until we
yielded to the wishes of the allied states and of the Economic
Council, and left to each state the question whether it wished to take
the place of these various associations or preferred to call upon them
in any way it chose. These are the steps by which we reached the 750
mark exemption, and the unconditional share which is to be paid by the
State. This share is nothing but a hint to the legislature how to
distribute the care of the poor to the various county--and other
associations. Whatever is done, you will agree with me that we need a
revision of our poor-laws. Just how this will eventually be
accomplished is immaterial to me.

I am not astonished that the most divergent views are held on this new
subject, which touches our lives very intimately, and which no
experience has as yet illuminated. Because of this divergence of
opinion I am also aware that we may be unable to pass an acceptable
law at this session. My own interest in this entire work would be very
much lessened if I were to notice that the principle of a State
contribution were to be definitely rejected, and that the legislative
assembly of the country were to vote against State-contributions. This
would transfer the whole matter to the sphere of open commerce, if I
may say so, and in that case it might be better to leave the
insurance to private enterprise rather than to establish a
State-institution without any compulsion. I should certainly not have
the courage to exercise compulsion, if the State did not at the same
time make a contribution.

If compulsion is exercised, it is necessary for the law to establish a
department of insurance. This is cheaper and safer than any company.
You cannot expose the savings of the poor to possible insolvency, nor
can you allow any part of the contributions to be used for the payment
of dividends or interest on stocks and bonds. The representative Mr.
Bamberger based his opposition to the bill--you remember his strong
words--largely on his sorrow at the impending ruin of the insurance
companies. He said they would be crushed and annihilated, and he
added, that they were soliciting the gratitude of their
fellow-citizens. I always thought they were soliciting the money of
their fellow-citizens. If in addition they can get their gratitude,
they are turning a very clever trick. That they should be willing,
like good souls, to sacrifice themselves in the interest of the
workingmen, and establish their institutions of insurance without
issuing any shares, I have never believed, and it would be difficult
to convince me of it. According to my feeling of right and wrong, we
cannot force anybody to join private insurance companies which may
become bankrupt even under good management, owing to fluctuations in
the market, or to panics, and which have to arrange their premiums so
that dividends are realized for those who are investing their capital,
or at least interest on the invested money and the hope of dividends.
To this I cannot lend my assistance. If the State is going to exercise
compulsion, it must, I believe, undertake the insurance itself. It may
be the empire for all, or the individual State--but, without this, no
compulsion!

Nor have I the courage, as I have already said, to exercise any
compulsion if I cannot offer something in return. This contribution of
a third is, as I said before, much smaller than it looks, because
the associations will be greatly relieved of the old burdens which the
State had imposed on them. If this is communism, as the last speaker
called it, and not socialism, I do not care one iota. I shall call it
again and again "practical Christianity legally demonstrated." If,
however, it is communism, then communism has been extensively
practised in the districts for a long while, and actually under State
compulsion.

The previous speaker said that by our method the lower classes would
be oppressed with indirect taxes in order to collect the funds for the
care of the poor. But I ask you, gentlemen, what is being done in the
large cities, in Berlin for instance, which the speaker thinks is
splendidly governed by the liberal ring? Here the poor man is taken
care of with the proceeds of the tax on rents, which is exacted of his
slightly less poor brother; and to-morrow he may have this brother as
his companion in misery, when a warrant is executed against the latter
for the non-payment of this tax. That is more cruel than if the
payment were made from the tax on tobacco or on alcohol.

The previous speaker said that I had spoken against the tax on
alcohol. I really do not remember this, and I should be grateful if he
would prove this by quoting one word. I have always mentioned tobacco
and alcohol as commodities on which larger taxes should be levied, but
I have expressed a doubt whether it is right to tax the alcohol in
factories while it is being made. Many States, as for instance France,
do not levy any tax on alcohol, or assess it at a different time. The
representative, therefore, has made a mistake--no doubt
unintentionally. When, however, this mistake will be printed, without
refutation, in many papers, which are under his influence, it will, I
am sure, make no mean impression.

I will not dilate on the defects of the law of liability, which will
be discussed by experienced men, who have had more to do with it than
I. These defects, however, added their weight to the promise we made
when the law against the Socialists was promulgated--you undoubtedly
remember it and I have been reminded of it often enough--and were my
chief reasons for submitting to you the present bill. Our present law
of liability has shown surprisingly bad results. I have convinced
myself, by actual occurrences, that the suits arising under this law
often terminate unexpectedly and unfairly, if they are successful. And
if they are unsuccessful, they are frequently equally unfair. I have
been assured by many creditable people that this law does not improve
the relations between the employer and the employees. On the contrary,
the bitter feeling between them is increased, wherever there are many
such suits, especially where there are shyster-lawyers who like to sow
discord with an eye to the elections. This is in strong contrast to
the good intentions of the law. The workingmen, however, consider
themselves injured by it, because not even a decree of the court will
convince them that they are wrong, especially if they have lawyers who
tell them they are right, and that they should appeal their cases to
four or five higher courts, if there were as many.

These observations made me wish to introduce a system which would work
smoothly, and in which there would be no question of suits-at-law, or
investigations into anyone's culpability. The latter is quite
immaterial for him who has been injured. He remains unfortunate,
crippled, and unable to earn a living, if this has been his lot, or,
if he has been killed, his family is left without its bread-winner,
whether the accident was due to criminal neglect, carelessness, or
unavoidable circumstances. These are not questions of corrective or
distributive justice, but of protection. Without a proper law a great
part of our population is helpless before the hardships of life, or
the consequences of an accident. Without any capital of their own
these people have no redress against the cruelties which are the lot
of the pauper who has become a public charge.

I will not reply at length to the reproach that this is communism, but
I should like to ask you not to discuss everything from the point
of view of party-strategy, or faction-strategy, or from the feeling
"away with Bismarck." We have to do here with matters where not one of
us can see his way clearly, and where we must search for the right
road with sticks and sounding-rods. I should like to see another man
in my place as speedily as possible, if he would continue my work. I
should gladly say to him, "Son, take up your father's spear," even if
he were not my own son. This undesirable way of discussing matters
showed itself the other day, when the gentlemen fought for "the poor
man," as if they had to do with the body of Patroclus. Mr. Lasker took
hold of him at one end, and I tried to snatch him away from Mr. Lasker
as best I could. But where do imputed motives, and class-hatred, and
the excitement of misery and suffering lead us? Such behavior comes
too near being socialism in the sense in which Mr. von Puttkamer
exposed it the other day.

Alms constitute the first step of Christian charity, such as must
exist in France, for instance, to a great extent. There are no
poor-laws in France, and every poor man has the right to starve to
death if charitable people do not prevent him from doing so. Charity
is the first duty, and the second is, the assistance given by
districts and according to law. A State, however, which is composed
very largely of Christians--even if you are horrified at hearing it
called a Christian State,--should let itself be permeated with the
principles which it confesses, and especially with those which have to
do with the help of our neighbors, and the sympathy one feels for the
lot which threatens the old and the sick.

The extensive discussions, which I have partly heard, and partly read
in the Parliamentary extracts of yesterday, compel me to make some
further observations. The representative Mr. Richter has said that the
whole bill amounted to a subsidy of the big industries. Well, here
again, you have an instance of class-hatred, which would receive new
fuel if his words were true. I do not know why you assume that the
Government cherishes a blind and special love for the big industries.
The big manufacturers are, it is true, children of fortune, and this
creates no good will toward them among the rest of the people. But to
weaken or to confine their existence would be a very foolish
experiment. If we dropped our big industries, making it impossible for
them to compete with those of other countries, and if we placed
burdens on them which they have not yet been proved able to bear, we
might meet with the approval of all who are vexed at seeing anybody
richer than other people, most especially than themselves. But, if we
ruin the big industries, what shall we do with the laborers? In such a
case we should be facing the problem, to which the representative Mr.
Richter referred with much concern, of the organization of labor. If a
business, employing twenty thousand laborers and more, goes to pieces,
and if the big industries go to pieces, because they have been
denounced to public opinion and to the legislature as dangerous and
liable to heavier taxes, we could not let twenty thousand, and
hundreds of thousands of laborers starve to death. In such a case we
should have to organize a genuine State-socialism, and find work for
these laborers, similar to what we have been doing during every panic.

If the objections of the representative Mr. Richter, who claimed that
we must guard ourselves against State-socialism as against some
disease, were well taken, how does it happen that we are providing
work whenever a calamity has afflicted one or another of the
provinces? Such work would not be provided, if the workingmen could
find other remunerative occupations. In such cases we build railways
of doubtful productivity, and make improvements, which under ordinary
circumstances are left to the individual citizens to make. If this is
communism, I am by no means opposed to it. But the use of such
catch-words does not advance the solution of any problem.

I have already commented on Mr. Bamberger's defence of the private
insurance companies. I am, however, convinced that we are not
called upon to espouse their cause of all others when we are
confronted by tremendous economic needs. He has also referred to the
"four weeks" which have to elapse before the insurance takes effect.
This was done in the hope that the unions and societies would wish to
do something themselves. We are always told that the laborers deem
insurance to be contrary to their honor, unless they contribute
something toward it. For this reason we have left the first four weeks
uninsured. I am not certain on this point, but if another solution
seems better, I believe that the law should cover also this hiatus.
There is no fundamental objection to this.

One single fact will throw much light on the considerable burdens of
which the county communities will be relieved when the care of their
poor will pass, according to this bill, to the community of the State.
I have been unable to ascertain the number of persons to whom
assistance is given in the empire or in the kingdom of Prussia, and
even less to discover the amount of money spent for this purpose. In
the country, and elsewhere, private charity and public help are so
intermingled that it is impossible to separate them, or to keep
accurate accounts. The one hundred and seventy cities, however, which
have more than ten thousand inhabitants expend on the average four
marks per capita for the care of their poor. This item varies between
0.63 mark and 12.84 marks--a great variation as you see. The most
remarkable results are found where the majority of laborers are banded
together in unions or similar associations. It would be natural to
think that places like Oberneunkirchen and Duttweiler with large
factory populations would have a very large budget for the poor; and
that Berlin, which is only in part an industrial centre, would be an
average locality, for our purposes, if its finances were well managed.
As a matter of fact it pays far more than the average for the care of
its poor without doing this exceptionally well. Anyone who is
interested in private charities, and cares to visit the poor of
Berlin, will be convinced of their pitiful condition.

Nevertheless, the Berlin budget for the poor amounts to 5,000,000
marks--these are the latest figures--and for the care of the sick poor
to 1,900,000 marks. Why these two items should be separated I do not
know. Together, therefore, they amount to about 7,000,000 marks, or 7
marks per capita, while the average of the large cities is 4 marks. If
such a poor-tax of 7 marks per capita were extended to the whole
empire, it would yield 300,000,000 marks; and if the direct taxes of
Berlin, amounting to 23 marks per capita, were levied on the empire,
we should receive more than one milliard marks in direct taxes,
including those on rents and incomes. Fortunately not all the people
of the empire are living under a liberal ring, and least of all the
inhabitants of cities where the majority of the workingmen have joined
unions or similar associations. We have discovered the remarkable fact
that Oberneunkirchen with its large factory population pays only 0.58
mark, and Duttweiler 0.72 mark per capita for the care of their poor.

These are instances which throw light on the relief of the communities
if a system similar to that of the unions would be introduced. I do
not at all intend to make so expensive a proposition to you, and I
have already said that we shall have to work on this legislation for
at least a generation. But look at the glaring examples of Duttweiler
and Oberneunkirchen. Without their unions their budgets for the poor
would perhaps not rise to the Berlin figure, but they would easily
amount to 5 marks per capita. Actually, however, they are less than 1
mark, and almost as low as 1/2 mark. What a tremendous burden will be
taken from the charity departments of a city of ten thousand
inhabitants by a law like the one under discussion! Why, then, should
they not be asked to make some kind of a contribution to the insurance
fund? But the contributions should not be made by the districts, but
by larger units, and, since the State is the largest, I insist that
the contributions should be made by the State. If you do not yield in
this point to the allied governments, I shall look placidly, and
without being offended, toward further discussions and another session
of the Reichstag. This I consider to be the all-important part of the
law, and without it the bill would no longer appear to me to be as
valuable as I have thought it was, and would seem to lack the chief
characteristic which induced me to become its sponsor.

The previous speaker and the Honorable Mr. Bamberger have looked
askance at the Economic Council. This, gentlemen, was perfectly
natural, for competition in eloquence is as much disliked as in
business; and there are in this Council not only men of exceptionally
great practical knowledge, but also some very good speakers. When the
Council has been more firmly established these men will perhaps
deliver as long and expert speeches as those representatives are doing
who pass themselves off as the expert spokesmen of labor. I really do
not consider it to be polite, or politically advantageous, to refer to
the councillors who have come here, at the call of their king, to
voice their honest opinions with as much contempt as the
representatives whom I have mentioned have done. Most woods return the
echo of what we call into them; and why should the representative Mr.
Richter unnecessarily make for himself even more enemies than he has?
He is like me, in that the number of his opponents is growing, and is
no longer small. His ear, however, is not so keen as mine to detect
the existence of an opponent, and I am satisfied to wait and see which
one of us in the long run will appear to have been right. Possibly,
this may not be decided in our lifetime. That also will be agreeable
to me.

The representative Mr. Bamberger has expressed his astonishment, in
discussing matters with the Council, that the delegates of the
sea-coast cities had been granted the right to decide about questions
relating to gunpowder and playing-cards. Well, gentlemen, the
delegates from the inland districts are far more numerous than those
from the seacoast, and we have not made this division arbitrarily.
Since we look upon the free-trade theory as an epidemic, which is
afflicting us like the Colorado Beetle, or similar evils, you cannot
possibly expect that we should ask the free traders to represent the
whole country in matters where we happen to have the choice. Generally
speaking, the free traders represent the interests of maritime
commerce, of merchants, and of a very few other people. Opposed to
them is the much greater weight of all the inland districts. The more,
therefore, the Economic Council will be perfected, the more the
propriety and reasonableness of the present arrangement will be
appreciated. The Council has, to my great delight, excellent chances
of extending its usefulness over the whole empire. These remarks will
scarcely win me, I believe, the good graces of Messrs. Richter and
Bamberger. If they did, it would be for me an _argumentum e
contrario_. I am always of the opinion that the very opposite of their
views is serviceable for the State and the interests of the
fatherland, as I understand them.

I have already replied to the reproach of home-socialism. One of the
previous speakers, however, goes so far as to identify me with
foreigners, because I am glad to assume the responsibility for this
law and its intellectual origin. These foreigners are, no doubt,
excellent men, but they have nothing to do with our affairs. They are
men like Nadaud, Clemenceau, Spuller, Lockroy, and others. I believe
this was intended to be a complicated reproach of both socialism and
communism. You see, it is always the same tune. Then he mentioned the
"intrepidity," which I translate for myself to mean the "frivolous
levity," of the government in suggesting such matters. The considerate
politeness of the speaker induced him to call it "intrepidity."
Gentlemen, our intrepidity springs from our good conscience. We are
convinced that what we are proposing is the result of dutiful and
careful consideration, and is not in the least tinged with
party-politics. In this we are superior to our opponents, who will
never be able to free themselves from the soil of party-warfare which
clings to their boots.

The previous speaker compared us also with the Romans. You see he made
his historical excursions not only into France, but also into the
past. The difference between Mr. Bamberger's and our point of
view--which Mr. Lasker may call aristocratic, if he chooses--appears
in his very choice of words. Mr. Bamberger spoke of theatres which we
were erecting for the "sweet rabble." Whether there is anything sweet
in the rabble for Mr. Bamberger I do not know. But we are filled with
satisfaction at the thought that we may be able to do something in the
legislature for the less fortunate classes--whom he designates as
rabble--and to wrest them, if you will grant the money, from the evil
influences of place-hunters whose eloquence is too much for their
intelligence.

The expression "rabble" did not fall from our lips, and if the
representative spoke of the "rabble" first, and afterwards of "those
who cut off coupons," I deny having used also this word. "To cut off
coupons" is linguistically not familiar to me. I believe I said "those
who cut coupons." The meaning, of course, remains the same. But let me
remark that I consider this class of people to be highly estimable,
and from a minister's point of view exceedingly desirable, because
they combine wealth with that degree of diffidence which keeps them
from all tainted or dangerous enterprises. The man who pays a large
tax and loves peace is from the ministerial point of view the most
agreeable of citizens. He must, of course, not try to escape the
burdens which his easily collected income should bear in comparison
with others. And you will see that he really does not do it. He is an
honest man, and when we shall at last have outgrown the
finance-ministerial mistrust of olden times--which my present
colleagues no longer share--we shall see that not everybody is willing
to lie for his own financial benefit, and that even the man who cuts
coupons will declare his wealth honestly, and pay his taxes
accordingly. The Honorable Mr. Bamberger also asked: "Where will you
find the necessary money?" This law really implies few new expenses,
as I have already said, because all the government asks is to be
permitted to substitute the State for the communities, which at
present are taking care of the poor, and to make a very modest
allowance to those who cannot earn their living. This allowance should
be entirely at the disposal of the recipient and be inalienable from
him. It will thus secure for him independence even when he is an
invalid. The increase over the present cost of caring for the poor is
slight. I do not know whether it should be estimated at half of
one-third--one sixth--or even at less.

I am, therefore, of the opinion that a State which is at war with the
infernal elements recently described to you here in detail, and which
possesses among its citizens an overwhelming majority of sincere
adherents of the Christian religion, should do for the poor, the weak,
and the old much more than this bill demands--as much as I hope to be
able to ask of you next year. And such a State, especially when it
wishes to demonstrate its practical Christianity, should not refuse
our demands, for its own sake and for the sake of the poor!

       *       *       *       *       *



WE GERMANS FEAR GOD, AND NOUGHT ELSE IN THE WORLD

February 6, 1888

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.

[In view of the constantly increasing armaments in France, the
government had secured from the Reichstag of 1887 an increase also of
the German army. Danger, however, was threatening from Russia as well
as from France, and it became necessary to arrange matters in a way
which would place the full strength of the German people at the
disposal of the government. A bill to this effect was introduced in
the Reichstag on December 9, 1887, and another bill, which was to
procure the money for this increase in armaments, was introduced on
January 31, 1888. Both bills were on the calendar of February 6.
Prince Bismarck opened the discussion with the following speech, the
effect of which was electric, and resulted in the Reichstag passing
both bills by a unanimous vote.]

In addressing you today I do not intend to recommend to you the
acceptance of the bill which your president has just mentioned. I have
no fear concerning its acceptance, nor do I believe that I can do
anything to increase the majority with which it will be passed,
although this is, of course, of great importance both at home and
abroad. The representatives of the various parties have, no doubt,
decided how they will vote, and I am confident that the German
Reichstag will grant us again an increase in our armed force and thus
reëstablish the standard which we gradually gave up between 1867 and
1882, and will do so, not on account of the position in which we
happen to find ourselves, nor of any fears which may be swaying the
stock exchange and public opinion, but because of an anticipatory
estimate of the general conditions of Europe. In addressing you,
therefore, I shall have to say more about these conditions than about
the bill.

I do not like to do this, for in these matters one unskilful word can
do great harm, and many words can do small good beyond making people
understand the situation at home and abroad, which they will do in due
time anyhow. I do not like to speak, but if I should keep silence the
nervous excitement of public opinion at home and abroad will be
increased rather than decreased, I fear, in view of the expectations
which have been based on today's debate. People would believe the
situation to be so difficult and critical that a minister of foreign
affairs did not even dare to touch upon it. For these reasons I am
addressing you, but I must say that I am doing it reluctantly.

I might be satisfied with a reference to what I said here just about a
year ago, for matters are but slightly changed. A newspaper clipping
has been handed to me containing a summary in the _Liberal News_, an
organ which has closer relations, I believe, with my political friend,
the Honorable Mr. Richter, than with myself. This clipping might offer
me a starting point from which to develop the situation as a whole,
but I can refer to it, and the chief points made there, only with the
general declaration that the situation has been improved rather than
otherwise, if it has been changed at all.

A year ago we were largely concerned with the possible cause of war
emanating from France. Since then a peace-loving president has dropped
the reins of government, and another peace-loving president has
succeeded him. It is a favorable sign that the French government did
not dip into Pandora's box in calling to office another chief
magistrate, and that we may be assured of the continuance under
President Carnot of the peaceful policy which President Grévy was
known to represent. Changes in the French cabinet are even more
reassuring than the change in the presidency, where a great many
different reasons had to be considered. The ministers who might have
been ready to subordinate the peace of their own country and of
Europe to their personal plans have resigned, and others have taken
their places of whom we need not fear this. I believe, therefore that
I may state that our outlook toward France is more peaceful and less
explosive today than it was a year ago and I am glad to do this,
because I wish to quiet, not to excite, public opinion.

The fears which have sprung up during the last twelve months have had
to do more with Russia than with France, or I may say with the
exchange of mutual excitement, threats, insults, and challenges in the
French and Russian papers during the past summer.

Nevertheless, I believe that our relations with Russia have not
changed from what they were last year. The _Liberal News_ has stated,
in especially heavy type, that I said a year ago: "Our friendship with
Russia has suffered no interruption during our wars, and is today
beyond a doubt. We expect of Russia neither an attack nor a hostile
policy." The reason why this was printed in heavy type may have been
either to give me an easy starting point, or because the writer hoped
that I had changed my mind since I said these things, and was at
present convinced that I had erred in my confidence in the Russian
policy a year ago. This is not the case. The only events which could
have occasioned a change of opinion are the attitude of the Russian
press and the allocation of the Russian troops.

As regards the press, I cannot assign any importance to it _per se_.
People say that it is of greater consequence in Russia than in France.
I believe the very opposite to be true. In France the press is a power
influencing the decisions of the government. In Russia it is not, nor
can it be. In both cases, however, the press is, so far as I am
concerned, mere printer's ink on paper, against which we do not wage
war. It cannot contain a challenge for us. Back of each article in the
press there stands after all only the single man who guided the pen
which launched this particular article into the world. Even in a
Russian sheet--suppose it to be an independent Russian sheet,
one which maintains relations with the French secret funds, it is of
no consequence. The pen which there indites an anti-German article is
backed by no one but him who is guiding it, the solitary man who is
concocting the sad stuff in his office, and the protector which every
Russian sheet is accustomed to have. He is some kind of a higher
official, run wild in party politics, who happens to bestow his
protection on this particular paper. Both weigh like feathers in the
scale against the authority of His Majesty the Emperor of Russia.

In Russia the press has not the same influence on public opinion as in
France. At best its declarations are the barometer by which to gauge
how much can be printed according to the Russian press-laws, but they
do not obligate the Russian government or His Majesty the Emperor of
Russia in any way. In contrast with the voices of the Russian press I
have the immediate testimony of Emperor Alexander himself, when a few
months ago I had again the honor of being received by him in audience
after the lapse of several years. I was then able to convince myself
afresh that the emperor of Russia harbors no hostile feelings against
us and does not intend to attack us, or to wage any aggressive wars at
all. What the Russian press says, I do not believe, what Emperor
Alexander says, I believe; I have absolute confidence in it. When both
are in the scales, the testimony of the Russian press, with its hatred
of Germany, rises light as a feather, and the personal testimony of
Emperor Alexander has the only effective weight, so far as I am
concerned. I repeat, therefore, the press does not induce me to
consider our relations with Russia to be worse today than they were a
year ago.

I now come to the other point, the allocation of the troops. It used
to take place on a big scale, but only since 1879, when the Turkish
war was concluded, has it assumed the proportions which today seem
threatening. It may easily appear as if this accumulation of Russian
troops near the German and Austrian frontiers--where their support
is more difficult and more expensive than farther inland--could only
be dictated by the intention of surprising and attacking one of the
neighbors unprepared, _sans dire gare!_ (I cannot for the moment think
of the German expression.) Well, I do not believe this. In the first
place, it would be contrary to the character of the sovereign and his
own words, and secondly its object could not easily be understood.
Russia cannot intend to conquer any Prussian provinces, nor, I
believe, any Austrian provinces. Russia has, I believe, as many Polish
subjects as it cares to have, and has no desire to increase their
numbers. To annex anything but Polish districts from Austria would be
even more difficult. No reason exists, no pretense which could induce
a European monarch suddenly to assail his neighbors. I even go so far
in my confidence as to be convinced that a Russian war would not ensue
if we should become involved in a French war because of some explosive
happenings in France, which no one can foresee and which surely are
not intended by the present French government. A French war, on the
other hand, would be an absolute certainty if we should be involved in
a Russian war, for no French government would be so strong that it
could prevent it, even if it was inclined to do so. But as regards
Russia I still declare that I am not looking for an attack; and I take
back nothing from what I said last year.

You will ask: "If that is so, what is the use of this expensive
allocation of the Russian troops?" That is one of the questions for
which one hardly can expect an answer from a ministry of foreign
affairs, itself vitally interested. If we should begin to ask for
explanations, we might receive forced replies, and our surrejoinders
would also have to be forced. That is a dangerous path which I do not
like to tread. Allocations of troops are things for which one does not
take the other country to task, asking for categorical explanations,
but against which one takes counter precautions with equal reserve and
circumspection. I cannot, therefore, give an authentic declaration
concerning the motives of this Russian allocation, but, having been
familiar through a generation with foreign politics and the policy of
Russia, I can form my own ideas concerning them. These ideas lead me
to assume that the Russian cabinet is convinced, probably with good
reason, that the weight of the Russian voice in the diplomatic
Areopagos of Europe will be the weightier in the next European crisis,
the stronger Russia is on the European frontier and the farther west
the Russian armies stand. Russia is the more quickly at hand, either
as an ally or as a foe, the nearer her main army, or at least a large
army, is to her western frontier.

This policy has directed the Russian allocation of troops for a long
while. You will remember that the army assembled in the Polish kingdom
during the Crimean War was so large that this war might have ended
differently if the army had started on time. If you think farther
back, you will see that the events of 1830 found Russia unprepared and
not ready to take a hand, because she had an insufficient number of
troops in the western part of her empire. I need not, therefore, draw
the conclusion from the accumulation of Russian troops in the western
provinces (_sapadnii Gubernii_, as the Russians say), that our
neighbors mean to attack us. I assume they are waiting, possibly for
another Oriental crisis, intending then to be in the position of
pressing home the Russian wishes by means of an army situated not
exactly in Kasan, but farther west.

When may such an Oriental crisis take place, you ask. Forsooth, we
have no certainty. During this century we have had, I think, four
crises, if I do not include the smaller ones and those which did not
culminate. One was in 1809 and ended with the treaty which gave Russia
the Pruth-frontier, and another in 1828. Then there was the Crimean
War of 1854, and the war of 1877. They have happened, therefore, at
intervals of about twenty years and over. Why, then, should the next
crisis take place sooner than after a similar interval, or at about
1899, twenty years after the last one? I for one should like to
reckon with the possibility of its being postponed and not occurring
immediately.

Then there are other European events which are wont to take place at
even intervals, the Polish uprisings, for instance. Formerly we had to
expect one every eighteen or twenty years. Possibly this is one reason
why Russia wishes to be so strong in Poland that she may prevent them.
Then there are the changes of government in France which also used to
happen every eighteen or twenty years; and no one can deny that a
change of government in France may bring about such a crisis that
every interested nation may wish to be able to intervene with her full
might--I mean only diplomatically, but with a diplomacy which is
backed by an efficient army close at hand.

I assume on the strength of my purely technical-diplomatic judgment,
which is based on my experience, that these are the intentions of
Russia and that she has no wish to comply with the somewhat uncouth
threats and boastings of the newspapers. And, if this is so, then
there is surely no reason why we should look more gloomily into the
future now than we have done at any time during the past forty years.
The Oriental crisis is undoubtedly the most likely to occur, and in
this our interests are only secondary. When it happens, we are in a
position to watch whether the powers, who are primarily interested in
the Mediterranean and the Levante, will make their decisions and come
to terms, if they choose, or go to war with Russia about them. We are
not immediately called upon to do either. Every great power which is
trying to influence or to restrain the policies of other countries in
matters which are beyond the sphere of its interests is playing
politics beyond the bounds which God has assigned to it. Its policy is
one of force and not of vital interests. It is working for prestige.
We shall not do this. If Oriental crises happen, we shall wait before
taking our position until the powers who have greater interests at
stake than we have declared themselves. There is, therefore, no
reason, gentlemen, why you should look upon our present situation with
unusual gravity, assuming this to be the cause of our asking for the
mighty increase of our armaments which the military bill contemplates.
I should like to separate the question of reëstablishing the
_Landwehr_ of the second grade, in short the big military bill and the
financial bill, from the question of our present situation. It has to
do, not with a temporary and transient arrangement, but with the
permanent invigoration of the German empire.

That no temporary arrangement is contemplated will be perfectly clear,
I believe, when I ask you to survey with me the dangers of war which
we have met in the past forty years without having become nervously
excited at any one time.

In the year 1848, when many dikes and flood gates were broken, which
until then had directed the peaceful flow of countless waters, we had
to dispose of two questions freighted with the danger of war. They
concerned Poland and Schleswig-Holstein. The first shouts after the
Martial days were: war with Russia for the rehabilitation of Poland!
Soon thereafter the danger was perilously near of being involved in a
great European war on account of Schleswig-Holstein. I need not
emphasize how the agreement of Olmütz, in 1850, prevented a great
conflagration--a war on a gigantic scale. Then there followed two
years of greater quiet out of general ill feeling, at the time when I
first was ambassador in Frankfort. In 1853 the earliest symptoms of
the Crimean War made themselves felt. This war lasted from 1853 to
1856, and during this whole time we were near the edge of the cliff, I
will not say the abyss, whence it was intended to draw us into the
war. I remember that I was obliged at that time, from 1853 to 1855 to
alternate like a pendulum, so to speak, between Frankfort and Berlin
because the late king, thanks to the confidence he had in me, used me
as the real advocate of his independent policy whenever the
insistence of the western powers that we too should declare war on
Russia grew too strong, and the opposition of his cabinet too flabby
for his liking. Then the play was staged--I do not know how
often--when I was called back here and ordered to write for His
Majesty a more pro-Russian dispatch, and Mr. von Manteuffel resigned,
and I requested to be instructed by His Majesty to follow Mr. von
Manteuffel, after the dispatch was gone, into the country or anywhere
else, and to induce him to resume his office. Yet each time Prussia,
as it was then constituted, was hovering on the brink of a great war.
It was exposed to the hostility of the whole of Europe, except Russia,
if it refused to join in the policies of the west European powers,
and, if it did, it was forced to break with Russia, possibly for a
very long while, because the defection of Prussia would probably have
been felt very painfully in Russia.

During the Crimean War, therefore, we were in constant danger of war.
The war lasted till 1856, when it was at last concluded by the treaty
of Paris, and we found, in the Congress of Paris a sort of Canossa
prepared for us, for which I should not have assumed the
responsibility, and against which I vainly counseled at the time. We
were not at all obliged to play the part of a greater power than we
were, and to sign the treaties made there. But we were dancing
attendance with the view of being permitted to sign the treaty. This
will not again happen to us.

That was in 1856, and as early as in 1857 the problem of Neuchâtel was
again threatening us with war. This did not become generally known. In
the spring of that year I was sent to Paris by the late king to
negotiate with Emperor Napoleon concerning the passage of Prussian
troops in an attack upon Switzerland. Everyone who hears this from me
will know what this would have meant in case of an understanding, and
that it could have become a far-reaching danger of war, and might have
involved us with France as well as with other powers. Emperor Napoleon
 was not unwilling to agree. My negotiations in Paris, however, were
terminated because his majesty the king in the meanwhile had come to
an amicable understanding in the matter with Austria and Switzerland.
But the danger of war, we must agree, was present also during that
year.

While I was on this mission in Paris, the Italian War hung in the air.
It broke out a little more than a year later and came very near
drawing us into a big general war of Europe. We went so far as to
mobilize, and we should undoubtedly have taken the field, if the peace
of Villafranca had not been concluded, somewhat prematurely for
Austria, but just in time for ourselves, for we should have been
obliged to wage this war under unfavorable circumstances. We should
have turned this war, which was an Italian affair, into a
Franco-Prussian war, and its cessation, outcome, and treaty of peace
would no longer have depended on us, but on the friends and enemies
who stood behind us.

Thus we came into the sixties without the clouds of war having cleared
from the horizon for even one single year.

Already in 1863 another war threatened hardly less ominously, of which
the people at large knew little, and which will only be appreciated
when the secret archives of the cabinets will be made public. You may
remember the Polish uprising of 1863, and I shall never forget the
morning calls which I used to receive at that time from Sir Andrew
Buchanan, the English ambassador, and Talleyrand, the French
representative, who tried to frighten me out of my wits by attacking
the Prussian policy for its inexcusable adherence to Russia, and who
used rather a threatening language with me. At noon of the same days I
then used to have the pleasure of listening in the Prussian diet to
somewhat the same arguments and attacks which the foreign ambassadors
had made upon me in the morning. I suffered it quietly, but Emperor
Alexander lost his patience, and wished to draw his sword against the
plotting of the western powers. You will remember that the
French forces were then engaged with American projects and in Mexico,
which prevented France from taking a vigorous stand. The Emperor of
Russia was no longer willing to stand the Polish intrigues of the
other powers, and was ready to face events in our company and to go to
war. You will remember that Prussia was struggling at that time with
difficult interior problems, and that in Germany the leaven had begun
to work in the minds of the people, and the council of the princes in
Frankfort was under contemplation. It may be readily granted,
therefore, that the temptation for my gracious master was very strong
to cut, and thus to heal, his difficult position at home by agreeing
to a military undertaking on a colossal scale.

At that time war of Prussia and Russia together against those who were
protecting the Polish insurrection against us would undoubtedly have
taken place if his majesty had not recoiled from the thought of
solving home difficulties, Prussian as well as German, with foreign
help. We declined in silence, and without revealing to the other
German powers who had hostile projects against us the reasons which
had determined our course. The subsequent death of the King of Denmark
changed the trend of thought of everybody interested. But all that was
needed to bring about the great coalition war in 1863 was a "Yes"
instead of a "No" from His Majesty the King in Gastein. Anybody but a
German minister would perhaps have counseled affirmatively, from
reasons of utility and opportunism in order to solve thereby our home
difficulties. You see neither our own people nor foreigners really
have a proper appreciation of the amount of national loyalty and high
principles which guides both the sovereign and his ministers in the
government of German states.

The year 1864--we just spoke of 1863--brought a new pressing danger of
war. From the moment when our troops crossed the Eider, I was ready
every week to see the European Council of Elders interfere in this
Danish affair, and you will agree with me that this was highly
probable. But in those days we could observe that it is not so very
easy for Europe to attack Austria and Prussia when they are united;
and remember that the German federation which supported these two
states at that time had not nearly the same military importance which
the identical countries possess today. The difficulty of an attack on
Austria and Prussia showed itself even then, but the danger of a war
remained the same.

In 1865 it faced about, and the preparations for the war of 1866 were
beginning. I only remember a meeting of the Prussian cabinet which
took place in Regensburg in 1865 with a view to procuring the
necessary money, but which was rendered futile by the agreement of
Gastein. In 1866, however, the war broke out in full force, as you
know. A circumspect use of events alone enabled us to ward off the
existing danger of turning this duel between Prussia and Austria into
a fierce European war of coalition, when our very existence, our life
and all we had, would have been at stake.

This was in 1866, and in 1867 the Luxembourg problem arose, when only
a somewhat firmer reply was needed to bring about the great French war
in that year,--and we might have given it, if we had been so strong
that we could have counted on sure success. From then on, during 1868,
1869, and up to 1870 we were living in constant apprehension of war,
and of the agreements which in the time of Mr. von Beust were being
made in Salzburg and other places between France, Italy, and Austria,
and which, we feared, were directed against us. The apprehension of
war was so great at that time that I received calls--I was the
President of the cabinet--from merchants and manufacturers, who said:
"The uncertainty is unbearable. Why don't you strike the first blow?
War is preferable to this continued damper on all business!" We waited
quietly until we were struck, and I believe we did well to arrange
matters so that we were the nation which was assailed and were not
ourselves the assailants.

Now, since the great war of 1870 was waged, has there been a year, I
ask you, without the danger of war? In the first years of the
seventies--the very moment we came home, the question arose: "When
will be the next war? When will revenge be given? Within five years at
the latest, no doubt?" We were told: "The question whether we shall
have to fight and with what success surely rests with Russia
now-a-days. Russia alone holds the hilt." It was a representative of
the Catholic party who thus remonstrated with me in the Reichstag. I
may possibly revert to this subject later. In the meanwhile I wish to
complete the picture of the forty years by saying that in 1876 the
clouds of war again began to gather in the south. In 1877 the Balkan
War was waged, which would have led to a conflagration of the whole of
Europe, if this had not been prevented by the Congress gathered in
Berlin. After the Congress an entirely new eastern picture presented
itself to us, for Russia was offended by our attitude in the Congress.
I may revert to this later, if my strength permits.

Then there followed a period when we felt the results of the intimate
relations of the three emperors, which for some time permitted us to
face the future with greater placidity. But at the first symptoms of
any instability in the relations of the three emperors or of the
termination of the agreements which they had made with one another,
public opinion was possessed by the same nervous and, I believe,
exaggerated excitement with which we have had to contend these last
years, and which I consider especially uncalled for today.

From my belief that this excitement is uncalled for I am far from
drawing the conclusion that we do not need an increase in our
armaments. The very opposite is my view, and this may explain the
tableau of forty years which I have just exhibited before you,
possibly not for your enjoyment, and I ask your pardon.
[Illustration: THE BISMARCK MONUMENT AT HAMBURG LEDERER]

But if I had omitted even one of those years, which you yourselves
have lived through with trembling, you would not have received the
impression that the state of apprehension of great wars is permanent
with us. Great complications and all kinds of coalitions, which no one
can foresee, are constantly possible and we must be prepared for them.
We must be so strong, irrespective of momentary conditions, that we
can face any coalition with the assurance of a great nation which is
strong enough under circumstances to take her fate into her own hands.
We must be able to face our fate placidly with that self reliance and
confidence in God which are ours when we are strong and our cause is
just. And the Government will see to it that the German cause will be
just always.

We must, to put it briefly, be as strong in these times as we possibly
can be, and we can be stronger than any other nation of equal numbers
in the world. I shall revert to this later--but it would be criminal
if we were not to make use of our opportunity. If we do not need our
full armed strength, we need not summon it. The only problem is the
not very weighty one of money--not very weighty I say in passing,
because I have no wish to enter upon a discussion of the financial and
military figures, and of the fact that France has spent three
milliards for the improvement of her armaments these last years, while
we have spent scarcely one and one half milliards, including what we
are asking of you at this time. But I leave the elucidation of this to
the minister of war and the representatives of the treasury
department.

When I say that it is our duty to endeavor to be ready at all times
and for all emergencies, I imply that we must make greater exertions
than other people for the same purpose, because of our geographical
position. We are situated in the heart of Europe, and have at least
three fronts open to an attack. France has only her eastern, and
Russia only her western frontier where they may be attacked. We are
also more exposed to the dangers of a coalition than any other nation,
as is proved by the whole development of history, by our geographical
position, and the lesser degree of cohesiveness, which until now has
characterized the German nation in comparison with others. God has
placed us where we are prevented, thanks to our neighbors from growing
lazy and dull. He has placed by our side the most warlike and restless
of all nations, the French, and He has permitted warlike inclinations
to grow strong in Russia, where formerly they existed to a lesser
degree. Thus we are given the spur, so to speak, from both sides, and
are compelled to exertions which we should perhaps not be making
otherwise. The pikes in the European carp-pond are keeping us from
being carps by making us feel their teeth on both sides. They also are
forcing us to an exertion which without them we might not make, and to
a union among us Germans, which is abhorrent to us at heart. By nature
we are rather tending away, the one from the other. But the
Franco-Russian press within which we are squeezed compels us to hold
together, and by pressure our cohesive force is greatly increased.
This will bring us to that state of being inseparable which all other
nations possess, while we do not yet enjoy it. But we must respond to
the intentions of Providence by making ourselves so strong that the
pikes can do nothing but encourage us.

Formerly in the years of the Holy Alliance--I am just thinking of an
American song which I learned of my late friend Motley: "In good old
colonial times, when we lived under a King"--well those were the good
old patriarchal times when we had many posts to guide us, and many
dikes to protect us from the wild floods of Europe. There were the
German Union, and the real support and consummation of the German
Union, the Holy Alliance. We had support in Russia and in Austria,
and, above all, the guaranty of our diffidence that we should never
express an opinion before the others had spoken.

All this we have lost; we must help ourselves. The Holy Alliance was
wrecked in the Crimean War--not through our fault. The German Union
has been destroyed by us, because the existence which we were granted
within it was unbearable in the long run for ourselves and the German
people as well. After the dissolution of the German Union and the war
of 1866, Prussia, as it was then, or North Germany, would have become
isolated, if we had been obliged to count with the fact that nobody
would be willing to pardon our new successes--the great successes
which we had won. No great power looks with favor on the successes of
its neighbors.

Our relations with Russia, however, were not disturbed by the
experience of 1866. In that year the memory of Count Buol's policy and
of the policy of Austria during the Crimean War was too fresh in
Russia to permit the rise of the thought that Russia could assist the
Austrian monarchy against the Prussian attack, or could renew the
campaign, which Emperor Nicholas had fought for Austria in 1849--ask
your pardon, if I sit down for a moment. I cannot stand so long.

Our most natural support, therefore, still remained with Russia, due
very properly to the policy of Emperor Alexander I. in this
century--not to speak of the last century at all. In 1813 he might
well have turned back at the Polish frontier, and have made peace, and
later he might have dropped Prussia. We certainly owed our
reëstablishment on the old basis at that time to the benevolence of
Emperor Alexander I.--or, if you wish to be sceptical, you may say to
the Russian policy, which was such as Prussia needed. Gratitude for
this dominated the reign of Frederick William III. The credit,
however, which Russia had in the Prussian accounts was used up by the
friendship, I may even say servility, of Prussia during the entire
reign of Emperor Nicholas, and was, I own, wiped out at Olmütz. There
Emperor Nicholas did not take the part of Prussia, nor did he keep us
from evil experiences or certain humiliations, for Emperor Nicholas
really preferred Austria to Prussia. The idea that we owed
Russia any thanks during his reign is a historical myth.

We did, nevertheless, not break our traditional relations with Russia
while he lived; and in the Crimean War we remained true, as I said
before, to our Russian duty, in spite of many threats and great
dangers. His Majesty, the late King, had no desire to play a decisive
part in the war by a great levy of troops, as I believe we could have
done. We had made certain treaties requiring us to put in the field
100,000 men after the lapse of a stated time; and I proposed to His
Majesty to levy not 100,000 but 200,000 men, and mounted at that, whom
we could use as well toward the right as toward the left, in which
case, I said, Your Majesty will be the arbiter of the Crimean War. But
the late King did not cherish warlike enterprises, and the people
ought to be grateful to him. I was younger then, and less experienced
than I am today. At any rate we harbored no resentment for Olmütz
during the Crimean War. We came out of this war as the friends of
Russia, and I was enabled to enjoy the fruit of this friendship, when
as ambassador I was most kindly received in St. Petersburg, both at
court and in society at large. Even our espousing the cause of Austria
in the Italian War, while not to the liking of the Russian cabinet,
showed no harmful effects. Our war of 1866 was regarded in Russia with
a certain amount of satisfaction, for the Russians were glad to see
Austria suffer. In our French war of 1870 we were fortunate enough to
be able to serve the Russian interests in the Black Sea at the same
time that we were successful in defending and guarding our own. The
contracting parties probably would not have removed their restrictions
from the Black Sea, if the victorious German troops had not been
standing near Paris. If we had been beaten, the London agreement in
the interest of Russia would not have been made so easily, I believe.
Thus also the war of 1870 carried in its train no disagreement between
us and Russia. I mention these matters in order to explain to you
the origin of our treaty with Austria, which was published a few days
ago, and to defend the policy of His Majesty against the reproach of
having enlarged the possibilities of war for the German empire, by
adding to them the chances which may befall Austria without any fault
of her own. I am, therefore, going to describe to you how it happened
that our traditional relations with Russia, which I had always and
very gladly fostered, became so altered that we were induced to
conclude the treaty published day before yesterday.

The first years after the French war passed in the best of friendship.
In 1875 there suddenly appeared the inclination of my Russian
colleague, Prince Gortschakoff, to work for popularity with France
rather than with us, and to make the world believe, by means of
certain artificially created events and an interpolated telegram, that
we had harbored the idea, however remote, of invading France, and that
his intercession alone had saved France from this danger. This
occasioned the first estrangement between us, and led to a serious
discussion between me and my former friend and later colleague. All
this time and subsequently we were still clinging to the task of
maintaining peace among the three emperors, and of continuing the
relationship begun by the visits of the emperors of Russia and Austria
here in Berlin in 1872, and the subsequent return visits. We were
succeeding in this, when in 1876, before the Turkish War, pressure was
brought to bear upon us to choose between Russia and Austria. This we
refused to do. I do not deem it advantageous to discuss the details.
They will be known some time. The result of our refusal was that
Russia turned to Vienna directly, and entered into an agreement with
Austria--I believe it was in January, 1877--concerning the
possibilities of an Oriental crisis, granting her, if The crisis
should take place, the occupation of Bosnia, etc. Then the war took
place, and we were very glad that the storm raged further south than
it had threatened at first. The war was definitely concluded here in
Berlin by the Congress, after the preliminaries had been settled by
the peace of San Stefano. The peace of San Stefano, I am convinced,
was not more risky for the anti-Russian powers nor much more favorable
for Russia than the subsequent congressional treaty. The stipulations
of San Stefano were realized, one may say, of their own accord later
on, when the little state of East Rumelia, with only 800,000 souls I
believe, joined Bulgaria and thereby reestablished on its own
responsibility the old San Stefano frontier, although not quite
exactly. The damage, therefore, which the Congress inflicted on the
agreements of San Stefano was not very considerable. Whether these
agreements were masterpieces of diplomacy I leave undecided. We had
then very little desire to mix in Oriental affairs, just as we have
today.

I was seriously ill in Friedrichsruh when I was officially notified of
the Russian wish to call a Congress of the great powers in Berlin for
the definite settlement of the war. I was at first not favorably
inclined, because I was physically incapacitated, and because I did
not wish to involve ourselves in these matters to the extent which the
presidency of a Congress necessitates. My final compliance was partly
due to the German sense of duty, which does anything in the interest
of peace, and partly to the grateful memory of the favors of Alexander
I., which I have always remembered, and which induced me to grant also
this request. I declared my willingness, provided we could secure the
acceptance of England and Austria. Russia undertook to secure the
consent of England, and I agreed to recommend the plan in Vienna. We
were successful, and the Congress took place.

During the Congress, I may well say, I played my part--without hurting
the interests of my country or of our friends--just as if I had been
the fourth Russian plenipotentiary--I may almost say the third, for I
can hardly accept Prince Gortschakoff as a representative of the
then Russian policy, which was more truly represented by Count
Schuwaloff.

During the whole course of the congressional deliberations I heard of
no Russian wish which I did not recommend and push through. Thanks to
the confidence which Lord Beaconsfield--unfortunately dead
now--reposed in me, I called at his sickbed in the middle of the night
during the most difficult and critical moments of the Congress, when
disruption seemed near, and obtained his consent. In short my behavior
in the Congress was such that I said to myself when it was over: "If
the highest Russian decoration set in diamonds had not been bestowed
upon me long ago, I should surely receive it now." I had the feeling
of having done something for a foreign power which is rarely
vouchsafed to a foreign minister to do.

What, then, were my surprise and natural disappointment, when
gradually a sort of newspaper campaign began in St. Petersburg,
attacking the German policy, and casting suspicion on my personal
intentions. These attacks increased in the following year to the
strong request, in 1879, for pressure to be exerted by us on Austria
in matters where we could not attack the Austrian rights as such. I
could not consent, for, if we should have been estranged from Austria,
we should necessarily have fallen into a dependence on Russia, unless
we were satisfied with standing entirely alone in Europe. Would such a
dependence have been bearable? Formerly I had believed it might be,
when I had said to myself: "We have no conflicting interests at all.
There is no reason why Russia should ever cancel our friendship." At
least I had never contradicted my Russian colleagues when they
expounded such theories to me. The Russian behavior concerning the
Congress disappointed me and told me that we were not protected from
being drawn into a conflict with Russia against our wishes, even if we
placed our policy (for a time) completely at her disposal. The
disagreement concerning instructions which we had given or had not
given to our representatives in the south grew, until threats
resulted, threats of war from the most authoritative quarter.

This is the origin of our Austrian Treaty. By these threats we were
compelled to choose between our two former friends, a decision which I
had avoided through several decades. At that time I negotiated in
Gastein and in Vienna the treaty which was published day before
yesterday and which is in force between us today.

The publication has been partly misunderstood in the newspapers, as I
read yesterday and the day before. People have wanted to see in it an
ultimatum, a warning, and a threat. A threat could not possibly be
contained in it, since the text of the treaty has been known to Russia
for a long while, and not only since November of last year. We
considered it due to the sincerity of so loyal a monarch as the
Emperor of Russia not to leave a doubt concerning the actual state of
affairs.

Personally I see no chance for us _not_ to have concluded this treaty.
If we had not done it, we should have to do it _now_. It possesses the
finest quality of an international treaty, in that it is the
expression of the lasting interests of both parties, Austria as well
as ourselves. No great power can for any length of time cling to the
wording of a treaty against the interests of its own people; it will
at last be forced to declare openly: "Times have changed; we can no
longer do this;" and will have to defend its action as best it can
before its own people and the other contracting party. But no power
will approve a course which leads its own people to destruction, for
the sake of the letter of a treaty signed under different conditions.
Nothing of this kind, however, is contained in these treaties. The
treaty concluded with Austria, as well as other similar ones existing
between us and other powers, notably some agreements into which we
have entered with Italy, are the expression of common interests in
mutual aspirations and dangers. Italy, like ourselves, has been
obliged to fight against Austria for her right to establish her
national union. At present both of us are living in peace with
Austria, sharing with her the wish to ward off the dangers which are
threatening all alike. Together we wish to preserve the peace, which
is as dear to the one as to the other, and to protect our
home--developments to which all of us are determined to devote
ourselves. It is these aims and the mutual confidence that the
treaties will be kept, and that no one will grow more dependent by
them than their own interests permit, which make these treaties firm,
durable and permanent!

The extent to which our treaty with Austria is the expression of our
mutual interests was shown at Nikolsburg, and in 1870. Already during
the negotiations of Nikolsburg we were of the opinion that we could
not do for any length of time without Austria in Europe--a strong and
vigorous Austria. In 1870, when the war between ourselves and France
broke out, many sensitive Austrians whom we had hurt were naturally
tempted to make use of this opportunity and to take revenge for 1866.
The thoughtful and far seeing diplomats, however, of the Austrian
cabinet had to ask themselves: "What will be the result? What will be
our position, if today we assist the French, and help them to beat
Prussia, or even Germany?" What would have been the result if France
with the help of Austria had been victorious over us? If Austria had
followed such a policy, she could have had no other aim than to resume
her former position in Germany: for this was really the only thing she
had given up in 1866. There had been no other important conditions,
and the pecuniary ones had been insignificant. Well then, what would
have been the position of Austria as the presiding power in the German
Union, if she had to confess that in alliance with France she had
taken from Germany the left bank of the Rhine, that she had reduced
the south German states to a renewed dependence on France in the shape
of a Rhenish Federation, and had condemned Prussia to an irrevocable
dependence on Russia, subject in future to Russian policies?
Such a position was unacceptable to all Austrian statesmen not
completely blinded by wrath and vengeance. The same is also true with
us in Germany. Imagine Austria struck from the map of Europe. Then we
and Italy would be isolated on the continent, hemmed in between Russia
and France, the two strongest military powers next to Germany, either
continually one against two--and this would be most probable--or
alternately dependent on one or the other. But this will not be the
case. It is impossible to imagine Austria away, for a State like
Austria does not disappear. It is estranged if it is jilted, as was
proposed in the Villafranca negotiations, and will be inclined to
offer the hand to him who, on his part, has been the opponent of an
unreliable friend.

In short, if we wish to avoid being isolated, which is especially
dangerous for Germany in our assailable position, we must have a
reliable friend. Thanks to the similarities of our interests, and this
treaty before you, we have two such friends. It is not love which
makes them reliable, for nations may make war one upon the other
because they hate, but it has never yet happened that one nation has
sacrificed itself for the other for mere love. Nor do they always
fight when they hate each other, for, if this were the case, France
would have to be fighting incessantly, not only with us, but also with
England and Italy. She hates all her neighbors. I also believe that
the Russian hatred of us, which has been artificially fanned, will not
last. We are united with our allies in love of peace, not only by
inclination and friendship, but also by the most cogent interests of a
European equilibrium and of our own future.

For these reasons I believe you will approve the Emperor's policy that
has concluded the published treaty, although it increases the
possibility of war.

There can be no doubt that the passage of the pending bill will add
much weight to the alliance which we have joined, and that the member
which is represented by the German empire will be immeasurably
strengthened. The bill gives us an increase of trained troops, a
possible increase of troops, which we need not summon, if we do not
need them. We can leave the men at home. But, having them in reserve,
we shall also have the arms for them, and this is the all-important
thing. I remember the old blunderbuses furnished in 1813 for our
_Landwehr_ by England, with which I was drilled in the _chasseurs_.
They were no weapons for war--such we cannot furnish at a moment's
notice. But, when once we have the proper weapons, this new bill means
an increase of the guarantees of peace, and as strong an increase of
the league of peace as if a fourth great power had joined it with
700,000 men, which as you know used to be the maximum figure of a
national army. This tremendous increase will also have a quieting
effect, I believe, on our own people, and will somewhat alleviate the
nervousness of our public opinion and of our bankers and editors. I
hope you will be relieved when you realize that after this increase,
and from the very moment this bill is signed and published, the men
will be ready. A scanty supply of arms for them might even now be at
hand, but we must secure better ones, for if we form an army of
triarians, of the best human material which we have among our people,
men over thirty years of age and fathers of families, then we must
have for them also the best arms that can be secured. We should not
send them into battle with arms which we do not deem good enough for
our regular troops. These staunch men, fathers of families, and
gigantic figures, as we remember them from the time when they held the
bridge of Versailles, should carry on their shoulders the best of
guns, and have the most complete armor and necessary clothing to ward
off the hardships of the weather and other ills. In such matters we
must not be saving.

After listening to the survey of forty years which I have just given
it is natural that our fellow-citizens should realize the ever-present
danger of a coalition against us and the possibility of a double
attack, in which I, to be sure, do not believe. The thought,
however, that in such a case we can have one million good soldiers for
our defense on either frontier will be most reassuring to them. In
addition, we can keep at home reserves of half a million and more, or
even a million, sending them to the front as they may be needed. I
have been told: "The result will be that the others will also increase
their strength." This they cannot do, for they long ago reached their
highest figure. We decreased our figures in 1867, because we believed
that we could take things easy, with the North German Alliance at our
disposal, and could release from service all men over thirty-two years
of age. Our neighbors subsequently adopted a longer period of service,
many one as long as twenty years. The minister of war will be able to
explain this to you more in detail, if he will address you. In figures
the others are as strong as we, but in quality they cannot equal us.
Courage is the same with all civilized nations, the Russian or the
Frenchman fights as bravely as the German; but our people, our 700,000
men, are experienced, _rompus au métier,_ trained soldiers who have
not forgotten anything.

In addition, no nation in the world can equal us in our material of
officers and subalterns to direct such a huge army. This means the
remarkable degree to which popular education has spread in Germany,
and which appears in no other country. The degree of education which
is needed to qualify an officer and a subaltern to command according
to what the soldiers expect of them, is found with us far more
extensively than elsewhere. We have more of the material out of which
officers, and more out of which subalterns are made, than any other
country, and we have a body of officers which no country in the world
can equal.

This, and the excellence of our subalterns, who are the pupils of our
officers, constitute our superiority. The other nations cannot equal
us in the amount of education which qualifies an officer to fulfil the
severe requirements of his station, and of good comradeship to bear
all the necessary privations, and at the same time to satisfy the
exceedingly difficult social demands which must be met, if the
feeling of good fellowship between officers and men, which thank God
exists in our army to a high and often stirring degree, is to be
established without detracting from the authority of the officers. The
relations existing, especially in war time, between our officers and
men are inimitable,--with few evil exceptions which only prove the
rule, for on the whole we may say: No German officer forsakes his men
under fire; he saves them at the risk of his life, and they do the
same; no German soldier forsakes his officer--we have experienced
this.

If other nations are obliged to furnish with officers and subalterns
equally large troops as we are intending to create by this bill, they
may be forced by circumstances to appoint officers who will not
succeed in guiding a company through a narrow gate, and even less in
meeting the heavy obligations of the officer who is to retain the
esteem and love of his men. The amount of education which is needed
for this, and the amount of _camaraderie_ and sense of honor which we
find among our officers, can be elicited from no other body of
officers anywhere in the world, either by rules or injunctions. In
this we are superior to everybody, and that is why they cannot imitate
us. I am, therefore, not at all afraid of it.

Then there is another advantage if this bill is passed. The very
strength at which we are aiming necessarily renders us pacific. This
sounds like a paradox, but it is not.

With the powerful engine into which we are transforming the German
army one does not make an attack. If I were to come before you today,
on the assumption that conditions were different from what I believe
they are, and said, "We are considerably menaced by France and Russia;
it is to be expected that we shall be attacked, and as a diplomat,
believing my military information in these matters to be correct, I am
convinced that it is better for us to have our defense consist of a
bold attack, and to strike the first blow now;" and if I added: "We
can more easily wage an aggressive war, and I, therefore, am asking
the Reichstag for an appropriation of a milliard, or half a milliard,
marks to engage in a war against our two neighbors,"--then I do not
know, gentlemen, whether you would have enough confidence in me to
grant my request, but I hope you would not have it.

But, if you had, it would not satisfy me. If we Germans wish to wage a
war with the full effect of our national strength, it must be a war
which satisfies all who take part in it, all who sacrifice anything
for it, in short the whole nation. It must be a national war, a war
carried on with the enthusiasm of 1870, when we were foully attacked.
I still remember the ear splitting, joyful shouts in the station at
Köln. It was the same all the way from Berlin to Köln, in Berlin
itself. The waves of popular approval bore us into the war, whether or
no we wished it. That is the way it must be, if a popular force like
ours is to show what it can do. It will, however, be very difficult to
prove to the provinces and the imperial states and their inhabitants
that the war is unavoidable, and has to be. People will ask: "Are you
so sure? Who can tell?" In short, when we make an attack, the whole
weight of all imponderables, which weigh far heavier than material
weights, will be on the side of our opponents whom we have attacked.
France will be bristling with arms way down to the Pyrenees. The same
will take place everywhere. A war into which we are not borne by the
will of the people will be waged, to be sure, if it has been declared
by the constituted authorities who deemed it necessary; it will even
be waged pluckily, and possibly victoriously, after we have once
smelled fire and tasted blood, but it will lack from the beginning the
nerve and enthusiasm of a war in which we are attacked. In such a one
the whole of Germany from Memel to the Alpine Lakes will flare up like
a powder mine; it will be bristling with guns, and no enemy will dare
to engage this _furor teutonicus_ which develops when we are attacked.

[Illustration: ANTON VON WERNER WILLIAM I ON HIS DEATHBED]

We cannot afford to lose this factor of preëminence even if many
military men--not only ours but others as well--believe that today we
are superior to our future opponents. Our own officers believe this to
a man, naturally. Every soldier believes this. He would almost cease
to be a useful soldier if he did not wish for war, and did not believe
that we would be victorious in it. If our opponents by any chance are
thinking that we are pacific because we are afraid of how the war may
end, they are mightily mistaken. We believe as firmly in our victory
in a just cause as any foreign lieutenant in his garrison, after his
third glass of champagne, can believe in his, and we probably do so
with greater certainty. It is not fear, therefore, which makes us
pacific, but the consciousness of our strength. We are strong enough
to protect ourselves, even if we should be attacked at a less
favorable moment, and we are in a position to let divine providence
determine whether a war in the meanwhile may not become unnecessary
after all.

I am, therefore, not in favor of any kind of an aggressive war, and if
war could result only from our attack--somebody must kindle a fire, we
shall not kindle it. Neither the consciousness of our strength, which
I have described, nor our confidence in our treaties, will prevent us
from continuing our former endeavors to preserve peace. In this we do
not permit ourselves to be influenced by annoyances or dislikes. The
threats and insults, and the challenges, which have been made have, no
doubt, excited also with us a feeling of irritation, which does not
easily happen with Germans, for they are less prone to national hatred
than any other nation. We are, however, trying to calm our countrymen,
and we shall work for peace with our neighbors, especially with
Russia, in the future as well as in the past. When I say especially
with Russia, I express the opinion that France is offering us no
assurances of success in our endeavors. I will, however, not say that
these endeavors are of no use. We shall never pick a quarrel, nor ever
attack France; and in the many little incidents which the liking of
our neighbors for spying and bribing has occasioned we have always
brought about a very courteous and amicable settlement. I should
consider it criminal if we were to enflame a great national war for
such bagatelles. These are instances when one should say: "The
cleverer of the two will yield."

I am referring, therefore, especially to Russia, and here I have the
same confidence of success which I expressed a year ago, and which
this liberal sheet printed in such large type, without any "running
after," or as a German paper very vulgarly called it, "Kow-towing" to
Russia. That time has passed. We no longer sue for love, either in
France or in Russia! The Russian press and the Russian public opinion
have shown the door to an old powerful and reliable friend, which we
were. We do not force ourselves on anybody. We have tried to
reestablish the old intimate relations, but we are running after
nobody. This does not prevent us, however, from observing the
treaty-rights which Russia has with us; on the contrary, it is an
incentive to us to do so.

These treaty rights comprise some which not all our friends recognize
as such. I mean the rights concerning Bulgaria which we won for Russia
in the Congress of Berlin, and which were not contested until 1885.
There is no question for me, who was instrumental in preparing the
congressional decisions, and who joined in signing them, that all of
us were of the opinion at that time that Russia should have a
predominating influence in Bulgaria, after the latter had renounced
East Roumelia, and she herself had given the modest satisfaction of
reducing by 800,000 souls the extent of the territory under her
influence until it included only about three million people.

Following this interpretation of the Congress, Russia until 1885
appointed the prince, a close relative of the imperial house, of whom
at that time nobody believed, or could believe, that he would wish to
be anything but a faithful adherent of the Russian policy. Russia
nominated the minister of war and a great many officers; in short it
was governing in Bulgaria. There was no doubt of this. The Bulgarians,
or some of them, or the prince--I do not know which--were not
satisfied with it. A _coup d'état_ took place--a defection from
Russia. Thus an actual condition has ensued which we are not called
upon to remedy by a recourse to arms, but which cannot in theory alter
the rights which Russia took home from the Congress of Berlin. Whether
there will be difficulties, if Russia should wish to procure her
rights by force, I do not know. We shall neither support nor counsel
violent means, nor do I believe that they are being contemplated--I am
quite sure they are not. If, however, Russia should try her luck along
diplomatic lines, possibly by suggesting the intercession of the
Sultan, the suzerain of Bulgaria, I deem it the duty of a loyal German
policy to cling to the decisions of the Congress of Berlin, and to
interpret them as all of us, without an exception, interpreted them at
that time. The public feeling of the Bulgarians can alter nothing in
this, so far as I am concerned. Bulgaria, the tiny little country
between the Danube and the Balkans is not an object of sufficient
size, I assure you, to attach to it any importance, or to push Europe
for its sake into a war, from Moscow to the Pyrenees, from the North
Sea to Palermo, when no one can foresee its end. After the war we
would conceivably not even know for what we had been fighting.

I may, therefore, declare that the hostility against us shown in the
Russian public opinion, and especially in the Russian press, will not
deter us from supporting, at Russia's request, any diplomatic steps
she may take to regain her influence in Bulgaria. I intentionally say,
at her request. Formerly we have, at times, endeavored to fulfil her
wishes when they had been only confidentially suggested, but we have
seen that some Russian papers immediately tried to prove that these
very steps of the German diplomacy had been the most inimical to
Russia. They actually attacked us for having fulfilled the wishes of
Russia even before they had been expressed. We did this also in
the Congress of Berlin; but it will not happen again. If Russia will
officially request us to support with the Sultan, as suzerain of
Bulgaria, the steps which she may take in her desire to reëstablish in
Bulgaria conditions according to the decisions of the Congress, I
shall not hesitate to advise His Majesty the Emperor to do so. Our
sense of loyalty to our neighbor demands this, for we should cherish
neighborly relations with him, let the present feelings be what they
may. Together we should protect the monarchical institutions which are
common to both of us, and set our faces, in the interest of order,
against all the opponents of it in Europe. Russia's monarch, moreover,
fully understands that these are the duties of the allied monarchs. If
the Emperor of Russia should find that the interests of his great
empire of one hundred million people demand war, he will wage it, I do
not doubt. But I do not believe that these interests can possibly
demand a war against us, nor do I believe that these interests demand
war at the present time at all.

To sum up: I do not believe in an immediate interruption of peace, and
I ask you to discuss this bill independently of such a thought or
apprehension, looking upon it as a means of making the great strength
which God has placed in the German nation fully available. If we do
not need all the troops, it is not necessary to summon them. We are
trying to avoid the contingency when we shall need them.

This attempt is as yet made rather difficult for us by the threatening
newspaper articles in the foreign press, and I should like to admonish
these foreign editors to discontinue such threats. They do not lead
anywhere. The threats which we see made--not by the governments, but
by the press--are really incredibly stupid, when we stop to reflect
that the people making them imagine they could frighten the proud and
powerful German empire by certain intimidating figures made by
printer's ink and shallow words. People should not do this. It would
then be easier for us to be more obliging to our two neighbors. Every
country after all is sooner or later responsible for the windows which
its press has smashed. The bill will be rendered some day, and will
consist of the ill-feeling of the other country. We are easily
influenced--perhaps too easily--by love and kindness, but quite surely
never by threats! We Germans fear God, and naught else in the world!
It is this fear of God which makes us love and cherish peace. If in
spite of this anybody breaks the peace, he will discover that the
ardent patriotism of 1813, which called to the standards the entire
population of Prussia--weak, small, and drained to the marrow as it
then was--has today become the common property of the whole German
nation. Attack the German nation anywhere, and you will find it armed
to a man, and every man with the firm belief in his heart: God will be
with us.


MOUNT THE GUARDS AT THE WARTHE AND THE VISTULA!

September 16, 1894

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[On September 16, 1894, when Bismarck was no longer chancellor, 2,200
Germans from the province of Posen appeared in Varzin to thank him for
his devoted work in the service of the national idea, and to gather
courage from him in their fight against the Polish propaganda which
had gained strength under the new régime at court. The aged
farm-manager, Mr. Kennemann, was the leader and spokesman of the
visitors.]

Gentleman! First I must ask your indulgence, since for two days I have
been upset by an unpolitical enemy called lumbago, an old acquaintance
of mine for sixty years. I hope to get the better of him soon, and
then to be able to stand again fully erect. At present, I must
confess, I am hampered by him.

I begin by replying to the words of the previous speaker with thanks
for the honor done me, addressing myself first of all to him, but then
also to you. The previous speaker is as old as I. We were both born in
1815, and different walks of life have brought us together again here
in Varzin after almost eighty years. The meeting gives me great
pleasure, although I have not run my course as safe and sound as Mr.
Kennemann. When I claim to be an invalid of hard work, he may perhaps
claim the same. But his work was possibly healthier than mine, this
being the difference between the farmer and the diplomat. The mode of
life of the latter is less healthy and more nerve-racking. To begin
with, then, I am grateful to you, gentlemen, and I should be even
more grateful, if we were all to put on our hats. I have lost in the
course of years nature's own protection, but I cannot well cover my
head if you do not do the same.

I thank you that you have spared no exertion to show your national
sentiments in this way. The exertion was considerable, a night in the
train, a second night on the way back, insufficient meals, and
inconveniently crowded cars. The fact that you have stood all this and
were not deterred by it attests the strength of your national feeling,
which impelled you to bear witness to it here. That you did it here
greatly honors me, and I recognize in it your appreciation of my part
in the work of establishing the conditions which we are enjoying in
Germany today, after years of disunion. These conditions may be
imperfect, but "the best is the enemy of the good." At the time when
we shaped these conditions we never asked: "What may we wish?" but
"What must we have!" This moderation in our demands for union was one
of the most important preliminaries of success. By following this path
we have reached the results which have strengthened the pledge that
your home will remain united with the German empire and the kingdom of
Prussia. The proportion, in the meanwhile, of Germans in the
foundation of our structure to the less reliable--I will not say
loose--Polish element has become decidedly more favorable for the
Germans. Our national figures are forty-eight million Germans and two
million Poles; and in such a community the wishes of the two million
cannot be decisive for the forty-eight million, as must be apparent,
especially in an age when political decisions are dependent on a
majority vote as a last resort. The forces which guarantee the union
of these territories are strong enough both in the parliament and in
the army to assure it, and no one can doubt that the proper
authorities are ready to use these forces at the right time. No one
mistakes the meaning, when the announcement is made from the highest
quarters: "Ere we shall yield again Alsace, our army will have to be
annihilated" (and words to this effect have been spoken). The same
thing is true, to an even stronger degree, of our eastern frontier. We
can spare neither, Posen even less than Alsace, and we shall fight, as
the Emperor has said, to the last man, before we renounce Alsace, this
protection of our Southern states. Yet Munich and Stuttgart are not
more endangered by a hostile position in Strassburg and Alsace than
Berlin would be endangered by a hostile position near the Oder. It
may, therefore, be readily assumed that we shall remain firm in our
determination and sacrifice, if it should become necessary, our last
man and the last coin in our pockets for the defense of the German
eastern frontier as it has existed for eighty years. And this
determination will suffice to render the union between your province
and the empire as positively assured as things can be in this world.

We confined our demands to what was necessary for our existence and
what enabled the big European nation which we are to draw a free
breath. We did not include territories where German used to be spoken,
when this had been largely due to a propaganda of the German courts.
More German used to be spoken in the East, North-east, and elsewhere
than today. Remember our ally, Austria, and how familiar German was
there in the days of Joseph II. and of the Empress Maria Theresa, when
German was a greater force in parts of Hungary than it is or can be
today. But, for everything we gave up in the shape of a linguistic and
outward union, we have found rich compensation in the intensity of a
closer union. If the older gentlemen will think back to the time
before Emperor William I., they will realize that the lack of love
among the various German tribes was much greater at that time than it
is today. We have made notable progress in this direction, and, when
we compare the unequivocal expressions of opinion from Bavaria and
Saxony today with the familiar sentiments of earlier times, we must
say that Germany, which for the past one hundred years had lagged
behind the other people of Europe in national development, has rapidly
caught up with them. Forty years ago we were far behind all other
nations in national feeling and love of one another. Today we are no
longer behind them.

Our fellow-countrymen from the Rhine, from the Alpine lake and the
Saxon Elbe are attached to one another in affectionate sympathy, not
only when they meet abroad, but also at home. A united people has been
created in a remarkably short time. This proves that the medical cure
which we employed, although it was of blood and iron, lanced only a
sore, which had come to a head long ago, and that it gave us speedy
comfort and good health. God grant that the cure will be lasting and
subject to no change. How far reaching it is has been proved by the
testimonials which I have received since I gave up my office. They
have come from all people,--from Baden, Bavaria, Saxony, Suabia,
Hessen, and from all the districts of Prussia outside the provinces of
Frederick the Great. These entirely voluntary manifestations, which
were arranged by no one, and which not infrequently came to me at
rather inconvenient and inopportune times, have impressed me with the
existence of national harmony. Every one of them has given pleasure to
my patriotic heart, and has borne witness to a common feeling existing
in all German races--this much I wished to say concerning the
stability of the political and national union of your province today.

We often sing "Firm is the stand of the faithful guards on the Rhine,"
but they are standing equally firm at the Warthe and the Vistula. We
cannot spare an acre of land in either direction, for the sake of
principle if for nothing else. The previous speaker referred to the
attempts which had been made, as a result of the movement of 1848, to
shake loose the union in which we were then living in Prussia and
Germany, and to disregard our boundary lines. These attempts of
satisfying the wishes of our Polish neighbors ended with the action
of the Prussian general von Colomb, who closed the gates of Posen
to the Polish troops which, in response to promises made in Berlin,
had been raised under the Prussian General von Willisen. We were
obliged to conquer with Prussian troops, and in a bloody war, the
army of the insurgents who fought bravely and honorably. I wish to
add that even that war was not fought with the Polish people as such,
but with the Polish nobility and their following. I remember speaking
to some Polish soldiers of the 19th regiment, I believe, in Erfurt
at that time, that is in 1850, who called the opponents only
"_Komorniks"_--the Polish word for "contract-laborers." We should,
then, not deceive ourselves into believing that even today the number
of those who are opposed to the two races in Posen and in West Prussia
living together peacefully is as large as statistics may claim.

This brings me to the second point touched upon by the previous
speaker, the two races living together peacefully. I believe that many
of you have in your employ laborers and servants who speak Polish, and
that you are of the opinion that no danger comes from this lower
social stratum of the population. Living together with them is
possible, and no disturbance of the peace starts with them. They do
not promote any movements hostile to us. I do not even mention the
fact that they are possibly of another race than the nobility, whose
immigration into the Slavic districts is lost in the obscure past. The
statistical numbers, therefore, of those opposed to a peaceful
communion of both races must be lessened by the large number of
laborers and farmers. The lower classes are, in the bulk, satisfied
with the Prussian government, which may not be perfect always, but
which treats them with greater justice than they were accustomed to in
the times of the Polish republic of nobles. They are satisfied with
this. It was not part of my programme that the commission on
colonization should pay special attention to small holdings of
German-speaking settlers. The Polish peasants are not dangerous, nor
does it make any difference whether the laborers are Polish or
German. The chief thing was to create crown-lands among the big
estates, and to rent them to men whom the State could permanently
influence. The desire for quick sales and colonization emanated from
other competent quarters than myself. It was impossible for me to
supervise these measures after I had instigated them.

The difficulties which I met in the forty years of my Polish diplomacy
did not start with the masses of Polish laborers and peasants, but
were, I believe, occasioned largely, if not exclusively, by the Polish
nobility with the assistance of the Polish clergy. Perhaps this latter
term is too narrow, for I know of instances when German priests
assisted in the Polish propaganda for the sake of peace. This is a
peculiarity of our race--and I do not exactly wish to condemn it--that
we often place our religion above our nationality. The very opposite
is true of our opponents, the Poles and the French people, who regard
their nationality more highly than their religion. We are suffering
from this habit. We possess, however, a certain material
counter-weight, provided the State government unreservedly supports
the German element. The religious element has great weight in the
family circle and among women, especially the Polish women, whom I
have always greatly admired. The minister has a freer access to them
than the local governor or the judge. There will, however, always be a
powerful weight in the scales, when the Prussian government exercises
its influence with firm determination and so clearly that doubts for
the future are impossible. _Vestigia terrent!_ we may say, when with
1848, no--not 1848, I mean 1831-32--the attention paid to the Polish
nation became almost more pronounced in Germany than that given to the
German element. Since then we have surely been able to register
progress in our politics. Now I must ask your indulgence for a moment
on account of my lumbago. (Voices: Sit down, Your Highness.) Sitting
down does not help me. I know this visitor from years of experience. I
was speaking of the possibility of having the two races living
peacefully side by side. This is not impossible, for in Switzerland we
see three different nationalities--the German, Italian, and French
Swiss--deliberate quietly and without bitterness on matters of joint
interest. In Belgium we see the Germanic Flemish form a united State
with the Gallic Walloons, and we perceive that it is possible under
circumstances to live peacefully together even with the Poles, when we
remember East Prussia, where the Polish Masures, the Lithuanians, and
the Germans work together harmoniously. Because nobody has incited the
people there, no national ill feeling has appeared among them. It is
true, to be sure, that the Catholic priest, with his peculiar
interests, is unknown there. But look at your neighbors in Upper
Silesia. Have the two races not lived there in peaceful communion for
centuries, although the religious differences exist there also? What
is it, then, that Silesia has not, and that has made it possible for
us to live there, through centuries, in religious harmony? I am sorry
to have to say it, it is the Polish nobility and the clergy of the
Polish propaganda. The Polish nobles are, no doubt, very
influential--more so with the Poles than the Germans--but the
statistical figures are much larger than the actual number of our
aggressive Polish opponents with whom we have to count.

The nobles are thinking of the time when they were all-powerful, and
they cannot give up the memory of conditions when they ruled the king
as well as the peasants. The Polish nobles, however, are surely too
highly educated to believe that the conditions of the old Polish
republic of nobles could ever return, and I should be astonished if
the Polish peasants knew the history of Poland so badly that they did
not recoil from the possibility of a return to the old state of
affairs. The peasants must say to themselves that a "wet year," as the
farmers put it, would be their lot if the nobles regained their power.
Among the national-Polish representatives that are elected, you
generally meet only noblemen. At least I cannot remember having seen
a Polish farmer as a representative in the Reichstag or in the diet.
Compare this with the election results in German districts. I do not
even know whether there are Polish burghers in our sense of the word.
The middle classes in the Polish cities are poorly developed.
Consequently, when we reduce our opponents to their proper size, we
grow more courageous in our own determination; and I should be very
glad if I could encourage those who on their part are adding to the
encouragement of the Polish nobles. I feel, gentlemen, that I am of
one mind with you, who have traveled the hard road hither. I have no
influence with other elements, but we shall not give up hope in spite
of all vicissitudes.

The address of the previous speaker also referred to vicissitudes and
changes. These changes have characterized our entire Polish policy,
from 1815 till today. They took place whenever high Polish families
gained influence at court. You all know the Radziwill family and its
influence at the court of Frederick William IV. If we could make a
mental test of the popular feeling of 1831 and of today, we should
find that the conviction has greatly increased that we have German
fellow-countrymen in the Grand duchy of Posen. The former and, I am
tempted to say, childish cult of the Poles as I knew it in my
childhood is no longer possible. Then we were taught Polish songs in
our music lessons together with the Marseillaise, to be sure. The
Polish nobleman, therefore, than whom God never created anything more
reactionary, was here thrown into one pot with the French revolution,
and liberalism was coupled with the cause of the Poles, because we
were lacking in political perspicacity. Such feelings were ingrained
in our citizens at that time. I am thinking especially of the citizens
of Berlin. If today you ask the opinion of your forty-eight million
fellow-countrymen, and compare their views and those of the bulk of
the German army with the bugbear which had found lodging in German
hearts at the time of Platen's Polish songs, you surely cannot
despair of further development. We may, you must agree, register
progress, although it is slow and there are lapses. It is like
climbing a sandy hill or walking in the lava of Mount Vesuvius. One
often glides back, but on the whole one is advancing. Your position
will grow the stronger the more vigorously developed our sense of
nationality will become. I ask of you, do not despair if there are
clouds in the sky, especially in this rainy year which has saddened
the farmers. They will disappear, and the union of the Warthe and the
Vistula with Germany is irrefragable.

For centuries we have existed without Alsace-Lorraine, but no one yet
has dared to think of what our existence would be if today a new
kingdom of _Poland_ were founded. Formerly it was a passive power.
Today it would be an active enemy supported by the rest of Europe. As
long as it would not have gained possession of Danzig, Thorn, and West
Prussia, and I know not what else the excitable Polish mind might
crave, it would always be the ally of our enemies. It indicates,
therefore, insufficient political skill or political ignorance if we
rely in any way on the Polish nobles for the safety of our eastern
frontier, or if we think that we can win them to fight anywhere for
German possessions, sword in hand. This is an Utopian idea. The only
thing which we and you, gentlemen, can do under present conditions,
and which we can learn from the Poles, is to cling to one another. The
Poles, too, have parties, and used to show this even more
unfortunately than we, but all their parties disappear as soon as a
national question is broached. I wish the same would come to be true
of us, and that in national questions we would belong primarily, not
to a party, but to the nation. Let us be of as divergent opinions as
we choose, but when in our eastern provinces the question arises:
"German or Polish," then let the party feuds be laid aside until, as
the Berliners say, "After nine o'clock." Now is the time to fight and
to stand together. This is just as it is in military matters--and I
am glad to see among you many who have experience in such things.
Before joining an attack in war we do not ask: Shall we follow our
progressive or our reactionary neighbor? We advance when the drum
beats the signal, and so we should in national affairs forget all
party differences, and form a solid phalanx hurling all our spears,
reactionary, progressive, and despotic alike, against the enemy.

If we agree on this--and the dangers of the future are compelling us
to do so--we shall win our women and children for the same strict
sense of nationality. And if our women are with us, and our youths, we
are saved for all time. This is one of our present tasks, to give a
national education to our children. I am confident that the German
women possess all the necessary qualifications for this task. I shall
ask you, therefore, to join me in a toast: The German Women in the
Grandduchy of Posen! And may the German idea take an ever firmer hold
in your country!


LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR AND THE EMPIRE!

April 1,1895

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[The eightieth birthday of Prince Bismarck was celebrated as a
national holiday everywhere in Germany. Not less than 5,250 youths
from the universities and academies visited Friedrichsruh on April 1
to bear witness, before the "old man" of Germany, to their love for
the emperor and the empire. After receiving a delegation from the
faculties of all the universities, Bismarck addressed the students as
follows:]

Gentlemen! I have just heard from the lips of your teachers, the
leaders of higher education, an appreciation of my past, which means
much to me. From your greeting, I infer a promise for the future, and
this means even more for a man of my years than his love of
approbation. You will be able, at least many of you, to live according
to the sentiments which your presence here today reveals, and to do so
to the middle of the next century, while I have long been condemned to
inactivity and belong to the days that are past. I find consolation in
this observation, for the German is not so constituted that he could
entirely dismiss in his old age what in his youth inspired him. Forty
and sixty years hence you will not hold exactly the same views as
today, but the seed planted in your young hearts by the reign of
Emperor William I. will bear fruit, and, even when you grow old, your
attitude will ever be German-national because it is so today--whatever
form our institutions may have taken in the meanwhile. We do not
wilfully dismiss from our hearts the love of national sentiments; we
do not lose them when we emigrate. I know instances of hundreds of
thousands of Germans from America, South Africa, and Australia who are
today bound to the fatherland with the same enthusiasm which carried
many of them to the war.

We had to win our national independence in difficult wars. The
preparation, the prologue, was the Holstein war. We had to fight with
Austria for a settlement; no court of law could have given us a decree
of separation; we had to fight. That we were facing a French war after
our victory at Sadowa could not remain in doubt for anyone who knew
the conditions of Europe. It was, however, desirable not to wage this
war too soon nor before we had garnered to some extent the fruits of
our North-German union. After the war had been waged everybody here
was saying that within five years we should have to wage the next war.
This was to be feared, it is true, but I have ever since considered it
to be my duty to prevent it. We Germans had no longer any reason for
war. We had what we needed. To fight for more, from a lust of conquest
and for the annexation of countries which were not necessary for us,
always appeared to me like an atrocity; I am tempted to say like a
Bonapartistic and foreign atrocity, alien to the Germanic sense of
justice.

Consequently since we rebuilt and enlarged our house according to our
needs, I have always been a man of peace, nor have I shrunk from small
sacrifices. The strong man can afford to yield at times. Neither the
Caroline Islands nor Samoa were worth a war, however much stress I
have always laid on our colonial development. We did not stand in need
of glory won in battles, nor of prestige. This indeed is the
superiority of the German character over all others, that it is
satisfied when it can acknowledge its own worth, and has no need of
recognition, authority, or privilege. It is self-sufficient. This is
the course I have steered, and in politics it is much easier to say
what one should avoid than to say what one should do. Certain
principles of honesty and courage forbid one to do certain things,
just as the access to certain fields is interdicted in the army
maneuvers. But the decision as to what has to be done is a very
different matter, and no one can be sure of it beforehand, for
politics are a task which can be compared only to the navigation of
unknown waters. One does not know what the weather will be or how the
currents will flow, nor what storms will be raging. There is in
politics this additional factor of uncertainty that one is largely
dependent on the decisions of others on whom one has counted and who
have failed. One never can act with complete independence. And, when
our friends whose assistance we need, although we cannot guarantee it,
change their minds, our whole plan has failed. Positive enterprises
are, therefore, very difficult in politics, and when they succeed you
should be grateful to God who has given His blessing, and not find
fault with details which one or the other may regret, but accept the
situation as God has made it. For man cannot create or direct the
stream of time. He can sail on it and steer his craft with more or
less skill, be stranded and shipwrecked, or make a favorable port.

Since we now have made a favorable port, as I conclude from the
predominant although not unanimous opinion of my countrymen, whose
approval is all we have worked for, let us be satisfied, and let us
keep and cherish what we have won in an Emperor and an empire as it
is, and not as some individuals may wish it should be, with other
institutions, and a little bit more of this or that religious or
social detail that they may have at heart. Let us be careful to keep
what we have, lest we lose it because we do not know how to appreciate
it. Germany once was a powerful empire under the Carolingians, the
Saxons, and the Hohenstaufens, and when she lost her place, five, yes
six hundred years passed before she regained the use of her legs--if I
may say so. Political and geological developments are equally slow.
Layers are deposited one on the other, forming new banks and new
mountains. But I should like to ask especially the young gentlemen:
Do not yield too much to the German love of criticism! Accept what God
has given us, and what we have toiled to garner, while the rest of
Europe--I cannot say attacked us, but ominously stood at attention. It
was not easy. If we had been cited before the European Council of
Elders before our French affairs were settled, we should not have
fared nearly so well; and it was my task to avoid this if I possibly
could. It is natural that not everything which everybody wished could
be obtained under these conditions, and I mention this only to claim
the indulgence of those who are perfectly justified in expecting more,
and possibly in striving for more. But, above everything, do not be
premature, and do not act in haste. Let us cling for the present to
what we have.

The men who made the biggest sacrifices that the empire might be born
were undoubtedly the German princes, not excluding the King of
Prussia. My old master hesitated long before he voluntarily yielded
his independence to the empire. Let us then be thankful to the
reigning houses who made sacrifices for the empire which after the
full thousand years of German history must have been hard for them to
make; and let us be thankful to science, and those who cultivate her,
for having kept alive on their hearths the fire of German unity to the
time when new fuel was added and it flamed up and provided us with
satisfying light and warmth.

I would then--and you will say I am an old, conservative man--compress
what I have to say into these words: Let us keep above everything the
things we have, before we look for new things, nor be afraid of those
people who begrudge them to us. In Germany struggles have existed
always, and the party schisms of today are naught but the echoes of
the old German struggle between the noble families and the trade
unions in the cities, and between those who had and those who had not
in the peasant wars, in the religious wars, and in the thirty years'
war. None of these far reaching fissures, which I am tempted to call
geological, can disappear at once. And should we not be indulgent with
our opponents, if we ourselves do not desist from fighting? Life is a
struggle everywhere in nature, and without inner struggles we end by
being like the Chinese, and become petrified. No struggle, no life!
Only, in every fight where the national question arises, there must be
a rallying point. For us this is the empire, not as it may seem to be
desirable, but as it is, the empire and the Emperor, who represents
it. That is why I ask you to join me in wishing well to the Emperor
and the empire. I hope that in 1950 all of you who are still living
will again respond with contented hearts to the toast

LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR AND THE EMPIRE!




THE LIFE OF MOLTKE

BY KARL DETLEV JESSEN, PH.D.

Professor of German Literature, Bryn Mawr College


To relate, in detail, the story of the life of General-Fieldmarshal
Graf Helmuth von Moltke--or, as we shall briefly call him,
Moltke--means to give an account of that memorable phase of modern
history, perhaps, so far as Europe is concerned, the most important of
the nineteenth century. This was the ascendency of Prussia, of her
king and of her people, culminating in the unification and the
consolidation of most of the German states into one great empire, with
all its realization of military and political power, of social,
economic, and, in a wide sense, of cultural eminence and efficiency.
The barest outlines, however, must suffice for the present purpose.

Moltke was born at the threshold of the century the history of which
he so prominently helped to shape, on October 26, 1800, at Parchim in
the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. On his father's side he descended
from a family of the North German gentry which had come to various
degrees of prominence in some German as well as Scandinavian states.
No doubt he inherited the military instinct from this race of
warriors, statesmen, and landholders; a race the characteristic traits
of which indicated the line along which he was bound to develop, the
field in which he was to manifest his greatest achievements. But there
is just as little doubt that all the elements of character which
exalted his military gifts and instincts into an almost antique
nobility, simplicity, and grandeur--his dignity, purity, dutifulness,
his profound religious devotion, and sense of humor--came to him from
his mother, who was descended from an ancient patrician family of the
little republican commonwealth, the once famous Hansatown of
Lübeck. How far the Huguenot strain may have influenced him, through
his paternal grandmother, is hard to tell, since we know but little of
Charlotte d'Olivet.

After the family had moved to Holstein, where his father failed to
make a success of an agricultural undertaking for which he seems to
have lacked fitness, young Moltke entered the Royal Danish Military
Academy as a cadet, and there passed his lieutenant's examination with
distinction; but he sought and found a commission under the Prussian
eagle. He entered the eighth grenadiers at Frankfort-on-the-Oder. A
year later, in 1823, he was sent to what is now called the War Academy
in Berlin. Only by the closest economy and by some outside work,
partly literary, as we shall see, he managed to get along with his
exceedingly small officer's pay. He distinguished himself however so
much that he became, successively, a teacher at the Division School
and an active military geological surveyor, and finally was taken into
the General Staff of the Army. Becoming a first lieutenant in 1832, a
captain in 1835, ahead of many of his comrades, he served exclusively
in strategical positions. During the four years, 1835-39, he, with
some comrades, was in the Turkish dominions for the purpose of
organizing and drilling the Turkish Army. He witnessed, as an active
participant, the Turkish defeat by the insurgent Egyptians at Nisib on
the Euphrates, which was brought about by the indolent obstinacy of
the Turkish commander-in-chief. Like Xenophon, Moltke retreated toward
and reached the Black Sea. At Constantinople he obtained honorable
dismissal from the Sultan. After his return to Prussia he became chief
of the General Staff of the Fourth Army Corps. In 1841 he married Mary
Burt, a young relative who was partly of English extraction. The union
developed into an unusually happy married life, in spite of, or partly
because of, their great difference in age.

[Illustration: MOLTKE ANTON VON WERNER]

His wife, by whom he had no issue, lived to see the beginning of his
great achievements and fame, but died in 1868, before his proudest
triumph. Various commands led him to Italy, Spain, England, and Russia
as adjutant of Prussian princes. In 1858 he was appointed chief of the
General Staff of the Prussian Army--the institution which he shaped
into that great strategical instrument through which were made
possible, from a military point of view, the glorious successes of the
three wars--1864, 1866, 1870-71--and which has become the model of all
similar organizations the world over.

Side by side with the overtowering political achievement of Bismarck
and the more congenial life work of Roon, the minister of war,
Moltke's service to his country and his king stands unchallenged in
historical significance. He has indelibly inscribed his name on the
tablets of history as one of the world's greatest strategists. But he
did not lay down his work until extreme old age; in 1888, as he so
simply put it in his request for relief from duty, he resigned his
office, because he "could no more mount a horse." He, however, still
remained president of the Commission of National Defense and his last
speech in the German Reichstag, of which he had been a continuous
member since its establishment, he delivered on May 14, 1890. He died
on April 24, 1891. The nation felt that one of its great heroes had
passed away.

In two congratulatory documents on the occasion of Moltke's ninetieth
birthday, Theodor Mommsen, the historian, has summed up the results of
the great soldier's life-work--in the address presented by the Royal
Prussian Academy of Sciences in Berlin, and in the honorary tablet of
the German cities. These inscriptions may be found in Mommsen's _Reden
und Aufsaetze_. Shortly after Moltke's death, in a commemorative
address at the same Academy, the historian and Hellenist Ernst Curtius
reviewed Moltke's relations to historical science and his achievements
in military science and in history. The Academy had appointed the
Fieldmarshal an honorary member in 1860 for his great achievements in
the military, geographical, and historical sciences. Professor
Curtius in the address draws the outlines of Moltke's character as a
student, and explains how he is indebted to the teachings of Karl
Ritter, the founder of scientific geography, how he clearly develops
under the influence of Niebuhr, Alexander von Humboldt, Leopold von
Buch, and Erman, the physicist. He points out how Moltke, as historian
and as an expert cartographer, introduces scientific spirit and work
into his great creation, the German General Staff. As a strategist,
however, it remains to be said that he follows in the footsteps, puts
into practice and develops the methods of General von Clausewitz, the
first mind who put war on an empirical and scientific basis. Moltke
was intimately acquainted with Gibbon through a nearly completed
rendering into German of _The History of the Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire_, a translation which, unfortunately, never was printed
and seems to be lost even in manuscript. As his favorite books and
writers Moltke mentions, among others, Littrow's _Astronomy,_ Liebig's
_Agricultural Chemistry_, Clausewitz's _On War,_ Ranke, Treitschke,
Carlyle. It appears, then, that his scientific equipment was of the
most solid sort, enabling him to make the most valuable contributions
to knowledge.

It is impossible to imagine to oneself Moltke breaking into tears,
either of wrath or of despair, in great crises of his life, such as we
know to have been the case with Bismarck. There is a contrast between
these two men in their very makeup. There is tragedy in Bismarck's
soul, in its volcanic eruptiveness and its conflicts. He is nervously
high-strung in the extreme, the very embodiment, in Karl Lamprecht's
terminology, of the type of "Reizsamkeit." He likes to listen to
Beethoven's music and his sense of nature reveals him to be
impressionable, sensitive. His gamut of emotions and feelings, and
their expression, is extraordinary. Moltke, on the other hand, appears
to be always in harmony with himself, he is far less impulsive than
his great contemporary and friend. His feeling, always awake for
nature, has no element of morbid and pathetic sentiment; in the
earlier stages of its manifestation we see it slightly tinged by
Romanticism. But he is at peace with nature, his great comforting
mother. There is no sudden and surprising break in his mental or
spiritual development. The ideal of the strategist, as antiquity saw
it, appears to be consummated in his person. William James, himself an
ardent pacificist, well observed that in the modern soldier there is a
matter-of-factness far removed from the bluff and make-believe of
modern life in general. He might have chosen Moltke as the best type
of this sort of warrior. But there was much more than this scientific
and dutiful soldier; there was at bottom of Moltke's nature a fine
sense of proportion, an artistic vein, and, not the least element, a
Christian philosophy of life just as far removed from mere perfunctory
indifferentism as from cocksure dogmatic bigotry and self-sufficiency.
We have striking evidence of this in the _Trostgedanken_, the
_Consolatory Thoughts on the Earthly Life and a Future Existence_,
which he laid down as the last literary utterance of his full and
eventful career. But this is not all; for most astonishing of all in
the richness of this well-rounded harmony of over ninety years of life
is a lively source of humor, due more to endowment and inheritance
from his mother than to her influence, as his letters to her bear
witness. When war is declared in 1870 he remarks that a new vitality
has entered his carcass, and, on the very eve of his demise, when in
the morning he had attended a session of the Upper House of the
Prussian Diet, loyal to his work and task to the very last moment, he
closed the last and winning game of whist he played with the quotation
of that grim bit of humor characteristic of Frederick the Great and
his soldiery: "_Wat seggt hei nu to sine ollen Suepers_?"

In Moltke, if in any one, the character of the man reveals the
character and style of his writing. Mommsen, in his address mentioned
above, characterizes him as "the man who knew how to describe, as well
as how to win, battles, the master of style in his rare speeches, the
clever and sympathetic investigator of and writer on manifold ethnic
life, the scientific explorer of the regions on the rivers Tigris and
Euphrates." It is obvious, though, that this mastery of style, this
superb union of form and content, was not attained miraculously and
from the start. Still, his first production, published in 1827, a tale
(_Novelle_) in the style of Tieck and his followers, shows distinctive
talent, and a tendency toward brevity as well as adequacy of
expression, not to mention a sustained sense of harmony and
proportion. The young lieutenant also published, anonymously, some
poetry, and showed a clever hand in translating from foreign poets. It
is a pity that most of these attempts are buried in inaccessible
periodicals and have never been republished. But he left the field of
poetry and fiction, so far as we know, forever with his next work, the
first published under his name and in pamphlet form, a work which,
though of genuine political interest and love, was at the same time
intended to increase his income to the level of a living wage:
_Holland and Belgium in their mutual relations; from their separation
under Philip II., till their re-union under William I_. He read more
than five thousand pages of sources for the preparation of this small
pamphlet. It was published in 1831, and followed within a year by
another one: _An account of the internal state of affairs and of the
social condition of Poland_. Both writings, as in fact everything else
from his pen since about 1830, had a more or less direct bearing on
his military vocation; since war, according to Clausewitz, is nothing
but the continuation of politics by other than diplomatic means.

But the height of his literary mastery is reached in 1841 by the
publication of the _Letters on the condition and events in Turkey from
the years_ 1835 _till_ 1839, the matured fruit of those eventful and
adventurous but, at the same time, constructive years in the Orient.
They have been likened to Goethe's _Italian Journey_. The comparison
is justified by striking resemblances. Both works have resulted from
diaries and letters actually kept, Moltke's work, however, more
faithfully retaining and professing its formal nature. But the
resemblance is much closer, arising, in the so-called inner form, from
a similarity of attitude, the same wide extent of interests which may
be briefly called "kulturgeschichtlich," and, above all, the
scientific concern in the country and its inhabitants, to which both
brought the most solid and methodical qualifications. It is true, the
wealth of Italy, both of antiquity and of the Renaissance, in matters
literary and artistic, so exuberantly mirrored in Goethe's book of
travel, is not to be found in Moltke's work. But this lack is
counterbalanced by those portions dealing with historical events which
Moltke actually experienced and even influenced; events, though then
unsuccessful, as far as his intentions were concerned, yet important
and significant for our own time, as the recent developments on the
Balkan peninsula bear ample evidence. Both, Goethe as well as Moltke,
are clever and artistic in handling pencil and brush as well as their
descriptive pen.

And now the style, in the narrower sense. It is natural, limpid, free
from all rhetorical flourishes and wordiness, placing the right word
in the right place. Xenophon, Caesar, Goethe, come to mind in reading
Moltke's descriptions, historical expositions, reflections. Bookish
terms and unvisual metaphors, which occur in the preceding pamphlets,
though rarely enough, are entirely absent. The tendency toward
military brevity and precision is everywhere obvious. The omission of
the cumbersome auxiliary, wherever permissible, already
characteristically employed in his tale, is conspicuous, as in all his
writings and letters. The words are arranged in rhythmical groups
without falling into a monotonous sing song. Participial
constructions, tending toward brevity, are more in evidence than in
ordinary German prose. Sparingly, but with good reason and excellent
handling, periodic structure is employed. Still another point is
significant, showing the writer to be of born artistic instinct. In a
letter to his brother Ludwig, who was to take from Moltke's
overburdened shoulders part of his laborious task of translating
Gibbon, he cleverly remarks on the exuberant use of adjectives by the
historian as being sometimes more obscuring than elucidating, and he
simply advises the omitting of some. It is a pity that the translation
seems to be lost, and with it an insight into Moltke's elaboration of
his style, which a translation would reveal better than original
composition. In one respect these letters about Turkey were never
equalled by Moltke. Henceforth, he turned absolutely matter-of-fact, a
military writer _par excellence_. Even in his letters those nice bits
of humor and incidental manifestations of a subtle and fine nature
sense grow scarcer and scarcer. There are two essays--_The Western
Boundary_, and _Considerations in the Choice of Railway Routes_--both
published in the _Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift_, in 1841, and 1843
respectively, that demonstrate this tendency toward specialization.
The bulk of his writings from then on falls into that technical series
reserved for, and interesting chiefly to, the military man. Even his
speeches in the Reichstag, few and far between, considering the extent
of years over which they are spread, with all their excellent
"Sachlichkeit," their directness and clearness, concern matters and
problems that affect, more or less directly, his comprehensive duties
as chief intellect of the military organization of his country. So,
quite naturally, we see him very reluctantly yield to a gentle but
persistent pressure to use his great literary talent for setting down
some reminiscences from his life. He declined to publish personal
memoirs, however, saying: "All that I have written about actual and
real things ('Sachliches') which is worth preserving is kept in the
archives of the General Staff. My personal reminiscences are better
buried with me." He had turned objective in the highest possible
degree, leaving behind all vanities and petty subjective points of
view. But after his retirement he wrote, in 1887, on the basis of the
great work on that subject by the General Staff and partly managed by
himself, that short _History of the Franco-German War of_ 1870-71,
which his nation cherishes as a precious inheritance. It is "sachlich"
throughout. Starting with a brief reflection on the origin of modern
wars he relates the events from the point of view of the directing
chief of staff of the army, closing the whole by one impressive
sentence: "Strassburg and Metz, estranged from our country in times of
weakness, had been regained, and the German Empire had come to a
renewed existence." The work is a consummation, in literary form, of
his motto "Erst waegen, dann wagen!" From the very threshold of his
death we possess as the sum total of his philosophy of life those
already mentioned _Consolatory Thoughts on the Earthly Life and a
Future Existence_. From the point of composition and style these are
highly interesting because of the fact that, beside the final version,
three extant parallel versions show the gradual working out of form
and thought.

Something remains to be said about Moltke the correspondent. The
letters preserved or published fully justify his being ranked among
the best letter writers in German literature. Here, more than
elsewhere, the subtle and finer characteristics of the man, the son,
the brother, the friend, the gentle and always kindly responsive
nature of a thoroughly human and Christian soul are revealed. Above
all, however, and side by side with Bismarck's noble letters to his
fiancée and wife, stand Moltke's charming and devoted letters to Mary
Burt von Moltke. I shall not venture to describe their wealth of
sentiment, of charm, of love, of interest in matters big and small.
One of the long series, however, stands conspicuous among them; it is
addressed to his fiancée, dated Berlin, February 13, 1842. Charming in
its combination of a protective, paternal, and instructive attitude
with that of the lover and prospective husband, it is unique also
because of the advice given about the gentle art of writing letters,
an art in which the great modern strategist excelled.



_LETTERS AND HISTORICAL WRITINGS OF MOLTKE_

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POLITICAL AND MILITARY CONDITIONS OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE IN 1836

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[Moltke spent four years, from 1836 to 1839, in Turkey, and, as was
his habit, sent detailed accounts of his experiences to his family.
After his return to Prussia, he collected his material, revised it,
omitted all intimate family references, and published it under the
title _Letters Concerning Conditions and Events in Turkey_. The book
contained sixty-seven letters. The following is the tenth letter,
dated from Pera, April 7, 1836.]

For a long time it was the task of the armies of western Europe to set
bounds to the Turkish sway. Today the powers of Europe seem anxious to
keep the Turkish state in existence. Not so very long ago serious
concern was felt lest Islam gain the upper hand in a great part of the
West, as it had done in the Orient. The adherents of the prophet had
conquered countries where Christianity had been rooted for centuries.
The classic soil of the apostles, Corinth and Ephesus, Nicea (the city
of synods and churches), also Antioch, Nicomedia, and Alexandria had
yielded to their strength. Even the cradle of Christianity and the
grave of the Saviour, Palestine and Jerusalem, did homage to the
Infidels, who held their possessions against the united armies of the
western knights.

It was left to the Infidels to put an end to the long existence of the
Roman Empire, and to dedicate St. Sophia, where Christ and the saints
had been worshipped for almost one thousand years, to Allah and
his prophet. At the very time when people were wrangling about
religious dogmas in Constance, when the reconciliation between the
Greek and the Catholic churches had failed, and the defection of forty
million people from the rule of the Pope was threatening, the Moslems
advanced victoriously to Steiermark and Salzburg. The noblest prince
of Europe at that time, the Roman King, fled from his capital before
them; and St. Stephen in Vienna came near being turned into a mosque,
like St. Sophia in Byzantium.

At that time the countries from the African desert to the Caspian Sea,
and from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic, obeyed the orders of the
Padisha. Venice and the German Emperors were registered among the
tributaries of the Porte. From it three quarters of the coastlands of
the Mediterranean took their orders. The Nile, the Euphrates, and
almost the Danube had become Turkish rivers, as the archipelago and
the Black Sea were Turkish inland waters. And after barely two hundred
years this same mighty empire reveals to us a picture of dissolution
which promises an early end.

In the two old capitals of the world, Rome and Constantinople, the
same means have been employed to the same ends, the unity of the dogma
to obtain unrestricted power. The vicar of St. Peter and the heir of
the calif have fallen thereby into identical impotency.

Since Greece has declared her independence, and the principalities of
Moldavia, Wallachia, and Servia are offering only a formal recognition
to the Porte, the Turks are as if banished from these, their own
provinces. Egypt is a hostile power rather than a subject country;
Syria with her wealth, Adana (the province of Cilicia), and Crete,
conquered at the cost of fifty-five attacks and the lives of seventy
thousand Mussulmans, have been lost without one sword-thrust, the
booty of a rebellious pasha. The control in Tripolis, hardly
recovered, is in danger of being lost again. The other African states
of the Mediterranean have today no real connection with the Porte;
and France in her hesitation whether she should keep the most
beautiful of them as her own is looking to the cabinet of St. James
rather than to the Divan at Constantinople. In Arabia finally, and in
the holy cities themselves, the Sultan has had no actual authority for
a long time.

Even in those countries which are left to the Porte the supreme power
of the Sultan is often restricted. The people on the banks of the
Euphrates and the Tigris show little fidelity; the _Agas_ on the Black
Sea and in Bosnia obey the dictates of their personal interests rather
than the orders of the Padisha; and the larger cities at a distance
from Constantinople are enjoying oligarchical municipal institutions,
which render them almost independent.

The Ottoman monarchy, therefore, consists today of an aggregation of
kingdoms, principalities, and republics which are kept together only
by habit and the communion of the Koran. And if a despot is a ruler
whose words are law, then the Sultan in Constantinople is very far
from being a despot.

The diplomacy of Europe has long engaged the Porte in wars which are
not in its interest, or has forced it to make treaties of peace in
which it has lost some of its provinces. During all this time,
however, the Ottoman Empire had to deal with an enemy at home who
seemed more terrible than all the foreign armies and navies. Selim
III. was not the first Sultan to lose his throne and his life in his
struggle against the Janizaries, and his successor preferred the
dangers of a reformation to the necessity of trusting himself to this
society. Through streams of blood he reached his end. The Turkish
Sultan gloried in the destruction of the Turkish army, but he had to
crave the help of an all-too-powerful vassal in order to suppress the
insurrection on the Greek peninsula. At this juncture three Christian
powers forgot their ancient feuds. France and England sacrificed their
ships and men to destroy the Sultan's fleet, and thus laid open to
Russia the way to the heart of Turkey, and brought about what they
had most wished to avoid.

The country had not yet recovered from these many wounds, when the
Pasha of Egypt advanced through Syria, threatening destruction to the
last descendant of Osman. A newly levied army was sent against the
insurgents, but the generals fresh from the harem led it to
destruction. The Porte applied to England and France, who were calling
themselves its oldest and most natural allies, but received from them
only promises. At this juncture Sultan Mahommed invoked the help of
Russia, and his enemy sent him ships, money, and an army.

Then the world saw the remarkable spectacle of fifteen thousand
Russians encamped on the Asiatic hills overlooking Constantinople,
ready to protect the Sultan in his seraglio against the Egyptians.
Among the Turks dissatisfaction was rampant. The Ulemas saw their
influence wane; the innovations had hurt countless interests, and the
new taxes incommoded all classes. Thousands of Janizaries, who were no
longer permitted to call themselves such, and the relatives and
friends of thousands of others who had been throttled, drowned, or
shot down, were scattered through the country and the capital. The
Armenians could not forget the persecution which they had recently
suffered, and the Greek Christians, who constituted half of the
populace of the original Turkish empire, looked upon their rulers as
their enemies, and upon the Russians as fellow-believers in the same
religion. Turkey at that time could not raise another army.

And just then France was laboring with her great event, England was
carrying a load in her public debts, while Prussia and Austria had
attached themselves more intimately than ever before to Russia,
compelled to do so by the conditions of Western Europe.

Foreign armies had brought the empire to the brink of destruction; a
foreign army had saved it. For this reason the Turks wished above
everything else to possess an army of their own of seventy thousand
regular troops. The inadequacy of this force for the protection of the
extensive possessions of the Porte is apparent after one glance at the
map. The very dimensions preclude the concentration of the troops,
scattered through so many places, when one particular spot is in
danger. The soldiers in Bagdad are 1,600 miles distant from those at
Ushkodra in Albania.

This shows the great importance of establishing in the Ottoman Empire
a well arranged system of militia. It presupposes, of course, that the
interests of those who rule and those who are ruled are not at
variance.

The present Turkish army is a new structure on an old and battered
foundation. At present the Porte would have to look for its safety to
its treaties rather than to its army; and the battles which will
decide the survival of this State may as well be fought in the
Ardennes or in the Waldai Mountains as in the Balkans.

The Ottoman monarchy needs above everything else a well ordered
administration, for under present conditions it will scarcely be able
to support even this weak army of seventy thousand men.

The impoverished condition of the country shows only too clearly in
the lessened income of the State. In vain a number of indirect taxes
have been introduced. A kind of tax on meat and meal is levied in a
very primitive way on the street corners of the capital. The fishermen
pay 20 per cent, of the catch in their nets. Weights and measures must
be stamped anew every year; and all products of industry, from
silverware and shawls to shoes and shirts, are stamped with the
imperial seal. But the proceeds from these taxes are enriching only
those who collect them. The riches melt before the avaricious eye of
the administration, and the ruler of the most beautiful lands in three
continents is drawing water with the leaky pots of the daughters of
Danaus.

For the payment of its necessities the government must rely on the
confiscation of property, as it passes to new heirs or outright, on
the sale of offices, and finally on presents and the miserable means
of adulterating the currency.

In regard to the confiscation of money inherited by State officials,
the present Sultan has declared that he will do without it. This
edict, however, instead of abolishing the practice, acknowledges the
correctness of the principle. Formerly the edicts of confiscation were
accompanied by the death warrants of those who were to be robbed.
Today there are gentler means in use for relieving people of the
surplus of their wealth.

The sale of offices continues to be the chief source of income of the
State. The candidates borrow the money at a high rate of interest from
some Armenian business house, while the government permits these
"lease-holders" to recoup themselves by the exploitation of their
provinces to whatever extent they wish. Withal, they must fear either
a higher bidder, who leaves them no time to get rich, or the State, if
they happen to have grown rich. The provinces know beforehand that the
new pasha has come to rob them. They, therefore, prepare themselves.
Interviews are held, and if no agreement is reached, war is waged, or
if an agreement is broken a revolution takes place. As soon as the
pasha has settled with the _Agas_, he stands in fear of the Porte. He,
therefore, combines with other pashas for mutual protection, and the
Sultan must negotiate with the future neighbors of a new pasha before
he can appoint him. In a very few _pashaliks_, to be sure, the
beginning of a better order of things has been made, the
administrative and military powers have been separated, and the
taxpayers themselves have agreed to higher taxes, provided they are
permitted to pay them directly into the State treasury.

Presents are as customary here as everywhere in the Orient. Without a
present the man of lower station is not permitted to approach his
superior. If you ask justice of a judge you must take him a gift.
Officials and officers in the army are given tips, but the man who
receives most presents is the Sultan himself. The expedient of
adulterating the currency has been used to the point of exhaustion.
Twelve years ago the Spanish dollar was worth seven piasters; today it
is bought for twenty-one. The man who then possessed one hundred
thousand dollars has discovered that today he has only thirty-three
thousand. This calamity has hit Turkey worse than it would have
affected any other country, because very little money is here invested
in land, and most fortunes consist of cash capital. In the civilized
countries of Europe a fortune is the result of having created
something of real worth. The man who wins his wealth in this way is
increasing at the same time the wealth of his State. His money merely
represents the abundance of goods at his disposal. In Turkey the coin
itself is the thing of value, and wealth is nothing but the accidental
accumulation of money within the possession of an individual. The very
high rate of interest, which is here legally 20 per cent, is far from
indicating any great activity of capital. It only indicates the great
danger of letting money out of one's immediate possession. The
criterion of wealth is the ease of its removal. The _Rajah_ will
probably buy jewelry for one hundred thousand piasters in preference
to investing his money in a factory, a mill, or a farm. Nowhere is
jewelry better liked than here, and the jewels which, in rich
families, even children of tender years are wearing are a glaring
proof of the poverty of the country.

If it is one of the first duties of every government to create
confidence, the Turkish administration leaves this task entirely
unperformed. Its treatment of the Greeks, its unjust and cruel
persecution of the Armenians, those faithful and rich subjects of the
Porte, and other violent measures, are so fresh in everyone's memory
that no one is willing to invest his money where it will pay interest
only after many years. In a country where industry is without the
element on which it thrives, commerce also must largely consist of the
exchange of foreign merchandise for raw home products. The Turk
actually gives ten _occas_ of his raw silk for one _occa_ of
fabricated silk, the material for which is produced on his own soil.

Agriculture is even in a worse state. One often hears the complaint
that the cost of all the necessities of life has increased in
Constantinople fourfold since the annihilation of the Janizaries, as
if heaven had decreed this punishment on those who exterminated the
"soldiers of Islam." The fact, while true, should probably be
explained differently, for, since the events referred to, the great
granaries of the capital, Moldavia, Wallachia, and Egypt, which
formerly had to send half of their harvests to the Bosphorus, have
been closed. In the interior nobody will undertake the growing of
grain on a large scale, because the government makes its purchases
according to prices of its own choosing. The forced purchases by the
government are a greater evil for Turkey than her losses by fire and
the plague combined. They not only undermine prosperity, but they also
cause its springs to dry up. As a result the government must buy its
grain in Odessa, while endless stretches of fertile land, under a most
benignant sky and at only an hour's distance from a city of eight
hundred thousand people, lie untilled.

The outer members of this once powerful political body have died, and
the heart alone has life. A riot in the streets of the capital may be
the funeral procession of the Ottoman Empire. The future will show
whether it is possible for a State to pause in the middle of its fall
and to reorganize itself, or whether fate has decreed that the
Mohammedan-Byzantine Empire shall die, like the Christian-Byzantine
Empire, of its fiscal administration. The peace of Europe, however, is
apparently less menaced by the danger of a foreign conquest of Turkey
than by the extreme weakness of this empire, and its threatened
collapse within itself.




A TRIP TO BRUSSA

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[This is the fourteenth of the Letters Concerning Conditions and
Events in Turkey. It is dated from Pera, June 16, 1836.]

Yesterday I returned from a short excursion to Asia, which I really
should describe for you in poetry, because I ascended Mount Olympus.
But since I did not reach the summit, and did not climb farther than
the foot, or more properly speaking the toe, of the giant you will get
off with prose.

I embarked on the eleventh, in the afternoon, in a small Turkish
vessel, and a fresh north wind carried us in four hours to the rocky
promontory of Posidonium (today Bosburun, the point of ice), a
distance of eight miles. Here the sea was running very high, and our
_reis_, or helmsman, who was squatting on the high and delicately
carved stern of the ship, was beginning to chant his _Allah
ekber_--God is merciful--when the wind died down so completely toward
dusk that we did not reach Mudania before eight o'clock next morning.

The horses were soon ready, and up to Brussa I passed through a
country that was doubly charming after the lonesomeness of Roumelia,
which had been all I had seen for six months. Everything is under
cultivation, planted less with corn than with vines and mulberry
trees. The latter, which serve as food for the silkworms, are trimmed
low like bushes, with the crowns cut off, as we do with willows. Their
large bright green leaves cover the fields far and wide. The olive
trees grow here in groves of no mean size, but they have to be
planted. The whole richly cultivated country reminds one of Lombardy,
especially of the hilly landscape near Verona The distant view is as
magnificent as the foreground is lovely. On one side you see the Sea
of Marmora and the Princess Islands, and on the other the glorious
Mount Olympus, whose snow-clad peak rises above a broad girdle of
clouds. The flowering vineyards filled the air with rich scent,
assisted by caprifolium blossoms in luxuriant growth, and a yellow
flower the name of which I do not know.

When we had crossed a ridge of low hills, we saw Brussa stretched out
before us in a green plain at the foot of Mt. Olympus. It is indeed
difficult to decide which one of the two capitals of the Ottoman
rulers is more beautifully situated, the oldest or the newest, Brussa
or Constantinople. Here the sea and there the land bewitches you. One
landscape is executed in blue, the other in green. Relieved against
the steep and wooded slopes of Mt. Olympus, you see more than one
hundred white minarets and vaulted domes.

The mountain rises to the regions of almost perpetual snow, and
supplies the inhabitants of Brussa with wood to warm themselves in
winter and with ice for their sherbet in summer. A river, called
Lotos, winds its course through rich meadows and fields of mulberry
trees, where giant nut trees with dark foliage and light green planes,
white minarets and dark cypress trees rise to the sky. Vines climb up
the mighty trunks and attach themselves to the branches, whence they
droop again to earth, while Caprifolium plants and thriving creepers
superimpose themselves on the vines. Nowhere have I seen such a wide
and thoroughly green landscape, except from the tower of Lübbenau,
overlooking the woods along the Spree. But here you have in addition
the richer vegetation and the glorious mountains which surround the
plain. The abundance of water is surprising; everywhere brooks are
rushing along and springs are gushing from the rocks, ice cold and
boiling hot, side by side. In every part of the city, even in the
mosques, water is bubbling from countless fountains.

As is the case with all Turkish cities, the beautiful picture vanishes
the moment you enter Brussa. The smallest German town surpasses
Constantinople, Adrianople, or Brussa in the charm of its buildings
and still more in comfort. Only the mosques and the _Hanns_, or
caravansaries, the fountains and public baths are magnificent. In the
earlier times of the Ottoman monarchy no ruler was permitted to build
a mosque before he had won a battle against the infidels. The mosques
in Brussa are smaller and less beautiful than those which were built
later, but they possess the added interest of historical memories.
There you find such names as Orchan, Suliman, Murad, in short, all the
heroes of the victorious period of Islam.

The mosque of Bajasid attracted me most because of its excellent
architecture. Bajasid is the man whom the Turks call Ilderim, or the
Lightning. The monument of the mighty conqueror, who himself was
conquered and died in a cage according to the legend, stands alone in
the shadow of mighty cypress trees. The largest of the mosques used to
be a Christian cathedral. It is lighted from above, the middle vault
having been left open. The beautiful Asiatic starry sky itself has
become its vault. The opening is covered with a wire screen, and below
it in a wide basin a fountain is playing.

I will not say that even the largest mosques, the Sultan Selim, for
instance, in Adrianople, or Sulamanich in Constantinople, make the
same impression or inspire the same reverence as St. Stephan's in
Vienna, or the cathedrals of Freiburg and Strassburg. But every
mosque, even the smallest, is beautiful. There is nothing more
picturesque than the semi-circular, lead-covered domes and the
slender, white minarets rising above the mighty planes and cypresses.
When the Ottomans conquered the provinces of the Eastern Roman Empire
they preserved the Greek Church architecture, but they added the
minarets, which are of Arabian origin.

[Illustration: COUNT MOLTKE]

The _Hanns_ are the only stone dwelling-houses to be found. They are
built in the shape of rectangles with an open court. Here, at least in
the larger ones, you will find a mosque, a fountain, a small kiosk for
noble travelers, and a few mulberry trees or plane trees. All about
the court there is a colonnade with pointed arches; and, beyond that,
rows of cells, each one with its individual vault. A mattress of straw
is the only furniture for the traveler, who finds neither service nor
food in these _Hanns_.

We dined in thoroughly Turkish fashion at the _Kiebabtshi_. After our
hands had been washed we sat down, not at but on the table, where my
legs were terribly in the way. Then the _Kiebab_, or small piece of
mutton, broiled on the spit and rolled in dough, was served on a
wooden platter. It is very good and tasty. It was followed by salted
olives, which are wonderful, by the _helva_, i. e., the favorite sweet
dish, and by a bowl of sherbet. This consists of water poured over
grapes and thoroughly iced. The whole dinner for two hearty eaters
cost one hundred and twenty paras, or five shillings.

The comforts of the Turkish baths I have described to you in an
earlier letter. The baths of Brussa are distinguished, because they
are not artificially but naturally heated, and so much so that you
would not think it possible, at first, to enter the great basin of
clear water without being parboiled before you could leave it again.
From the terrace of our bath we had a beautiful view, and it was so
comfortable there that we hated to leave.

On the thirteenth we rode to Kemlik, at the end of the Bay of Mudania,
where there is a dockyard. This is the most beautiful spot I have
seen. The clear surface of the sea is lost here between the high and
steep mountains, which leave just enough space for the little town and
the olive woods. Twilight is very brief in this country, and night had
come when we reached the town gate, but what a night! Although the
moon happened to be new, objects were distinguishable at a
considerable distance, while the evening star shines here so brightly
that shadows are cast by its light.

At three o'clock in the morning we were again in the saddle, riding
toward the East through a valley and between high mountains, along the
same road which Walther von Habenichts once followed with his twelve
thousand crusaders. The hills were covered with olive trees and
flowering bushes filled with nightingales. At sunset we reached the
extensive lake of Isnik. The gigantic walls and towers on the opposite
shore used to protect a powerful city, for which the crusaders often
fought. Today they surround the few miserable huts and rubbish heaps
which centuries ago were Nicea. It was here that an assembly of one
hundred learned bishops expounded the mystery of the Trinity, and
decided to burn all who held a different view. What would these proud
prelates have said if a man had prophesied to them that the time would
come when their rich and mighty city would be a rubbish heap, and
their cathedral the ruins of a Turkish mosque; when the empire of the
Greek emperors would be destroyed, and their own exegesis, yes, even
their entire religion, would have disappeared from these parts, and
when for hundreds of miles and through hundreds of years the name of
the camel-driver of Medina would be the only one in the mouths of the
people.

The Moslems, who abhor all pictures, have covered with whitewash the
paintings in the Greek churches. In the Cathedral of Nicea, where the
famous council was held, there glistens even today through the white
coating of the wall, where the high altar used to be, the proud
promise, I.H.S. (_in hoc signo_, i. e., under this sign, the cross,
you will win). But directly over it is written the first dogma of
Islam, "There is no God but God." There is a lesson of tolerance in
these faded inscriptions, and it seems as if Heaven itself wished to
listen as well to the _Credo_ as to the _Allah il allah_. One of the
chief pursuits of the honest Turks is what they call _Kief etmek_,
literally "creating a mood." It consists of drinking coffee in a
comfortable place and smoking. Such a place _par excellence_ I found
in the village where we made a stop. Imagine a plane which extends its
colossal branches horizontally for almost one hundred feet, burying in
its deep shadow the nearest houses. The trunk of the tree is
surrounded by a small terrace of stone, below which water is gushing
from twenty-seven pipes in streams as thick as your arm, and rushing
off as a lively brook. Here, with their legs crossed, the Turks sit,
practising--silence.




A JOURNEY TO MOSSUL

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[This is the forty-third letter of Moltke's Letters from Turkey, and
is dated from Dshesireh on the Tigris, May 1, 1838.]

I told you in my last letter that we should be going on an expedition
against the Arabs. This did not materialize. Nevertheless, I had the
opportunity of making the acquaintance of a very interesting part of
the country. On April 15, von Mühlbach, I, and two fully armed _agas_
of the pasha, together with our servants and dragomans, embarked on a
vessel built in a style well known even in the times of Cyrus, a raft
supported by inflated sheep-skins. The Turks look upon hunting as a
sin, they despise venison and beef, but eat an enormous quantity of
sheep and goats. The skins of these animals are cut in front as little
as possible and removed from the carcass with great care. Then they
are sewed up and the extremities tied up. When the skin is inflated
(which is done quickly and without touching the skin to the mouth) it
is exceedingly buoyant and can hardly be made to sink. From forty to
sixty such bags are tied together in four or five rows under a light
framework of branches. There generally are eight skins in front and
eighteen in the back. The whole is covered with a litter of leaves
over which rugs and carpets are spread. Taking your seat on these you
glide downstream with utmost comfort. Because the current is swift,
oars are not needed for progress, but only for steering the raft,
keeping it in the middle of the course, and avoiding the dangerous
rapids. On account of these rapids we had to tie up every night
until the moon was up, but in spite of this we covered the distance,
which by land would have taken us eighty-eight hours, in three and
one-half days. The river, therefore, must flow with an average
velocity of almost four miles per hour. In places it is much swifter,
and in others decidedly slower.

The Tigris leaves the mountains near Argana-Maaden, and flows past the
walls of Diarbekir, where it is apt to cause slight inundations in
summer time. It then receives the Battman river flowing in a southerly
direction from the high Karsann-Mountains and carrying more water into
the Tigris than this river contained before. Immediately after the
union of these two rivers the Tigris enters another mountainous
territory formed of sandstone. The gentle curves of the broad and
shallow river are transformed into the sharp criss-cross angles of a
ravine. The banks are abrupt, often vertical on both sides; and on top
of some steep, rocky slopes your eye may discover groves of dark-green
palms, and in their shadows the settlements of tribes of Kurds, who in
this region are mostly cave-dwellers.

The town of Hassn-Kejfa (Hossu-Keifa), situated on a high rock whence
a narrow staircase descends to the river, offers a most unusual
aspect. The old city below has been destroyed, and only a few minarets
still pointing to the sky indicate that mosques and houses once stood
here. The inhabitants were obliged to retreat to the top of the cliff,
where they built a wall of defence on the only accessible side. In the
narrow ravine I discovered huge blocks which had rolled down from
above. People have hollowed them and are using them as dwelling
places. These "huts" today make up a small, very irregular town,
which, however, possesses even a bazaar. By far the most noteworthy
remains are the ruins of a bridge which used to cross the Tigris.
There was one gigantic arch with a span of between eighty and one
hundred feet. I do not know whether the credit for such a daring
structure should be given to the Armenian kings or the Greek
emperors, or perhaps even to the califs.

It is impossible to travel more comfortably than we did. Stretched out
on downy pillows, and provided with victuals wine, tea, and a charcoal
basin, we moved down the stream with the rapidity of an express coach
and without the least exertion. But the element which propelled us
persecuted us in another form. Rain poured from the sky incessantly
after our departure from Diarbekir. Our umbrellas no longer protected
us, and our cloaks, garments and carpets were soaked. On Easter day,
just as we were leaving Dshesireh, the sun broke through the clouds,
warming our stiffened limbs. About two miles below the city the ruins
of another bridge across the Tigris are still in existence, and one of
its piers creates a fierce whirlpool whenever the water is high. The
exertions of the men at the oars were of no avail, and irresistibly
our small ark was attracted by this charybdis. With the speed of an
arrow we were sucked down below the surface, and a big comber broke
over our heads. The water was icy cold, and when in the next moment
our raft, which had not capsized, continued its way downstream as
innocently as if nothing had happened we could not help laughing at
one another, for we were a sad looking sight, everyone of us. The
charcoal basins had gone overboard, a boot swam alongside, while each
one of us hastened to fish out some little object. We made a landing
on a small island, and since our bags were as thoroughly soaked as we
were ourselves, we had to disrobe and spread our entire toilet in the
sun to dry as well as possible. At some distance a flock of pelicans
were taking their rest on a sandbank and sunning their white plumage
as if in derision of our plight. Suddenly we saw that our raft had got
loose and was floating off. One of the _agas_ immediately jumped after
it and fortunately reached it. If he had failed we should have been
left on a desert island in nothing but nature's own garb.

When we were tolerably dry we continued our journey, but renewed
downpours spoiled the moderate results of our previous efforts. The
night was so dark that we had to tie up, for fear of being drawn into
other whirlpools. In spite of the biting cold, and although we were
wet to the skin, we did not dare to light a fire which might have
attracted the Arabs. We silently pulled our raft into the shelter of a
willow tree and waited longingly for the sun to appear from behind the
Persian frontier mountains and to give us warmth.

Not far from Dshesireh the Tigris enters another plain and leaves
behind the high and magnificent Dshudid mountains on whose bright and
snow-clad peaks Noah and his mixed company are said to have
disembarked. From here on the scenery is very monotonous; you rarely
see a village, and most of those you see are uninhabited and in ruins.
It is apparent that you have entered the country of the Arabs. There
are no trees, and where a small bush has survived it is a _siareth_ or
sanctuary, and is covered with countless small rags. The sick people
here, you must know, believe they will recover when they sacrifice to
the saint a small part of their garments.

On the top of an isolated mountain of considerable height we could see
at a great distance the ruins of an old city. When we approached it we
actually passed along three sides of this mountain, on the north, east
and south. The city was, I suppose, the ancient Bezabde of which the
records say that it was situated in the desert and surrounded on three
sides by the Tigris. Sapor laid siege to it after he had taken Amida
and, when he had captured its three legions, gave it a Persian
garrison.

Gliding past the ruins of the so-called old Mossul we discovered
toward evening the minarets of Mossul. This is the most easterly point
which I have visited, and my Turkish companions had to face west when
they offered their evening prayer, while in Constantinople the moslems
are looking for the _Kibla_ in the southeast.

Mossul is the important half-way station for the caravans from Bagdad
to Aleppo. Being situated in an oasis of the desert the city must at
all times be on the lookout against the Arabs. The walls which
completely surround the city are weak but high, and offer sufficient
protection against the irregular bands of mounted Bedouins. The
Bab-el-amadi gate, mentioned in the time of the crusaders, is still
standing, although it has been walled up. Most of the dwellings are
built of sun-dried bricks and a kind of mortar which hardens within a
few seconds. Following an Oriental custom great weight is attached to
beautiful and large entrance doors (_Bab_). You can see arched portals
of marble (which is quarried immediately outside the city gates) in
front of houses and mudhuts the roofs of which scarcely reach to the
points of the arches. The roofs are flat, made of stamped earth
(_Dam_), and are surrounded by low walls and parapets. In most of the
larger houses you can see traces of their having been hit by bullets,
and the fortress-like aspect of these dwellings reminds you of the
palaces of Florence, except that here everything is smaller, humbler
and less perfect.

The inhabitants of Mossul are a remarkable mixture of the original
Chaldean populace and the Arabs, Kurds, Persians and Turks who
successively have ruled over them. The common speech is Arabic.

Indshe-Bairaktar, the governor, received us with great courtesy and
had us quartered with the Armenian Patriarch. The Nestorian and
Jacobite Christians of Mossul have the most beautiful churches I have
seen in Turkey, but they are living in discord and hatred. One of
these churches happened to belong, I do not know why, to two
congregations, and since everything which the one did in these sacred
halls was an abomination in the eyes of the other, the beautiful vault
had been divided by a brick wall directly in the centre.

Our Jacobite Patriarch was greatly troubled about having to house
heretics, but he much preferred us to Nestorians or Greeks. Since no
Christians, moreover, had ever been received with so much honor by
the Pasha, and the most important Mussulmans came to pay us their
respects, he treated us well, and even sold me a Bible in Arabic and
Syrian (Chaldean).

In the northwesterly corner of the city the plateau falls off abruptly
toward the river. Here the water of the Tigris is raised by a
contrivance, which makes use of a high kind of derrick, leathern hose,
and a rope which is pulled by a horse. The long nozzle of the hose
empties into huge brick basins whence the water is distributed over
fields and gardens. But only the empty areas within the walls and the
fields adjacent to the city are cultivated. If only a fraction of all
the water rushing past Mossul could be used for irrigation purposes
this whole country would be one of the most fertile of the world. This
idea undoubtedly induced the people ages ago to build the powerful
stone dikes which hem in the course of the river a few hours above the
city. Surely, it would not be difficult to irrigate all the fields
from there, but the Arabs hovering about the city make the harvesting
of the crops too uncertain.

There is a bazaar especially for the Arabs immediately outside the
walls of Mossul, built there for the purpose of keeping these
suspicious characters from entering the city proper. Over the
confusion of many small mud-huts some slender palm trees rise to
majestic heights, the last ones of the desert. These palms are like
reeds grown to the proportions of trees. They are typical of the
south, and give confidence to the Arabs who seem to feel that they are
way up north and yet still in the land of the myrrh and the incense.
Here the children of the desert congregate and, pushing their
bamboo-spears into the sand--point down, squat on the ground to admire
the glory of a city--even though it be a city which affects the
European with the very opposite of glory, but which for hundreds of
miles has no equal.

Perhaps no people have preserved their character, customs, morals, and
speech as unchanged through centuries as the Arabs, and have done so
in spite of the most manifold changes in the world at large. They were
nomads, shepherds and hunters roving over little-known deserts, while
Egypt and Assyria, Greece and Persia, Rome and Byzantium rose and
fell. And then, inspired by one idea, these same nomads suddenly rose
in their turn and for a long time became the masters of the most
beautiful valley of the old world, and were the bearers of the then
civilization and science. One hundred years after the death of the
Prophet, his first followers, the Sarazenes, ruled from the Himalayas
to the Pyrenees, and from the Indies to the Atlantic Ocean. But
Christianity and its higher spiritual and material perfection, yes
even its intolerance, which its high morality should have made
impossible, drove the Arabs back again from Europe. The rude force of
the Turks undermined their rule in the Orient, and for the second time
the children of Ishmael saw themselves driven out into the desert.

Those Arabs who had reached a higher state of culture, and had settled
down to the pursuit of agriculture, commerce, or industry, had to sink
the lower before the oppression of a rule of iron. The artificial
dealings of a government trying to imitate European methods, and the
assistance of the Franks, the introduction of the census and of taxes,
of duties and monopolies, standing armies and conscriptions, the
barter of offices and the leasing of custom houses, slavery and the
vices of the east, together with the energy, indomitable will and
marvelous luck of Mehmet Ali, all combined in one grand achievement--I
mean the monumental tyranny, never yet equalled, under which the
fellahs today are groaning in Egypt and the Arabs in Syria, and under
which a whole country has been transformed into a private domain, and
a whole people into personal slaves.

By far the greater part of the Arabic nation, however, had remained
true to its old customs, and no despotism could get hold of them. The
extent of the Asiatic and African deserts, their fiery sky and parched
soil, and the poverty of the inhabitants have ever been the
protection of the Arabs. The rule of the Persians, the Romans, and the
Greeks was never more than partial, and often existed only in name.
The Bedouin today, like his fathers of old, is still living the life
of want, care, and independence, roving through the same steppes as
they, and watering his herds from the same wells as they did in the
time of Moses or of Mahomet.

The oldest descriptions of the Arabs fit the Bedouins of our day.
Unquenchable feuds are still dividing the several tribes, the
possession of a pasturing place or of a well still determines the
welfare of many families, and blood-feuds and hospitality still are
the vices and virtues of this people of nature. Wherever along their
frontiers the Arabs come in contact with foreign nations war is the
result. The children of Abraham divided among themselves the rich and
fertile countries, while Ishmael and his tribe were cast out into the
desert. Shut off from all the other people the Arabs consider
foreigners and foes to be identical and, unable to procure for
themselves the products of industry, they believe they are justified
in appropriating them wherever they find them.

The pashas of the frontier provinces repay these constant depredations
with repressive measures on a big scale and are not concerned about
the individuals who are made to suffer. When they saunter forth with a
few regiments of regular cavalry and a field gun they are sure to
scatter even the biggest _ashiret_ or encampment. The Arab does not
like to stand his ground against gun-fire and never resists an
artillery-attack which he cannot of course return. He does not fear so
much for his own life, as for that of his horse, for a full blooded
mare often makes up the whole wealth of three or four families. Woe to
the horse which with us is owned by three or four masters. With the
Arabs it has as many friends to take care of it.

When the Turks succeed in surprising an _ashiret_ they take away the
herds of sheep and goats, a few camels, and possibly some hostages
whom they keep in miserable bondage. In a small hut or stable of the
serail of Orfa I found nine old men. A heavy chain attached to rings
around their necks fastened the one to the other, and twice daily they
were driven to the watering trough just like cattle. The Turks had
demanded of their tribe the exorbitant ransom of 150,000 piasters, of
which one third had actually been offered. When I saw the old men,
there was little chance of their ever being ransomed at all. The
pasha, however, promised me that he would set them free. I do not know
whether he kept his word.

Such examples do not deter the Arabs, and, as far as their horses are
able to go, no settlement can endure. The entire southern slope of the
Taurus, the ancient Oszoene, is dotted with indications of their
devastation. Here wonderful brooks are flowing from the mountains, and
a superabundant supply of water, a hot and ever bright sky, and a most
fertile soil have combined in creating a paradise, if only men would
not always destroy it. Snow is unknown here, and olive-trees, vines,
mulberry trees, palms and pomegranate trees spring up wherever you
guide a stream of water, however small, while the yield of grain,
rice, and cotton is phenomenal. But of Karrat, now Harran, the seat of
Abraham, only a mound of earth and a few crumbled walls remain. Dara,
the magnificent creation of Justinian, lies in ruins, and on the site
of Nisibin, which had been completely destroyed, Hafiss-Pasha has
built only recently some new cavalry barracks, under whose protection
the city and the surrounding villages have taken a new lease of life.
Orfa and Mossul finally, the only large cities, appear like outposts
of Mesopotamia.

In their robber-expeditions the Arabs have the hope of booty before
them and behind them the assurance of a safe retreat. They alone know
the pasturing grounds and the hidden wells of the desert, they alone
can live in these regions, and do so by the help of the camel. This
animal, which can carry a load of from five hundred to six hundred
pounds, takes all their property, their wives, children, and old men,
their tents, provisions and water from one place to another. It can
make six, eight, even ten days' marches without drinking, and a fifth
stomach keeps a final draft in reserve in case of greatest need. Its
hair is made into garments and cloth for the tents; its urine yields
salt, its droppings are used for fuel and, in caves, are transformed
into saltpeter from which the Arabs make their own gunpowder. The milk
of the camel serves as food not only for the children, but also for
the colts, which grow thin but strong like our horses when they are in
training. Camel meat is tasty and wholesome, and even the skin and the
bones of a camel are good for something. The most wretched feed, dry
grass, thistles and brambles, satisfies this patient, strong, helpless
and most useful of all animals. Next to the camels, which even the
poorest Arab owns in almost incredible numbers, the horses represent
the chief wealth of these children of the desert. It is well known
that these animals grow up in the tents together with the children of
the family with whom they share food, deprivations and hardships, and
that the birth of a colt of fine lineage marks a day of joy in the
whole _ashiret_.

In Europe the Arabian horses are classified according to an erroneous
and incomplete system. I am thinking especially of their division into
_Kohilans_ and _Nedshdis_. This latter name designates the numerous
tribe of Arabs inhabiting the high plateau of the interior of Arabia,
and breeding, it is true, excellent horses. But just as little as
every Arabian horse is full blooded, just as little every _Nedshdi_ is
a _Kohilan_. This is the whole matter: _Kohilan_ was the favorite
horse of Hasaret-Suleiman-Peigamber (His Highness Solomon the
Prophet). It is, moreover, true and no legend that the better horses
receive at birth their family-tree, in which their parents, and often
their grandfathers, are mentioned, and which they carry through life,
generally in a triangular capsule, by a string around their neck. In
the course of centuries several of Kohilan's descendants have so
greatly distinguished themselves that they have become sires of note
in their own name. Among the most notable descendants of Kohilan I
heard mentioned the colts of Meneghi, and next of Terafi, Djelevi,
Sakali, and many more. Mahomet himself rode a Kohilan of the family of
Meneghi on his flight from Medina. You understand, therefore, that not
every Nedshdi has to be full-blooded, and that a Kohilan may be as
well an Aenesi or Shamarly as a Nedshdi.

The Arabs of the race of Shamarr who camp in the country between
the two rivers, and who can muster ten thousand mounted men, had
recently been guilty of many robberies, and had refused to
recognize the new sheikh whom the Porte had appointed over them.
Hafiss-Pasha, therefore, decided to give them a most thorough
chastisement. The pashas of Orfa and of Mardin were to march
against them, and he wanted to have the pasha of Mossul, who is
not under his jurisdiction, do the same. If this had been done,
the Arabs would have been forced back against the Euphrates,
beyond which the Aenesi Arabs live who are hostile to them. But
Indshe-Bairaktar did not fancy an expedition which was expensive
and promised little booty. When finally definite orders came from
the Bagdad-Valesi, the other pashas had already scared away the
enemy, who had disappeared into unknown regions.

After a brief and interesting sojourn, therefore, we decided to return
through the desert with a caravan which was on the point of starting.
Since the Arabs had been greatly incensed by the recent attacks, the
expedition was increased by forty horsemen. We joined it toward
evening in its encampment, about two hours from Mossul, near the
Tigris where everybody wished to have one more last good fill of
water. The _Kyerwan-Bashi,_ or leader of the caravan, whom the pasha
had notified of our arrival, at once made his appearance and had his
tent made ready for us. He also presented us with a goat for supper.

For five days we traversed the _Tsull,_ or desert of northern
Mesopotamia, without seeing any human habitations. You must not think
of this desert as a sea of sand, but as an interminable green plain
with only occasional, very slight undulations. The Arabs call it
_Bahr,_ the sea, and the caravans proceed in an absolutely straight
line, taking their direction from artificial mounts which rise above
the plain like prehistoric graves. They indicate that once upon a time
a village existed here, and that, therefore, a well or a spring must
be nearby. But the mounts often are six, ten or even twelve hours
distant the one from the other. The villages have disappeared, the
wells have gone dry, and the rivulets are bitterly salt. A few weeks
later this green plain which now is nourished by copious daily dews
will be a wild waste parched by the sun. The luxuriant growth of grass
which today reaches to our stirrups will be withered and every
water-course run dry. Then it will be necessary to follow the Tigris
in a wide détour, and none but the ships of the desert, the camels,
will be able to traverse this plain, and they only by night.

Our caravan consists of six hundred camels and four hundred mules. The
big bags carried by the former contain almost exclusively palm-nuts
for the dye houses of Aleppo, and cotton. The more valuable part of
the freight, silk from Bagdad and shawls from Persia, pearls from
Bassora, and good silver money which in Constantinople will be
recoined into bad piasters, is small in proportion to the bulk
carried.

The camels go in strings of from ten to twenty, one behind the other.
The owner rides ahead on a small donkey, and although his stirrups are
short his feet almost touch the ground. He is continually shoving his
pointed slippers into the flanks of his poor beast and placidly
smoking his pipe. His servants are on foot. Unless the donkey leads,
the camels refuse to stir. With long thoughtful strides they move
along, reaching the while with their thin restless necks for thistles
or thorns by the roadside. The mules are walking at a brisk pace.
They are decorated with little bells and beautiful halters gaily set
with shells.

When the caravan has come to the place where the night is to be spent,
the _Kjerwan-Bashi_ canters ahead and designates the exact spot for
the camp. The beasts of burden are unloaded as they arrive, and the
huge bags are placed together as a kind of fortification in the shape
of a quadrangle, within which each one prepares himself a place of
rest. Our tent, which was the only one in the caravan, stood outside
and was given a special guard of _Bashi-Bazouks_. The camels and mules
were turned loose in the high grass where they were expected to look
also for all the water they needed.

As soon as it grows dark the camels, which have roved often at half an
hour's distance, are collected. The leaders call to them, and since
each one knows his master's poah! poah! they obediently come home.
They are arranged in rows within the quadrangle. The smallest boy can
control these big, strong, yet harmless and helpless animals. He
calls: Krr! krr! and the huge beasts patiently sink to their knees.
Then they fold their hind legs, and after a series of strange,
undulating movements all are lying in regular rows, moving their long
necks in every direction and looking about. I have always noticed the
resemblance of a camel's neck with that of an ostrich, and the Turks
call these birds _deve-kush_, the camel-birds. A thin cord is then
tied around one bent knee of each camel. If it should rise it would
have to stand on three legs, and would be unable to move.

On this evening we were visited by several friendly Arabs, short and
thin, but strong and sinewy people. Their complexion was
yellowish-brown, their eyes were small and vivacious. An assumed
dignity barely disguised their native vivacity, and their guttural
speech reminded us very strongly of the Jews. Their dress consisted of
a rough cotton shirt, a white woolen cloak and a red and yellow
kerchief, half-silk, which each man had fastened about his head
with a string, just as you see it on the Egyptian statues.

[Illustration: MOLTKE AT SEDAN ANTON VON WERNER]

Hunting-in the _Tshull_ is highly successful. There are countless
gazelles, pheasants and partridges hiding in the tall grass. On the
third day we were just on the point of following some bustards, which
clumsily rise on their wings and after some time descend again to the
ground, when a general alarm arose in the caravan. "The Arabs are
coming!" was shouted everywhere. A throng had been noticed in the
distance approaching very rapidly. The head of our column stopped, but
since our whole caravan was stretched out to the length of
approximately four miles, there was little hope of protecting it with
a guard of some sixty armed men. The horsemen galloped ahead to an
artificial mount, where the Arabs were pointed out to me. There were
indeed numerous black spots moving rapidly through the plain, but
since I had a small telescope with me I could quickly convince my
companions that what we saw before us was nothing but a huge herd of
wild boars bearing down upon us. Soon the beasts could be recognized
with the naked eye.

Tonight the _Kjerwan-Bashi_ told me a characteristic story of an Arab
which I had heard before in Orfa.

A Turkish general of cavalry, Dano-Pasha at Mardin, had been
negotiating for some time with an Arab tribe concerning the purchase
of a full-blooded mare of the Meneghi breed. Finally a price of sixty
bags or almost fifteen hundred dollars was agreed upon. At the
appointed hour the sheikh of the tribe arrives with his mare in the
courtyard of the pasha. The latter is still trying to bargain, when
the sheikh proudly replies that he will not take one _para_ less. The
Turk sulkily throws him the money saying that thirty thousand piasters
are an unheard of price for a horse. The Arab looks at him in silence,
and ties the money very complacently in his cloak. Then he descends to
the courtyard to take leave of his mare. He mutters some Arabic words
in her ear, strokes her eyes and forehead, examines her hoofs, and
walks all around her, carefully studying the attentive horse. Suddenly
he jumps on her bare back, and, in the same instant, off she shoots
like a dart out of the courtyard.

In this country the horses generally stand ready with their _palans_
or felt saddles on, day and night. Every distinguished man has at
least one or two horses in his stable ready to be mounted as soon as
they have been bridled. The Arabs, however, ride without bridles. The
halter serves to check the horse, and a gentle tap with the open hand
on the neck makes it go to the right or the left. Not more than a few
seconds, therefore, elapsed before the _agas_ of the pasha were
mounted and in hot pursuit of the fugitive.

The unshod hoofs of the Arabian mare had never yet trodden cobble
stones, and very carefully she picked her way while she hastened down
the steep, uneven road leading from the castle. The Turks, on the
other hand, galloped over the steep descent with its loose pebbles
just as we often gallop up a sandy slope. Thin, circular shoes, forged
cold, kept all harm from the feet of their horses, which were
accustomed to such trips and made no false steps.

Where the village ends the _agas_ have almost caught up with the
sheikh, but now they are in the plain, the Arabian mare is in her
element, off she darts, straight ahead, for here there are neither
ditches nor fences, neither rivers nor mountains to delay her course.
Like a clever jockey who leads a race, the Arab wishes to ride as
slowly and not as quickly as possible. Constantly looking back at his
pursuers, he keeps out of gunshot. When they approach he pushes on;
when they fall behind, he slows the pace of his horse; when they stop,
he walks his mare. Thus the chase continues till the fiery orb of the
sun verges toward the horizon. Then for the first time the Arab
demands of his horse every ounce of her strength. Crouching over her
neck he drives his heels into her flanks, and with a loud "Jellah!" is
gone. The sod resounds under powerful hoof-beats, and soon only a
cloud of dust indicates to his pursuers the course he has taken.

Here where the sun descends to the horizon almost in a vertical line
the twilight is exceedingly brief and soon dark night had swallowed up
every trace of the fugitive. The Turks, without provision for
themselves or water for their horses, realized that they were some
twelve or fifteen hours away from home and in an unknown locality.
What could they do but return and bring to their irate master the
unwelcome news that both the horse and the rider with the money were
gone? Not until the third evening did they reach Mardin, half dead of
exhaustion and with horses hardly able to put one foot ahead of the
other. Their only consolation was that here there was another instance
of Arabian perfidy for them to revile. The traitor's horse, to be
sure, they were obliged to praise, and they had to confess that such
an animal could hardly be paid for too dearly.

Next day, just when the _Imam_ is calling to morning prayer, the pasha
hears hoofbeats under his window, and into the courtyard the sheikh is
riding entirely unabashed. "Sidi," he calls up, "Sir, do you want your
money or my horse?"

Somewhat less quickly than the Arab had ridden we reached on the fifth
day the foot of the mountain and near a clear rivulet the large
village of Tillaja (Tshilaga), doubtless the ancient Tilsaphata, where
the starving army of Jovian on its retreat from Persia to Nisibin
found its first provisions. There I learned that on that very morning
Mehmet-Pasha had started with an army on an expedition against the
Kurds in the north. I at once decided to join him and, leaving the
caravan, arrived at his camp that same evening. There I was told that
Hafiss-Pasha had sent a guard of fifty horsemen to meet us, whom we
had missed, because they had looked for us in the direction of
Sindjar.



A BULLFIGHT IN SPAIN

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[From a letter written by Moltke to his brother Fritz and dated
October 28, 1846.]

My most interesting experience was a bullfight. At three in the
afternoon my Frenchman and I betook ourselves to the circular arena
where twelve thousand people were assembled to watch the _Corrida de
Toros_. There are about twenty stone steps on which the people take
their places, just as in the ancient amphitheatres, and on top there
are two tiers of boxes, of which the one in the centre is reserved for
the queen. The arena proper where the fight is to take place is
perfectly empty, and is separated from the spectators by a barrier of
beams and planks seven feet in height. A small platform makes it
possible for those who fight on foot to vault safely from the arena
when they can avoid the bull in no other way.

After some delay the gates opened and the _alguazil_, some kind of a
higher official clad in old-fashioned garb, rode in and announced that
the game was about to begin. He was everywhere greeted with hoots,
ridicule and disrespectful whistling; I do not know why. But he seemed
to know what to expect, for he apparently did not mind his reception
in the least. The Romans in the circus made sport of their consuls and
emperors, and the Spaniards at a bullfight are permitted an equal
latitude of behavior.

Then the _chulos_ entered--on foot, with gay hangings draped over
their right arms. They were followed by six _picadores_ on horseback,
dressed in leather jerkins and breeches, protected on the right side
with bands of iron. They wore Spanish hats and carried each a heavy
spear on which there was an iron point only half an inch long. Their
saddles were of the high cowboy type, and they sat their horses well.
Under the accompaniment of deafening applause the _matador_
(literally, the murderer) took his place at their head. His name was
Cuchiera, and he was a famous and celebrated hero of the arena. Thus
this phalanx advanced toward the royal box, where Queen Christine,
wife of Muñoz, Duke of Rianzares, was seated, and dropped to their
knees to offer her the royal salute; whereupon twelve thousand people
hissed.

At last the chief actor entered, a powerful black bull with sharp
horns and fiercely glistening eyes. He had been in a room with holes
in the ceiling through which he had been poked with pointed sticks. He
was, therefore, tolerably ill-humored before he entered the arena. As
soon as the doors of his prison were opened he shot forward to the
centre of the field, looked fiercely about him, greatly astonished,
pawed the sand with his feet, and then hurled himself upon the nearest
_picador_. This man held his ground, and permitted the maddened bull
to rush against his pointed spear. The horse had his right eye
bandaged lest he see the bull and bolt. The attack, however, was so
fierce, and the rider so firmly seated in his saddle, that both he and
his horse were lifted up and thrown over backwards. At the same moment
the sharp horns of the bull were fastened in the horse's belly. A
stream of blood, thick as your finger, spurted out directly from the
horse's heart. The _picador_ was lying under his charger, and was
prevented by his costume from freeing himself. His certain end was at
hand if the _chulos_ had not come to his assistance with their gay
draperies. The bull immediately let go his prey and hurled himself
upon the men on foot, or rather upon their gaudy cloaks. He chased one
the entire length of the arena and, when his foe had escaped him by
jumping the barrier, he made the stout fence tremble under his
hammering horns. At the disappearance of his enemy the bull stood
stock still, as if dumfounded, until a second _picador_ met his
glance. This horseman had the same experience as his predecessor, but
before the _chulos_ could bring help the bull buried his horns a
second time in the belly of the convulsed horse and carried it high up
in the air through half the length of the arena. The third horse was
ripped open in a trice. The wretched animal actually caught his feet
in his own entrails and dragged them from his body bit by bit. In this
condition he was beaten and given the spurs and was forced to await a
second attack by the infuriated bull.

Since the bull each time had received a terrific thrust on his left
shoulder from the spear, he finally refused to charge another one of
the _picadores_. Their places, therefore, had to be taken by the
_banderilleros_. These gay-looking people are men on foot with arrows
two feet long, each with a hooked point. On the other end these arrows
are decorated with little flags, brass foil, tinsel, and even bird
cages whence gaily decked birds are permitted to escape. With these
arrows the _banderilleros_ walk right up to the bull, and, when he is
ready to charge, jump to one side and thrust their weapons deep into
his neck, halfway between his ears and his horns. Then the beast grows
altogether mad and furious, and often chases a whole band of _chulos_
in wild flight over the barrier, which calls for noisy shouts of
ridicule from the crowd. Once the bull straddled the fence, and there
have been times when he has succeeded in scaling it. One of the
_chulos_ was so bold as to put his gaudy cloak over his shoulders, so
that the bull charged straight at him. But as the beast lowered his
head and threw himself forward with closed eyes, the man jumped over
him and stood by his side.

When finally the rage of the bull is at its height, but his strength
is waning, the _matador_ faces him, all alone. At once a hush falls
over the spectators, who sit in rapt attention, for the _matador's_
work is by far the most dangerous.

He is a fine-looking man, in shoes and white stockings. His silk coat
and breeches are sky blue; his hair is tied in a net, in his left hand
he carries a small scarlet cloak, and in his right a diamond-shaped
blade of sharp Toledo steel, four feet in length. It is necessary to
drive this into the neck of the bull at a very definite point, for if
it hits him elsewhere he can shake it off and break it into splinters.
In order to hit the right spot the man must let the bull pass him at a
distance of only two or at best three inches. Everything is based on
the assumption that the bull will attack the red cloth rather than the
man, and will continue his course in an absolutely straight line.
There are exceptions, and then the _matador_ is lost.

Very deliberately the _caballero_ walked up to his black antagonist
and shook his red cloth at him. Twice he let him pass under his arm.
At the third attempt he thrust his blade up to the hilt into the neck
of the beast. For another minute perhaps the bull rages, then he
begins to bleed from his mouth, he totters and then collapses.
Immediately a kind of hangman's assistant sneaks up from behind and
plunges a dagger into the neck of the bull, who expires on the spot.

At this juncture five mules decorated with ribbons and tinkling bells
came trotting into the arena; they were hitched up to the horses and
then to the bull, and at a fast clip carried the corpses away. Some
sand was then sprinkled on the puddles of blood, and a new bull
brought out. In this way eight bulls were driven to death. Twenty
horses fell dead, while several more were led away mortally wounded. A
single bull killed eight horses. No men were seriously hurt.

The horses, it is true, are of such a quality that, if they are not
killed today, they will be taken to the horse-butcher tomorrow. Good
horses would not only be too expensive, but they would also refuse to
await the attack of the bull without shying or offering resistance,
even if their right eyes were bandaged. The more horses the bull has
killed and the more dangerous to the men he has become, the louder is
the applause. One bull persistently refused to attack the _picadores_.
He ran up and down the arena, trembling with fear, while the crowd
shrieked curses and imprecations. At last they yelled: _Los perros_!
(the dogs!) When the dogs arrived in the arena they could hardly be
restrained. Madly they rushed upon the bull, who at once gored one of
them and tossed him high in the air. The others, however, fastened on
him, one of them seizing his tongue so firmly that he was swung high
up in the air and down again. You could have torn him to pieces before
he would have let go. Finally four dogs had the bull in a position
where he could not free himself, and the matador struck him down.

While this butchery was at its height, the young queen with the
Infanta entered, accompanied by Don Francesco, her husband, and the
Duke of Montpensier. Aumale had arrived earlier. The queen looked very
happy and is by no means so ugly as the papers say. She is blonde,
rather stout, and not at all plain. The Infanta is small, extremely
dark and thin. The queen was greeted by the _matador_ just as her
mother had been, but by the spectators with much enthusiasm. When the
eighth bull was killed, it began to grow dark, but all the people
yelled "_un otro toro_," and the ninth bull was hunted down almost in
darkness--which is very dangerous for the _matador_.

This, then, is the spectacle which the Spaniards love better than
anything else, which is watched by the tenderest of women, and which
brought a smile to the face of the Infanta, a recent bride. So far as
I am concerned, one bullfight was quite enough for me, and its
description, I fancy, will be enough for you.




DESCRIPTION OF MOSCOW[38] (1856)

TRANSLATED BY GRACE BIGELOW


Thursday, August 28th

The City of Moscow takes it for granted that the Emperor has not yet
arrived. A few assert that he has been since yesterday at the Castle
Petrofskoy, an hour's ride from here, where he is holding court and
reviewing a hundred thousand Guards; but that is his incognito;
officially, he is not yet here.

The Holy City is preparing for the reception that is to take place
tomorrow. They are hammering and pounding in all the streets and on
all the squares. Most of the houses here stand alone, in the centre of
a garden or court. Large tribunes for spectators have been erected in
these spaces. In several of these I counted three thousand numbered
seats. Before the houses themselves, moreover, small platforms with
chairs have been erected, protected by linen awnings, decorated with
tapestries, carpets and flowers. There must be at least several
hundred thousand seats, so that there can be no crowd. Only those who
cannot pay the few kopecks,[39] the Tschornoi Narod, or "the black
brood of the people," will form the movable mass, and the police will
have to restrain them.

All palaces and churches have laths nailed on their architectonic
lines, upon which the lamps for the festive illuminations are to be
fastened. The Giant Ivan, which will speak from the mouths of
twenty-five large bells, bears upon its golden dome a crown formed of
lamps, surmounted by the great glittering cross, which the French
pulled down with immense toil and danger, and which the Russians
victoriously reinstated. As an atonement for the offense, they laid
one thousand guns of the godless enemy at the feet of Ivan, where
Count Morny can see them to this day.

Half of the population of the city are in the streets, looking about,
and they are allowed to go everywhere, even in the Kremlin.

Every day six-and eight-horse teams, mostly dark gray and black, which
are going to convey the state coaches of the Empress and the
Grand-Duchesses, are going to and fro from the Kremlin to Petrofskoy.
Strangely enough, the outriders sit on the right front horses. An
equerry of the Guards walks by each horse and leads it by the bridle.
Yesterday their Excellencies carried a fearfully heavy canopy,
supported by thick gold posts, through the salons and over the stairs
of the palace. The aides-de-camp walk by the side of it, and balance
it by golden cords.

The state coaches, most wonderful products of former centuries, have
been drawn out of their semi-obscurity in the Arsenal, where they have
rested twenty-eight years. The oldest are entirely without springs,
are suspended by leather straps six feet long over a tongue twenty
feet long and correspondingly thick, which is so bent that the coach
almost reaches the ground. Those of the Empresses are ornamented with
diamonds and jewels. It will hardly be possible to use the oldest.
There is, further, a kind of house on wheels, made of gold, velvet,
and crystal, which Peter the Great received as a present from England,
and compared to which a thirty-six pounder is but a child's toy. In
short, everything is life and activity here, in expectation of the
volleys of cannon which will announce tomorrow from the old gate
towers of the Kremlin the solemn entrance of the Czar.

Yesterday the Emperor wished to ride through the camp of the Guards,
whom he has not seen since he ascended the throne, because, in
consequence of the war, they had been removed to Lithuania and Poland,
and are now encamped at an hour's distance on a vast plain. A solemn
mass, at which the Empress was also present, preceded this. We drove
out in complete gala dress through thick clouds of dust. The Emperor
rode with his suite. He looked very well on horseback. At this moment
it began to rain, and poured uninterruptedly. Fortunately we found
shelter under the open tent in which the altar was, and in which the
mass was said, or, rather, sung. All further inspection was
countermanded, and we returned home.

In the evening I drove to Petrofskoy. It lies in the midst of a wood,
and has a very odd appearance. The castle proper is a three-storied
quadrangle with a green cupola. The entrances are supported by the
most singular bottle-shaped bulging columns, and the whole is
surrounded by a turreted wall, with battlements and loopholes. This
red-and white-painted fortress, the light of which radiates from the
high windows through the dark forest, recalls a fable of the _Arabian
Nights_. All monasteries and castles here are fortified. They were the
only points capable of holding out when the Golden Tribe rushed upon
them with twenty or thirty thousand horses, and devastated all that
flat country. Long after their yoke was broken, the Khans of Tartary
in the Crimea were formidable enemies. The watchmen from the highest
battlements of the Kremlin were continually observing the wide expanse
toward the south; and when the dust-clouds rose thence, and the great
bell (kolokol) of Ivan Welicki rang the alarm, every one fled behind
the walls of the Czar's palace or to the monasteries, upon whose walls
the infuriated horsemen struck and dashed in vain. The Christianity,
science, and culture of the Russian nation sought shelter in the
cloisters, and from them started afterward Russia's deliverance from
the domination of the Mongolians and Poles.

Today there was again mass in the open air, and five battalions
received new flags, which in addition were blessed by the priests;
then the Metropolitan Archbishop walked the length of the front and
sprinkled the troops thoroughly with holy water; some of the men were
practically soaked to the skin. The Emperor and both Empresses not
only kissed the cross, but the archbishop's hand. Then the Emperor
passed the front of every battalion, and, with a true military
attitude, spoke a few words to the men, which were received with
endless applause. He was an excellent rider, and rode a well-trained
horse. Then he inspected the front of the whole camp--one and a half
German miles. There were seventy-four battalions, with eight hundred
men apiece--about sixty thousand men in all. They stood unarmed and in
caps, all of them old, bearded, and dark-faced.

I care nothing for the deafening hurrahs that lasted two hours; but
these old, mustached men show how glad they are to see their Czar.

The Emperor spoke to some of them. They answered their Batuschka
(little father) without embarrassment. In Russia the family is the
microcosm of the State. All power rests with the father. All theories
of representative government in Russia are pure nonsense. "How can
human statutes circumscribe the divine right of a father?" asks the
Russian. So that the unlimited power in the hands of the Emperor is
necessary and beneficial in a land where nothing is done that is not
ordered from above.

Whoever should gaze, as I have done, on a warm, sunny day, upon the
city of Moscow for the first time from the height of the Kremlin would
certainly not think that he was in the same latitude in which the
reindeer graze in Siberia, and the dogs drag the sleighs over the ice
in Kamtchatka. Moscow reminds one of the South, but of something
strange never seen before. One seems to be transported to Ispahan,
Bagdad, or some other place--to the scene of the story of the
Sultaness Scheherezade.

Although Moscow does not count more than three hundred thousand
inhabitants, it covers two square miles with its houses, gardens,
churches, and monasteries. In this flat region one can hardly see
beyond the extreme suburbs, and houses and trees extend to the
horizon.

No city in the world, with the exception of Rome, has so many
churches as the holy Stolitza of Russia. It is affirmed that Moscow
boasts of forty times forty churches. Each one has at least five, and
several even sixteen, cupolas that are brilliantly painted, and
covered with colored glazed bricks, or richly silvered and gilded,
glittering in the blue atmosphere like the sun when it is half above
the horizon. Even the graceful towers, rising sometimes to
considerable heights from the immense mass of houses and gardens, are
similarly ornamented, and neither do the larger ones among the palaces
lack the addition of a cupola.

The dwelling houses are almost always in gardens, and are distinctly
outlined against the dark background of trees by their white walls and
flat iron roofs painted light green or red. The oldest part alone,
close to the Kremlin--the Kitai-Gorod, or the Chinese quarter--forms a
city according to our notions, where the houses touch each other, and
are carefully enclosed by a beautiful turreted wall, here, of course,
painted white. All the rest seems to be a large collection of country
houses, between which the Moskwa winds its way.

The Kremlin contains (besides the palaces of the Czars and the
Patriarchs) the Arsenal and the treasures of the church. Here are
concentrated the highest civil and religious powers. The cloisters,
mostly at the extremities of the city, are fortresses in themselves.

It was in the Kitai-Gorod that the commercial guild established
itself, needing for its wares, imported from China, Bucharia,
Byzantium, and Novgorod, the protection of walls. The rest, and by far
the larger part of Moscow, was built by the nobility for themselves;
and long after the first Emperor had raised a new capital upon the
enemy's ground it was looked upon with contempt by the grandees of the
Empire, still faithfully clinging to the customs of their fathers.

The venerable city of Moscow, with its ancient, sacred relics and
historical reminiscences, still remains an object of veneration and
love to every Russian; and, often coming from a distance of hundreds
of miles, when getting a glimpse of the golden cross on the Church of
Ivan Welicki, he falls on his knees in reverence and patriotic
fervor. St. Petersburg is his pride, but Moscow is nearer to his
heart. And, in truth, Moscow has no resemblance to St. Petersburg.
There is no Neva here, no sea, no steamers; nowhere a straight street,
a large square, or a wooded island. But Moscow has as little
resemblance to any other city. The cupolas, the flat roofs and the
trees remind one of the East; but there the cupolas are more curved,
covered with gray lead, and surmounted by delicate minarets; the
houses show no windows toward the street; and the gardens are enclosed
by high, dead, monotonous walls. Moscow has a character of its own;
and if one wishes to compare it with anything, it must be called
Byzantine-Moresque. Russia received her Christianity and first
civilization from Byzantium. Until of late years she remained
completely shut off from the East, and what culture she once adopted
became rapidly nationalized. The heavy scourge of the Mongolian and
Tartar domination, which burdened this country for nearly three
centuries, prevented for a long time any further progress. All culture
was confined to the monasteries, and to these they afterward owed
their deliverance. The Khans of Tartary never required their
submission to Islam; they satisfied themselves with the tribute. In
order to raise this, they had recourse to native authority. They
supported the power of the Grand Dukes and of the priesthood; and the
despotism of the Golden Tribe, much as it circumscribed further
improvement, strengthened the oppressed in their faith in their
religion, fidelity to their rulers, and love to their mutual
fatherland.

These are still the characteristics of the people; and when
one reflects that the embryo of this nation, the Great
Russians--thirty-six million people of one root, one faith, and one
language--forms the greatest homogeneous mass of people in the world,
no one will doubt that Russia has a great future before her.

It has been said that with an increase of population this boundless
empire must fall to pieces. But no part of it can exist without the
other--the woody North without the fertile South, the industrial
centre without both, the interior without the coast, nor without the
common joint stream, navigable for four hundred miles--the Volga. But,
more than all this, the national spirit unites the most distant
portions.

Moscow is now the national centre not only of the European Empire, but
of the ancient and holy kingdom of the Czars, from which the
historical reminiscences of the people spring, which, perhaps, is big
with the destinies of the future empire in spite of a deviation of two
centuries.

The foreign civilization which was forced upon them has never
penetrated the mass of the people. The national peculiarity has
remained complete in language, manners, and customs, in a highly
remarkable municipal constitution, the freest and most independent
existing anywhere; and, finally, in their architecture. The last can,
of course, only be applied to the churches. In Russia nearly
everything is new. What is older than a hundred years is looked upon
as an antiquity. The Russian dwelling-house is of wood, and therefore
never reaches that age, unless, like the one of Peter the Great, it be
encased by a stone one. Even the palaces of the Emperor are new, and
only here in Moscow can be found a ruin of the old Dworez of the
Czars. There are churches in existence of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries (a great age for Russia), and the strictly conservative
spirit of the priesthood has been instrumental in retaining the same
style of architecture in the later buildings.

The St. Sophia, in Constantinople, is the model upon which all Russian
churches are built. It was imitated everywhere, but never equalled,
not even by St. Mark's in Venice. There was lack both of material and
skill to build an arch with a span of one hundred and twenty-six feet.
What could not be accomplished in width was attempted in height. The
domes became narrow and tall, like towers. The rough stone, handled
without art, rendered clumsy pillars and thick walls necessary, in
which the windows, like embrasures, are cut narrow and deep. The
brightest light falls through the windows in the thinner wall which
supports the cupolas. Nearly all churches are higher than they are
long and wide. The clumsy tetragonal pillars contract the already
narrow space. One has nowhere a free view, and a mystic twilight
reigns everywhere. The most famous Russian churches can only
accommodate as many hundreds as a Gothic cathedral can thousands. It
is true most of them were built by Italian masters; but the latter
were obliged to conform to the rules and forms already in use.

Since the architectonic conditions were unfavorable to the creation of
a magnificent whole, an attempt was made to ornament the individual
parts with brilliancy and magnificence. Not contented to gild the
churches inside and out, the floors were paved with half-precious
stones, and the pictures (of no artistic value) were covered with
jewels, diamonds, and pearls. Only the faces and hands are painted;
the garments, crown, and all else are plated with silver, gold, and
jewels.

Sculpture is entirely prohibited, as far as representing the human
form is concerned; but they do not hesitate to represent God himself
on canvas. The gilt background is of itself disadvantageous for the
carnation of the pictures, and added to this are the long-drawn
outlines of the Byzantine and old German schools, without the genuine
feeling of the latter. Gigantic scarecrows gaze down from the cupolas,
meant to represent the Virgin Mary, Christ, St. John, or God the
Father. A Russian buys no holy picture that is not quite black or
faded out. A lovely Madonna of Raphael, or a fine Sebastian of
Correggio, does not seem to him expressive. His creed needs the
obscurity of his church--the clouds of incense which at every mass
veil the mysterious movements of the priests.

The Byzantine element in the Russian architecture is then historically
easy to explain. The Moresque originated with the necessity of
decorating the individual parts, and relates only to these.

The railings of the Ikonostase are interlaced with vines, garlands,
and animal forms. The flat walls, principally where they are not gilt,
are decorated with leafwork, rosettes, and twining vines. Where
this could not be cut in stone it was painted, and the deficiency in
drawing was supplied by a variety of the most glaring colors. Of
course, they remained far behind the tasteful, artistic arabesques of
the Alhambra and the Alcazar.

The craziest thing in the way of architecture is the Church of Ivan
Blajennoj, on the Red Square before the Kremlin. It cannot be
described. This building stands on uneven ground, although the fine
level Place is before it. It crouches on the edge of the hill, and
leaves one leg hanging down. There is no trace of any symmetry. It has
no central point, and no one part is like another. One cupola looks
like an onion, another like a pineapple, an artichoke, a melon, or a
Turkish turban. It contains nine different churches, each having its
own altar, Ikonostase, and sanctuary. You enter several of these on
the ground floor. To reach others, you ascend a few steps. Between
these is a labyrinth of passages so narrow that two people can with
difficulty pass each other. Of course, all these churches are very
narrow. The one in the main tower can scarcely contain more than
twenty or thirty persons, and yet its vaulted roof reaches into the
tower at a height of over a hundred feet. This church is painted with
all the colors of the rainbow, inside and out, and plated with silver
and gold. The cupolas shine with red, green, and blue glazed bricks,
and even the masonry has been colored by the artist.

This monstrosity emanated from the brain of Ivan Hrosnoj, "the
Terrible John." When he saw the architect's work complete he was
delighted, loaded him with praise, embraced him, and then ordered his
eyes to be put out, that no such second masterpiece should be
attributed to him.

But, with all its singularity, this church does not produce a
disagreeable impression. It cannot be denied that it is at least
original.

Everything, on the contrary, left from the old Dworez (palace) is
really beautiful. There is a strange four-story building narrowing
toward the top. There is a balcony formed by each receding story,
from which there is a fine view. The second story contains, besides
the rich but small chapel, a banquet-hall, like the Kanter's,[40] in
Marienburg, only that there the entire vaulted roof is borne by a
slender column, and here by a thick pillar. The entrance is in one
corner; the throne stands diagonally opposite in the other. At
present, the walls are covered with splendid tapestries, and the great
throne draped with _drap d'or,_ lined with real ermine. This drapery
cost forty thousand rubles. The small but exquisite rooms in the third
story are charming. The fourth story is only one large room. It was
the Terima, or dwelling of the women--the room in which Peter I. grew
up.

At the parole delivery all the regiments were represented, the cavalry
mounted. It was beautiful to see specimens of all these dazzling
uniforms: the Cuirassiers, with the Byzantine double eagle upon their
helmets, something like our Garde du Corps, but with lances; the
Uhlans, almost exactly like ours; the Hussars, in white dolmans with
golden cords; the line Cossacks, with fur caps and red caftans; the
Tschernamorskish Cossacks, in dark blue coats with red jackets over
them; and the Ural ones with light blue--all with lances, on little
horses and high saddles. The Tartars are nearly all heathen or Moslem.
The Circassians appeared in scaly coats of mail and helmets. They
showed off their equestrian accomplishments, fired from the horse with
their long guns, shielded themselves from their pursuers by their
kantschu,[41] concealed themselves by throwing their bodies on one
side so that they touched the ground with their hands; others stood
upright in the saddle--all done at full gallop and amidst fearful
noise.

A regiment of Drushins,[42] an Imperial militia levied on the
Imperial apanage estates, pleased me well. They wore a cap with
the cross of St. Andrew, bare neck; the native caftan, only
shorter and without a button; very wide trousers, the shirt over
them (as with all common Russians), and the end of their trousers
tucked into their high boots. Such is the uniformed Mujik
(peasant). This dress is national, becoming and useful. The men
can wear their furs (which are here indispensable) underneath;
and I will venture to say that the entire Russian infantry will
adopt a similar costume. "_Les proverbes sont l'esprit des
peuples_," and the national dress is the result of the experience
of centuries in regard to what is becoming and appropriate.

The Austrian uniform is white in Moravia and brown in the Banat,
because the sheep there are of that color. The Spaniard wears the
tabarra, as he receives the material from the goat. The Arabian is
white from head to foot, because the heat of his climate requires it;
and the Mujik does not wear his caftan from caprice, but because it
suits him best.

The Emperor's cortège is truly imposing--about five hundred horses.

If I only had a better memory for persons and names! I have made the
acquaintance of a number of interesting men; that is, I have been
presented to them: Prince Gortschakoff, Lueders, Berg, and
Osten-Sacken, who commanded in the last war; Orloff, Mentschikoff,
Alderberg, Liewen, the Governor of Siberia, and the commandant of the
Caucasus; then a lot of aides-de-camp, the foreign princes, and their
suites.

One can be truly thankful if one rides a strange horse without causing
or experiencing some disaster. A bad rider comes up from behind; a
horse sets himself in your way; here a mare kicks up behind; there a
stallion kicks up in front. It is but a small affair to ride alone,
but in the confusion of such a train, in a short trot on a lively
beast, one must keep one's eyes open. Suddenly the Emperor stops, and
there is a general halt; or he turns to one side, and then there is
great confusion; he gallops forward, and all plunge after him, while
the head of the column has again taken a short movement. With all
this the flags are flying, the trumpets are blowing, the drums are
beating, and there are endless hurrahs. But one must also see
something. I rode a little black horse that I would like to possess;
he goes like an East Prussian, but is very spirited, and I constantly
found myself in the front among the grand dukes. But I shall get on
well with him when we know each other better. He needs a quiet rider
with a firm seat, and a light hand on the reins.

This evening at sunset, I again ascended the Kremlin. _"Diem perdidi"_
I should say of the day of my sojourn there in which I did not visit
this wonderful structure.

I descended to the Moskwa, and, from under the fine quay, examined the
massive white walls, the towers and the gate forts which surround the
Czar's palace, and a whole town of churches of the strangest
structure. Tonight the city gives a grand entertainment, from which I
shall absent myself to write. One receives so many impressions that it
is impossible to digest them all and collect one's thoughts.

I am trying to understand this architecture. In Culm, in West Prussia,
I saw last year in the marketplace such a curious City Hall that I
could not reconcile it in my mind; now I understand that it is
Moscovite architecture. The Knights of the Sword of Liefland were in
intimate connection with the German Knights in Prussia, and one of
their architects may have repeated on the Vistula what he had seen on
the Moskwa.

The fountains here remind one of the East; little, round covered
houses on the principal squares, which are constantly surrounded by
men and beasts supplying themselves with water. At first they seem
rude and awkward when compared with the fine style, the rich
sculpture, the golden railings, and the perforated marble walls of the
Tschesmas of Constantinople. There are here, as in the mosques, swarms
of doves that are so bold that they scarcely leave room for carriages
and foot-passengers. They are often chased out of the shops like a
brood of chickens, and they go everywhere for food. No one does them
any harm, and the Russians think it a sin to eat them. The Gostinoy
Dwor (the merchants' court) is especially a repetition of the Oriental
Tschurchi. One booth is next to the other, and the narrow passages
that separate them are covered; therefore the same dim light and the
same smell of leather and spices exist as at the Missir, or Egyptian
market, in Constantinople. The wares here, however, are mostly
European, and cheaper at home, so that we are not much tempted to buy.

If I had my choice, I would rather live in Moscow than in St.
Petersburg.

Peter the Great found an island without any seacoast. He could look
upon the Black Sea or the Baltic as a communication with the civilized
world; but one or the other must first be conquered. The hot-headed
King of Sweden pressed him to a Northern war, and, besides, the
Southern Sea was inhabited by barbarians. His original intention, it
is said, was to build his new capital on the Pontus, and that he even
had selected the spot. The one coast, indeed, is not much farther from
the centre of the empire than the other.

How would it have been had he built his St. Petersburg on the
beautiful harbor of Sebastopol, close to the paradisiac heights of the
Tschadyr Dagh, where the grape grows wild and everything flourishes in
the open air that is forced through a greenhouse on the Neva; where no
floods threaten destruction; where the navy is not frozen fast during
seven months of the year; and where steam power makes an easier
communication with the most beautiful countries of Europe than the
Gulf of Finland does?

What a city would St. Petersburg have been, did her wide streets
extend to Balaklava and did the Winter Palace face the deep blue
mirror of the Black Sea; if the Isaac Church stood at the height of
Malakoff; if Aluschta and Orianda were the Peterhof and Gatschina[43]
of the Imperial family!




THE PEACE MOVEMENT

TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.


[Professor Bluntschli had sent the manual of the Institute of
International Law to Count Moltke, and expressed the hope, in a letter
dated November 19, 1880, that it would meet with his approval. Count
Moltke replied as follows:]

My dear Professor:

You have been good enough to send me the manual published by the
Institute of International Law, and you ask for my approval. In the
first place, I fully recognize your humane endeavors to lessen the
sufferings which war brings in its train.

Eternal peace, however, is a dream, and not even a beautiful dream,
for war is part of God's scheme of the world. In war the noblest
virtues of man develop courage and renunciation, the sense of duty and
abnegation, and all at the risk of his life. Without war the world
would be swallowed up in the morass of materialism.

With the principle stated in the preface, that the gradual advance of
civilization should be reflected in the conduct of war, I fully agree;
but I go further, and believe that civilization alone, and no codified
laws of warfare, can have the desired result.

Every law necessitates an authority to watch over it and to direct its
execution, but there is no power which can enforce obedience to
international agreements. Which third state will take up arms because
one--or both--of two powers at war with each other have broken the
_loi de la guerre?_ The human judge is lacking. In these matters we
can hope for success only from the religious and moral education of
the individuals, and the honor and sense of right of the leaders, who
make their own laws and act according to them, at least to the extent
to which the abnormal conditions of war permit it.

Nobody, I think, can deny that the general softening of men's manners
has been followed by a more humane way of waging war.

Compare, if you will, the coarseness of the Thirty Years' War with the
battles of recent dates.

The introduction in our generation of universal service in the army
has marked a long step in the direction of the desired aim, for it has
brought also the educated classes into the army. Some rough and
violent elements have survived, it is true, but the army no longer
consists of them exclusively.

The governments, moreover, have two means at hand to prevent the worst
excesses. A strong discipline, practiced and perfected in times of
peace, and a commissariat equipped to provide for the troops in the
field.

Without careful provision, discipline itself can be only moderately
well enforced. The soldier who suffers pain and hunger, fatigue and
danger, cannot take merely _en proportion avec les ressources du
pays,_ but he must take whatever he needs. You must not ask of him
superhuman things.

The greatest blessing in war is its speedy termination, and to this
end all means must be permitted which are not downright criminal. I
cannot at all give my approval to the _Déclaration de St.
Petersbourg_, that "the weakening of the hostile army" is the only
justifiable procedure in war. On the contrary, all resources of the
hostile government must be attacked--its finances, railways,
provisions, and even its prestige.

The last war against France was waged in this way, and yet with
greater moderation than any earlier war. The campaign was decided
after two months; and fierceness became characteristic of the fighting
only when a revolutionary government continued the war through four
more months, to the detriment of the country.

I am glad to acknowledge that your manual, with its clear and short
sentences, does greater justice than former attempts to what is needed
in war. But even the acceptance of your regulations by the governments
would not ensure their observance. It has long been a universally
accepted rule of warfare that no messenger of peace should be shot at.
But in the last campaign we frequently saw this done.

No paragraph learned by heart will convince the soldier that the
unorganized natives who _spontanément_ (that is, of their own free
will) take up arms and threaten his life every moment of the day and
night should be recognized as lawful opponents.

Certain requests of the manual, I fear, cannot be put in force. The
identification, for instance, of the dead after a big battle. Others
are subject to doubt, unless you insert _"lorsque les circonstances le
permettent, s'il se peut, si possible, s'il-y-a nécessité,"_ or the
like. This will give them that elasticity without which the bitter
severity of actual warfare will break through all restrictions.

In war, where everything must be treated individually, only those
regulations will work well which are primarily addressed to the
leaders. This includes everything that your manual has to say
concerning the wounded and the sick, the physicians and their
medicines. The general recognition of these principles, and also of
those which have to do with the prisoners of war, would mark a notable
step in advance and bring us nearer the end which the Institute of
International Law is pursuing with such admirable perseverance.

Very respectfully,

COUNT MOLTKE.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 38: From _Count Moltke's Letters from Russia_, permission
Harper & Brothers, New York.]

[Footnote 39: Kopecks are equal to about one cent each.]

[Footnote 40: A part of the castle in Marienburg, Prussia, containing
the hall where the knights of the German order, "Deutsche Ritter,"
held their conclaves; also the hall itself, one of the showplaces of
Eastern Prussia.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 41: A whip with short handle and long thong.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 42: Militia of the Emperor, but differently constituted from
the American militia or Prussian Landwehr.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 43: One of the summer palaces of the Emperor.]




FIGHTING ON THE FRONTIER[44]

TRANSLATED BY CLARA BELL AND HENRY W. FISCHER


PREPARATIONS FOR WAR


The days are gone by when, for dynastical ends, small armies of
professional soldiers went to war to conquer a city, or a province,
and then sought winter quarters or made peace. The wars of the present
day call whole nations to arms, there is scarcely a family that does
not suffer by them. The entire financial resources of the State are
appropriated to the purpose, and the different seasons of the year
have no bearing on the unceasing progress of hostilities. As long as
nations continue independent of each other there will be disagreements
that can only be settled by force of arms; but, in the interest of
humanity, it is to be hoped that wars will become less frequent, as
they have become more terrible.

Generally speaking, it is no longer the ambition of monarchs which
endangers peace; the passions of the people, its dissatisfaction with
interior conditions and affairs, the strife of parties, and the
intrigues of their leaders are the causes. A declaration of war, so
serious in its consequences, is more easily carried by a large
assembly, of which none of the members bears the sole responsibility,
than by a single man, however high his position; and a peace-loving
sovereign is less rare than a parliament composed of wise men. The
great wars of the present day have been declared against the wish and will
of the reigning powers. Now-a-days the Bourse has assumed such influence
that it has the power to call armies into the field merely to protect its
interests. Mexico and Egypt have been swamped with European armies simply
to satisfy the demands of the _haute finance_. Today the question, "Is a
nation strong enough to make war?" is of less importance than that, "Is
its Government powerful enough to prevent war?" Thus, united Germany has,
up to now, used her strength only to maintain European peace; a weak
Government at the head of our neighboring State must, on the other
hand, be regarded in the light of a standing menace to peace.

The war of 1870-71 arose from just such relations. A Napoleon on the
throne of France was bound to establish his rights by political and
military success. Only for a time did the victories won by French arms
in distant countries give general satisfaction; the triumphs of the
Prussian armies excited jealousy, they were regarded as arrogant, as a
challenge; and the French demanded revenge for Sadowa. The liberal
spirit of the epoch was opposed to the autocratic Government of the
Emperor; he was forced to make concessions, his civil authority was
weakened, and one fine day the nation was informed by its
representatives that it desired war with Germany.


PREPARATIONS FOR THE WAR

The wars carried on by France on the other side of the ocean, simply
for financial ends, had consumed immense sums and had undermined the
discipline of the army. The French were by no means _archiprêts_ for a
great war, but the Spanish succession to the throne, nevertheless, had
to serve as a pretext to declare it. The French Reserves were called
to arms July 15th, and only four days later the French declaration of
war was handed in at Berlin, as though this were an opportunity not to
be lost.

[Illustration: KING WILLIAM AT THE MAUSOLEUM OF HIS PARENTS ON THE DAY
OF THE FRENCH DECLARATION OF WAR ANTON VON WERNER]

One Division was ordered to the Spanish frontier as a corps of
observation; only such troops as were absolutely necessary were left
in Algiers and in Civita Vecchia; Paris and Lyons were sufficiently
garrisoned. The entire remainder of the army: 332 battalions, 220
squadrons, 924 cannon, in all about 300,000 men, formed the army of
the Rhine. This was divided into eight Corps, which, at any rate in
the first instance, were to be directed by one central head, without
any kind of intervention. The _Imperator_ himself was the only person
to assume this difficult task; Marshal Bazaine was to command the army
as it assembled, until the Emperor's arrival.

It is very probable that the French were counting on the old
dissensions of the German races. True, they dared not look upon the
South Germans as allies, but they hoped to reduce them to inactivity
by an early victory, or even to win them over to their side. Prussia
was a powerful antagonist even when isolated, and her army more
numerous than that of the French, but this advantage might be
counterbalanced by rapidity of action.

The French plan of campaign was indeed based on the delivery of
unforeseen attacks. The strong fleets of war and transport ships were
to be utilized to land a considerable force in Northern Prussia, and
there engage a part of the Prussian troops, while the main body of the
army, it was supposed, would await the French attack behind the
fortresses on the Rhine. The French intended to cross the Rhine at
once, at and below Strassburg, thus avoiding the great fortresses; and
also, at the start, preventing the South-German army, which was
destined to defend the Black Forest, from uniting with the
North-Germans. To execute this plan it would have been imperative to
assemble the main forces of the French army in Alsace. Railway
accommodation, however, was so inadequate that in the first instance
it was only possible to carry 100,000 men to Strassburg; 150,000 had
to leave the railways near Metz, and remain there till they could be
moved up. Fifty thousand men were encamped at Châlons as reserves,
115 battalions were ready to march as soon as the National Guard had
taken their places in the interior. The various corps were distributed
as follows:

Imperial Guard, General Bourbaki--Nancy.

Ist Corps, Marshal MacMahon--Strassburg.

IId Corps, General Frossard--St. Avold.

IIId Corps, Marshal Bazaine--Metz.

IVth Corps, General Ladmirault--Diedenhofen.

Vth Corps, General Failly--Bitsch.

VIth Corps, Marshal Canrobert--Châlons.

VIIth Corps, General Félix Douay--Belfort.

Thus there were only two Corps in Alsace, and five on the Moselle;
and, on the day of the declaration of war, one of these, the IId
Corps, was pushed forward close to the German frontier, near St. Avold
and Forbach. This IId Corps, however, received instructions not to
engage in any serious conflict.

The regiments had marched out of quarters incomplete as to numbers,
and insufficiently equipped. Meanwhile the reserves called out to fill
their place had choked the railway traffic; they crowded the depôts,
and filled the railway stations.

The progress to their destination was delayed, for it was often
unknown at the railway stations where the regiments to which the
reserves were to be sent were at the time encamped. When they at last
joined they were without the most necessary articles of equipment. The
Corps and Divisions had no artillery or baggage, no ambulances, and
only a very insufficient number of officers. No magazines had been
established beforehand, and the troops were to depend on the
fortresses. These were but ill-supplied, for in the assured
expectation that the armies would be almost immediately sent on into
the enemy's country they had been neglected.

In the same way the Staff-officers had been provided with maps of
Germany, but not of their own provinces. The Ministry of War in Paris
was inundated with claims, protestations, and expostulations, and
finally it was left to the troops to help themselves as best they
could. _On se débrouillera_ was the hope of the authorities.

When the Emperor arrived at Metz, a week after the declaration of war,
the regiments were not yet complete, and it was not even exactly known
where whole Divisions were at that time encamped. The Emperor ordered
the troops to advance, but his Marshals declared that the condition of
the troops made this impossible for the time being.

It was gradually dawning upon them that, instead of attacking the
enemy in his country, they would have to defend their own. Rumor had
it, that a strong army of the enemy had assembled between Mayence and
Coblentz; instead of sending reinforcements from Metz to Strassburg,
they were ordered to proceed from the Rhine to the Saar. The
determination to invade South Germany was already abandoned; the fleet
had sailed round, but without any troops to land.

Germany had been surprised by the declaration of war, but she was not
unprepared. The possibility of such an event had been foreseen.

When Austria had separated her interests from those of the other
German states, Prussia undertook the sole leadership, and paved the
way to more intimate relations with the South-German states. The idea
of national unification had been revived, and found an echo in the
patriotic sentiments of the entire people.

The means of mobilizing the North-German army had been reviewed year
by year, in view of any changes in the military or political
situation, by the Staff, in conjunction with the Ministry of War.
Every branch of the administration throughout the country had been
kept informed of all it ought to know of these matters. The Berlin
authorities had likewise come to a confidential understanding with the
army chiefs of the South-German states on all important points. It
had been conceded that Prussia was not to be reckoned on for the
defence of any particular point, as the Black Forest, for instance;
and it was decided that the best way of protecting South Germany would
be by an incursion into Alsace across the central part of the Rhine;
which could be backed up by the main force assembled at that point.

The fact that the Governments of Bavaria, Würtemberg, Baden, and
Hesse, denuding their own countries as it were, were ready to place
their contingents under the command of King William proves their
entire confidence in the Prussian generals.

As soon as this understanding was arrived at the other preparations
could be made. The orders for marching, and traveling by rail or boat,
were worked out for each division of the army, together with the most
minute directions as to their different starting points, the day and
hour of departure, the duration of the journey, the refreshment
stations, and place of destination. At the meeting-point cantonments
were assigned to each Corps and Division, stores and magazines were
established; and thus, when war was declared, it needed only the Royal
signature to set the entire apparatus in motion with undisturbed
precision. There was nothing to be changed in the directions
originally given; it sufficed to carry out the plans prearranged and
prepared.

The mobilized forces were divided into three independent armies on a
basis worked out by the general of the Prussian staff.

The First Army, under the command of General von Steinmetz, consisted
of the VIIth and VIIIth Corps, and one division of cavalry; 60,000 men
all told. It was ordered to encamp at Wittlich and form the right
wing.

The Second Army, under the command of Prince Frederick Charles, was
131,000 strong, and constituted the central army. It consisted of the
IIId, IVth, and Xth Corps of Guards, and two divisions of cavalry. Its
meeting-point was in the vicinity of Homburg and Neunkirchen. The
Third Army, under the command of the Crown Prince of Prussia, was to
form the left wing, near Landau and Rastat, a strength of about
130,000 men. It consisted of the Vth and XIth Prussian, and the Ist
and IId Bavarian Corps, the Würtemberg and the Baden Field Divisions,
and one division of cavalry.

The IXth Corps, consisting of the 18th and the Hesse divisions, was
united with the XIIth Royal Saxon Corps to form a reserve of 60,000
men, and was encamped before Mayence, to reinforce the Second Army,
which was thus brought up to the strength of 194,000 men.

The three armies combined numbered 384,000 men.

There were still the Ist, IId, and IVth Corps, 100,000 men; but they
were not at first included, as the means of railway transport were
engaged for twenty-one days.

The 17th Division and the Landwehr troops were told off to defend the
coast. During the night of July 16th the Royal order for the
mobilization of the army was issued, and when His Majesty arrived in
Mayence, a fortnight later, he found 300,000 men assembled on and in
front of the Rhine.

In his plan of war, submitted by the Chief of the General Staff, and
accepted by the King, that officer had his eye fixed, from the first,
upon the capture of the enemy's capital, the possession of which is of
more importance in France than in other countries. On the way thither
the hostile forces were to be driven as persistently as possible back
from the fertile southern states into the narrower tract on the north.

But above all the plan of war was based on the resolve to attack the
enemy at once, wherever found, and keep the German forces so compact
that a superior force could always be brought into the field. By
whatever special means these plans were to be accomplished was left to
the decision of the hour; the advance to the frontiers alone was
preordained in every detail.

It is a delusion to believe that a plan of war may be laid for a
prolonged period and carried out in every point. The first collision
with the enemy changes the situation entirely, according to the
result. Some things decided upon will be impracticable; others, which
originally seemed impossible, become feasible. All that the leader of
an army can do is to get a clear view of the circumstances, to decide
for the best for an unknown period, and carry out his purpose
unflinchingly.

The departure of the French troops to the frontier, before they were
thoroughly prepared for service in the field, which is a very serious
step to take, was evidently ordered for the purpose of surprising the
German army, with the forces immediately at command, and thus
interfering with the formation of their advance. But, in spite of
this, the German commanders did not deviate from their purpose of
massing their armies on the Rhine and crossing that river. The railway
transport of the troops of the IId and IIId Corps, however, was to end
at the Rhine; thence they were to march on foot into the cantonments
prepared on the left bank of the river. They moved in echelon,
advancing only so many at a time as would make room for the Division
behind them, as far as the line marked by the towns of Bingen,
Dürkheim, and Landau.

The final advance towards the frontier was not to be undertaken until
the Divisions and Corps were all collected, and provided with the
all-necessary baggage train; and then proceed in a state of readiness
to confront the enemy at any moment.

The assembling of the First Army appeared to be less threatened, as
its route lay through neutral territory, and was protected by the
garrisons of Trèves, Saarlouis, and Saarbrücken, the German outposts
on the Saar.

The First Army, 50,000 strong, was concentrated at Wadern, in the
first days of August. The Second Army, which meanwhile had been
increased to a strength of 194,000 men, had pushed forward its
cantonments to Alsenz-Günnstadt, at the termination of the Haardt
Mountains, a position which had been thoroughly reconnoitered by an
officer of the Staff, and where the troops might boldly await an
attack.

The 5th and 6th Cavalry Divisions were reconnoitering the country in
front. The regiments and squadrons of the Third Army were still
gathering on both banks of the Rhine.

The French so far had made no serious attempt at Saarbrücken;
Lieutenant-Colonel Pestel was able to successfully withstand their
petty attacks with one battalion and three squadrons of cavalry.

It had meanwhile been observed that the French were moving further to
the right, toward Forbach and Bitsch, which seemed to indicate that
the two French Corps, known to be drawn up at Belfort and Strassburg,
might purpose crossing the Rhine and marching on the Black Forest. It
was therefore of very great importance to set the Third Army moving at
the earliest opportunity, first to protect the right bank of the Upper
Rhine by an advance on the left; secondly to cover the progress of the
Second Army towards that point.

A telegraphic order to that effect was dispatched on the evening of
July 30th, but the General in command of the Third Army Corps desired
to wait for the arrival of the Fourth and its baggage train. In spite
of this hesitancy the Second Army was ordered to proceed towards the
Saar, where the French were showing much uneasiness.

The time had gone by when they might have taken advantage of their
over-hasty mobilization; the condition of the men had prohibited any
action. France was waiting for news of a victory; something had to be
done to appease public impatience, so, in order to do something, the
enemy resolved (as is usual under such circumstances) on a hostile
reconnoissance, and, it may be added, with the usual result.

On August 2d three entire Divisions were sent forward against three
battalions, four squadrons, and one battery in Saarbrücken. The
Emperor himself and the Prince Imperial watched the operations. The
IIId Corps advanced on Völklingen, the Vth on Saargemünd, the IId on
Saarbrücken.

The Germans evacuated Saarbrücken after a gallant defence and repeated
sorties, but the French did not cross the Saar. They may have
convinced themselves that they had wasted their strength by hitting in
the air, and had gained no information as to the resources and
position of the enemy.

After this the French generals hesitated for a long while between
contrary resolutions. Orders were given and recalled on the strength
of mere rumors. The left wing was reinforced on account of a current
story that 40,000 Prussians had marched through Trèves, the Guards
received contradictory orders, and, when a small German force showed
itself at Lörrach in the Black Forest, it was at once decreed that the
VIIth Corps must remain in Alsace. Thus the French forces were spread
over the wide area between the Nied and the Upper Rhine, while the
Germans were advancing in compact masses on the Saar.

This scattered state of the army finally induced the French leaders to
divide their forces into two distinct armies. Marshal MacMahon took
provisional command of the Ist, VIIth, and Vth Corps, the latter being
withdrawn from Bitsch. The other Divisions were placed under Marshal
Bazaine, with the exception of the Guards, the command of which the
Emperor reserved to himself.

It had now become a pressing necessity to protect the left wing of the
advancing Second German Army against the French forces in Alsace; the
Third Army was therefore ordered to cross the frontier on August 4th,
without waiting any longer for the batteries to come up. The First
Army, forming the right wing, was already encamped near Wadern and
Losheim, three or four days' march nearer to the Saar than the Second
Army in the centre. They were ordered to concentrate in the
neighborhood of Tholey and there await further orders. In the first
place this, the weakest of the two Divisions, was not to be exposed
single-handed to an attack of the enemy's main force; and, secondly,
it was to be used for a flank-movement in case the Second Army should
meet the enemy on emerging from the forests of the Palatinate.

To execute this order, the First Army had to extend its cantonments in
a southerly direction as far as the line of march of the Second Army,
and evacuate its quarters near Ottweiler. This was a difficult matter
to accomplish, as all the towns and villages to the north were
billeted, and quarters had also to be found for the Ist Corps, now
advancing by the Birkenfeld route. General von Steinmetz therefore
decided to march his entire forces in the direction of Saarlouis and
Saarbrücken. The Second Army had assembled, and was ready for action
on August 4th, and received orders to take the field on the farther
side of the wooded zone of Kaiserslautern.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 44: From _The Franco-German War of 1870-71._ Permission
Harper & Brothers, New York and London.]




BATTLE OF GRAVELOTTE--ST. PRIVAT[45]

August 18th

TRANSLATED BY CLARA BELL AND HENRY W. FISCHER


Marshal Bazaine had not thought it advisable to proceed to Verdun now
that the Germans were so close on the flank of such a movement. He
preferred to assemble his forces at Metz, in a position which he
rightly supposed to be almost impregnable.

Such a position was afforded by the range of hills, bordering on the
west of the valley of Chatel. That side facing the enemy sloped away
like a _glacis_, while the short and steep decline behind offered
protection for the reserves. The IId, IIId, IVth and VIth Corps were
placed on the ridge of the hills between Roncourt and Rozereuilles, a
distance of one mile and a half (German); thus there were eight or ten
men to every yard of ground.

A brigade of the Vth Corps stood at Ste.-Ruffine in the valley of the
Moselle, the cavalry in the rear of the two wings.

The positions of the IId and IIId Corps were hastily entrenched,
batteries and covered ways were established, and the farmhouses in
front prepared for defense. To approach this left wing from the west
it was necessary to cross the deep valley of the Mance. The VIth Corps
on the other hand had no engineering tools; and it is indicative of
the general ill-equipment of the French that, merely to convey the
wounded to the rear, in spite of the enormous baggage-train, provision
wagons had to be unloaded and their contents burnt. This Corps was
therefore unable to construct such defenses on the side overlooking
the forest of Jaumont as were necessary to strengthen the right wing.
This would undoubtedly have been the place for the Guards, but in his
fear of an attack from the south, Marshal Bazaine kept them in reserve
at Plappeville.

The King again arrived at Flavigny at six o'clock on the morning of
the 18th. All officers in command were ordered to report directly to
headquarters, and Staff-officers of Army Headquarters were despatched
in all directions to watch the progress of the engagement.

The VIIth army Corps, forming the pivot upon which the intended wheel
to the right was to be effected, occupied the Bois de Vaux and Bois
des Ognons; the 8th, under the personal command of the King, halted at
Rezonville, ready to proceed to the north or east, as might be
required. The IXth Corps, on its left, advanced toward the Marcel,
while the IIId and Xth formed the second line. The Guards and XIIth
Corps moved in a northerly direction.

A serious delay occurred when the XIIth Corps of the Second Army,
which was stationed on the right, was commanded to form the left wing,
by the crossing of the two on the march. The Saxon troops did not get
through Mars-la-Tour until nine o'clock, and till then the Guards
could not follow.

The advanced guard of the XIIth Corps had meanwhile reached Jarny, and
proceeded as far as Briey without encountering the enemy.

Before this could be known, the authorities at headquarters had been
convinced that at least the main forces of the enemy were still at
Metz; misapprehension, however, prevailed as to the extension of their
lines, and it was thought the French front did not reach beyond
Montigny. The general in command of the Second Army was therefore
instructed not to proceed further northward, but to join the IXth
Corps in attacking the enemy's right wing, and move in the direction
of Batilly with the Guards and the XIIth Corps. The First Army was
not to attack in the front until the Second was ready to strike.

In obedience to this, Prince Frederick Charles ordered the IXth Corps
to march on to Verneville, and, in case the French right wing should
be found there, to open battle by bringing a large force of artillery
into action. The Guards were to continue their advance _via_ Doncourt
to reinforce the IXth as soon as possible. The XIIth was to remain at
Jarny for the present.

A little later fresh reports came in which indicated that the IXth
Corps, if proceeding in the manner ordered, would come upon the French
centre, instead of their right wing. The Prince therefore determined
that the Corps should postpone the attack till the Guards had done so
at Amanvillers. At the same time the XIIth Corps was pushed on to
Ste.-Marie-aux-Chênes.

But, while these orders were being given, the first heavy firing was
heard at Verneville. This was at twelve o 'clock.

The two Corps on the left had, of their own accord, taken an easterly
direction without waiting for orders, and the IId Corps moved up
behind the IXth at the farm of Caulre.

General von Manstein, in command of the IXth, had observed from near
Verneville a French encampment at Amanvillers, apparently in a state
of quietude. From that point of view the great masses of troops on
their immediate left at St.-Privat were not visible. Mistaking this
camp for the right wing, he determined to act on his first orders and
take the foe by surprise. Eight of his batteries at once opened fire.

But it did not take the French troops long to move into the position
assigned to them. The independent action of a single Corps naturally
exposed it not only to the fire of the troops opposite, but to an
attack in flank.

To obtain some shelter on the field, the Prussian batteries had taken
up a position on the shoulder of the hill below Amanvillers facing the
southeast, where they were exposed from the north, on the flank, and
even in the rear to the fire of French artillery, as well as to the
concentrated fire of their infantry.

To meet this, the battalions nearest at hand were ordered forward.
They took possession of the eastern point of the Bois de la Cusse on
the left, and on the right seized the farmhouses of L'Envie and
Chantrenne, forcing their way into the Bois des Genivaux. Thus the
line of battle of the 18th Division gained a front of 4,000 paces.

Its losses were very great, for the French with their long-range
Chassepôt rifles could afford to keep out of range of the needle-gun;
the artillery especially suffered severely. One of the batteries had
already lost forty-five gunners when it was attacked by French
sharpshooters. There was no infantry at hand to retaliate, and two
guns were lost. By two o'clock all the batteries were almost
_hors-de-combat_, and no relief arrived till the Hessian Division
reached Habonville, and brought up five batteries on either side of
the railway, thus diverting on themselves the concentrated fire of the
enemy. The batteries of the 18th Division, which had suffered most,
could now be withdrawn in succession, but even in their retreat they
had to defend themselves against their pursuers by grapeshot.

The artillery of the IIId Corps and the Guards were likewise sent to
the assistance of the IXth, and those of the damaged guns which were
still fit for service were at once brought into line. Thus a front of
130 guns was drawn up before Verneville as far as St.-Ail, and its
fire soon told upon the enemy. Now, when the IIId Corps was
approaching Verneville and the 3d Brigade of Guards had reached
Habonville, there was no fear that the French would break through the
line.

The main force of the Guards had arrived at St.-Ail as early as two
o'clock. General von Pape at once saw that by wheeling to the east he
would not encounter the right wing of the French, which was to be
out-flanked, but would expose his own left wing to the forces
occupying Ste.-Marie-aux-Chênes. The first thing to be done was to
gain possession of this village--almost a town. It was strongly
occupied and well flanked by the main position of the French army;
but, in obedience to superior orders, he must await the arrival of a
coöperative Saxon contingent.

The advance guard of this Corps had already reached the vicinity of
Batilly, but was yet half a mile distant from Ste.-Marie, so its
batteries could not be placed in position west of the town until three
o'clock. But, as the Guards had sent most of their own artillery to
the support of the IXth Corps, this was substantial aid.

Ten batteries now opened fire upon Ste.-Marie, and by the time it was
beginning to tell the 47th Brigade of the XIIth Corps came up. At
half-past three the Prussian and Saxon battalions stormed the town
from the south and west and north, amid vociferous cheers, and without
further returning the fire of the enemy. The French were driven from
the place, and a few hundred were taken prisoners.

The Saxons tried to follow them up, and a lively infantry engagement
ensued, north of Ste.-Marie, which masked the artillery. As soon as
the brigade had been ordered to retire, the batteries reopened fire,
and the repeated efforts of the French to regain the lost position
were frustrated.

Soon afterwards the IXth Corps succeeded in taking and holding the
farm of Champenois, but all further attempts, by isolated battalions
or companies, to force their way on against the broad and compact
centre of the French were, on the face of it, futile. Thus, by about
five o'clock, the infantry ceased fire, and the artillery only fired
an occasional shot. Fatigue on both sides caused an almost total
suspension of hostilities in this part of the field.

The Commander-in-Chief decided that the First Army should not engage
in serious assault until the Second stood close to the enemy; but when
the day was half-spent and brisk firing was heard about noon from
Vionville, it was to be supposed that the time for action had arrived;
still, for the present permission was only given to send forward the
artillery in preparation for the fight. Sixteen batteries of the
VIIth and VIIIth Corps accordingly drew up to right and left of the
highway running through Gravelotte. Their fire was ineffective, as
they were too far from the enemy; besides they were suffering from the
fire of the French tirailleurs, who had established themselves in the
opposite woods. It became necessary to drive them out, so here again
there was a sharp skirmish. The French had to abandon the eastern
portion of the Mance valley, and the artillery, now increased to
twenty batteries, was able to advance to the western ridge and direct
its fire against the main position of the enemy.

The battalions of the 29th Brigade followed up this advantage. They
pressed forward into the southern part of the Bois des Genivaux on the
left, but were unable to effect a connection with the IXth Corps,
occupying the north of the forest, as the French could not be driven
from the intervening ground. On the right, various detachments took
possession of the quarries and gravel-pits near St.-Hubert.

The artillery meanwhile had got the better of the French guns; several
of their batteries were silenced, others prevented from getting into
position. The French fire was in part directed on the farm of
St.-Hubert, on which the 30th Brigade were gradually encroaching. This
well-defended structure was stormed at three o'clock, close under the
face of the enemy's main position, and in spite of a tremendous fire.
The 31st Brigade had also got across the valley, but an attempt to
reach the farms of Moscow and Leipzig, over the open plain enclosed by
the enemy on three sides, proved a failure and resulted in great loss.
The 26th Brigade had taken possession of Jussy, on the extreme right,
thus maintaining the connection with Metz, but found it impossible to
cross the deep valley of Rozerieulles.

The advanced detachments of the French had been repulsed on all sides,
the farms in their front were burning, their artillery appeared to be
silenced, and, viewing the situation from Gravelotte, there remained
nothing but pursuit. General von Steinmetz, therefore, at four
o'clock, ordered fresh forces to the front for a renewed attack.

While the VIIth Corps occupied the border of the wood, four batteries,
backed by the 1st Cavalry Division, made their way through the narrow
ravine extending for about 1,500 paces east of Gravelotte. But as soon
as the advanced guard of the long column came in sight, the French
redoubled their rifle and artillery fire, which had till now been kept
under. One battery had soon lost the men serving four of its guns, and
was hardly able to return into the wood; a second never even got into
position. The batteries under Hesse and Gnügge, on the other hand,
held their own at St.-Hubert in spite of the loss of seventy-five
horses and of the firing from the quarries in their rear.

The foremost regiment of cavalry wheeled to the right after leaving
the hollow way, and galloped toward Point-du-Jour, but the enemy,
being completely under cover, offered no opportunity for an attack.
Evidently this was no field for utilizing the cavalry, so the
regiments retired through the Mance valley under a heavy fire from all
sides.

This ill-success of the Germans encouraged the French to advance from
Point-du-Jour with swarms of tirailleurs, who succeeded in driving the
Prussians back from the open ground as far as the skirts of the wood.
The bullets of the Chassepots even reached the hill where the
Commander-in-Chief was watching the battle, and Prince Adalbert's
horse was shot under him.

Fresh forces were now at hand and drove the enemy back to his main
position. St.-Hubert had remained in the hands of the Germans; and
though the survivors there were only sufficient to serve one gun,
still every attempt to cross the exposed plateau proved a failure.
Thus hostilities ceased at this point also, at about five o'clock in
the afternoon, allowing the weary troops on both sides to take breath
and reorganize.

King William and his staff rode over to the hill on the south of
Malmaison at about the same hour, but could see nothing of the
situation of the left wing, which was more than a mile away. The
French artillery had ceased firing along the centre, from La Folie to
Point-du-Jour; but to the northward the thunder of artillery was
louder than ever. It was six o'clock, the day was nearly at an end,
and decided action must at once be taken. The King therefore ordered
the First Army to advance once more, and for that purpose placed the
IId Corps, just arrived after a long march, under the command of
General von Steinmetz.

Those battalions of VII Corps which could still do good service,
except five, which were kept in reserve, were again sent up the Mance
valley, and the battalions from the Bois de Vaux came to their support
toward Point-du-Jour and the quarries. The IId Corps of the French
Army thus attacked was now reinforced by Guard Voltigeur Division. All
the reserves were brought to the front. The artillery was more rapidly
served, and a destructive musketry fire was directed on the advancing
enemy. Then the French on their side made an attack. A strong body of
riflemen dispersed the smaller parties which were lying in the open,
destitute of commanders, and drove them back to the wood. There,
however, their advance was checked, and there was still another Army
Corps ready for action.

The IId Corps, the last to come up by rail to the seat of war, had up
to this time followed in the wake of the army by forced marches, but
had not yet fought in any engagement. It had started from
Point-à-Mousson at 2 p.m. and, taking the road by Buxières and
Rezonville, arrived south of Gravelotte in the evening. The
Pomeranians were eager to get at the enemy without delay.

It would have been better if the Chief of the Staff, who was
personally on the field at the time, had not allowed this movement at
so late an hour. A body of troops, still completely intact, might have
been of great value the next day; it was not likely this evening to
affect the issue.

Rushing out of Gravelotte, the foremost battalions of the IId Corps
pushed forward to the quarries, and up to within a few hundred paces
of Point-du-Jour; but those following were soon entangled in the
turmoil of the troops under fire south of St.-Hubert, and any further
advance toward Moscow was arrested. Darkness was falling, and friend
became indistinguishable from foe. So the firing was stopped; but not
until ten o'clock did it entirely cease.

The advance of the IId Corps resulted in some good, however, for these
fresh troops could occupy the fighting-line for the night, while the
mixed companies of the VIIth and VIIIth Corps were enabled to re-form
in their rear.

The whole course of the engagement had conclusively proved that the
position of the French left wing, made almost impregnable by nature
and art, could not be shaken even by the most devoted bravery and the
greatest sacrifices. Both parties were now facing each other in
threatening proximity, and both fully able to reopen battle next
morning. The success of the day must depend on events at the other end
of the French line.

The Prince of Wurtemburg, standing at Ail, believed that the hour had
come for an attack on the French right at about a quarter-past five;
but that wing extended much further north than the line of his Guards,
further, indeed, than the French Commander-in-Chief himself was aware
of. Though the Saxons had participated in the capture of
Ste.-Marie-aux-Chênes, the Crown Prince deemed it necessary to
assemble his Corps at the Bois d'Auboue, to attack the enemy in flank.
One of the brigades had to come from Jarny, and one from Ste.-Marie;
so, as the Corps was late in getting away from Mars-la-Tour, it was
not expected to be on the field for some hours yet.

The 4th Brigade of Foot Guards, in obedience to orders, proceeded in
the direction of Jerusalem, immediately south of St.-Privat. As soon
as General von Manstein, in command of the IXth Corps, observed this,
he ordered the 3d Brigade of Guards, which had been placed at his
orders, to advance from Habonville toward Amanvillers.

Between these two brigades marched the Hessians, but it was not till
half an hour later that the First Division of Guards joined from
Ste.-Marie, marching on St.-Privat, on the left of the Second. This
attack was directed against the broad front of the French IVth and
VIth Corps. Their fortified positions at St.-Privat and Amanvillers
had as yet hardly felt the fire of the German batteries, which had
found sufficient employment in replying to the enemy's artillery
outside the villages.

Several ranks of riflemen, one above the other, were placed in front
of the French main position, on the hedges and fences in a slope up
the ridge. At their back towered St.-Privat, castle-like, with its
massive buildings, which were crowded by soldiers to the very roof.
The open plain in front was thus exposed to an overwhelming shower of
projectiles.

The losses of the attacking Guards were, in fact, enormous. In the
course of half an hour five battalions lost all, the others the
greater part of their officers, especially those of the higher grades.
Thousands of dead and wounded marked the track of the troops, who, in
spite of their losses, pressed forward. The ranks, as fast as they
were thinned, closed up again, and their compact formation was not
broken even under the leadership of young lieutenants and ensigns. As
they got nearer to the enemy the needle-gun did good service. The
French were driven from all their foremost positions, where, for the
most part, they did not await the final struggle. By a quarter-past
six the battalions had advanced to within 600 to 800 paces of
Amanvillers and St.-Privat. The troops, weary from long combat, halted
under the steeper slopes offering some, though small, protection, and
in the trenches just abandoned by the enemy. Only four battalions now
remained in reserve at Ste.-Marie, behind the German line, which now
extended to a length of 4,000 paces. Every charge of the French
cavalry and of Cissy's Division had been persistently repelled with
the aid of twelve batteries of the Guards which had now put in an
appearance; but the German troops, reduced, as they were, by untold
losses, had to face two French Corps for thirty minutes longer before
reinforcements came to their aid.

It was nearly seven o'clock when, to the left of the Guards, two
brigades of the Saxon infantry arrived on the field; the other two
were still assembling in the forest of Auboue; their artillery,
however, had for some time kept up a lively fire on Roncourt.

When Bazaine, at three o'clock, received word that the Germans were
extending the line to enclose his right wing, he ordered Picard's
Division of the Grenadier Guards, posted at Plappeville, to advance to
the scene of action. Though the distance was no more than a mile
through the wooded valley on the right of the highway, his
all-important reinforcement had not yet arrived at seven o'clock, and
Marshal Canrobert, who was hardly able, by the most strenuous efforts,
to check the advance of the Prussians, decided to rally his troops
closer to the fortified town of St.-Privat. The retreat from Roncourt
was to be covered by a small rearguard, as the border of the Bois de
Jaumont was to be held.

Thus it happened that the Saxons found less resistance at Roncourt
than they expected, and entered the town after a short struggle,
together with the companies of the extreme left of the Guards; part of
them had previously been diverted from the road to Roncourt to assist
the Guards, and marched direct on St.-Privat. There terrible havoc was
worked by the twenty-four batteries of the two German Corps. Many
houses were in flames, or falling in ruins under the shower of shell.
But the French were determined to defend this point, where the fate of
the day was to be decided, to the last. The batteries belonging to
their right wing were placed between St.-Privat and the Bois de
Jaumont, that is, on the flank of the advancing Saxons. Others faced
the Prussians from the south, and as the German columns came on side
by side they were received by a shower of bullets from the French
rifles.

[Illustration: THE CAPITULATION OF SEDAN ANTON VON WERNER]

All these obstacles were defied in the onward rush, though again under
heavy losses, some stopping here and there to fire a volley, others
again never firing a shot. By sundown they stood within 300 paces of
St.-Privat. Some detachments of the Xth Corps, who were on the road to
St.-Ail, now joined them, and the final onset was made from every side
at once. The French still defended the burning houses and the church
with great obstinacy, till, finding themselves completely surrounded,
they surrendered at about eight o'clock. More than 2,000 men were
taken prisoners, and the wounded were rescued from the burning houses.

The defeated remnant of the IVth French Corps retired towards the
valley of the Moselle, their retreat being covered by the brigade
occupying the Bois de Jaumont and by the cavalry.

Only at that period did the Grenadier Guards put in an appearance,
drawing up the artillery reserves east of Amanvillers. The German
batteries at once took up the fight, which lasted till late in the
night, and Amanvillers also was left burning.

Here the retirement of the IVth French Corps had already commenced,
screened by repeated severe onslaughts; the right wing of the Guards
and the left of the IXth Corps had a lively hand-to-hand encounter
with the enemy. Still the town remained in the hands of the French for
the night. Their IIId Corps maintained their position at Moscow until
three o'clock, and the IId until five o'clock in the morning, though
engaged in constant frays with the outposts of the Pomeranian
Division, who eventually took possession of the plateaus of Moscow and
Point-du-Jour.

This success of the 18th of August had only been made possible by the
preceding battles of the 14th and 16th.

The French estimate their losses at 13,000 men. In October, 173,000
were still in Metz, which proves that more than 180,000 French engaged
in the battle of the 18th. The seven German Corps facing them were
exactly 178,818 strong. Thus the French had been driven out of a
position of almost unrivalled natural advantages by a numerically
inferior force. It is self-evident that the loss of the aggressors
must have been much greater than that of the defence; it amounted to
20,584 men, among them 899 officers.

Though the war-establishment provides one officer to every forty men,
in this battle one officer had been killed to every twenty-three; a
splendid testimony to the example set by the officers to their brave
men, but a loss which could not be made good during the course of the
war. During the first fortnight of August, in six battles the Germans
had lost 50,000 men. It was impossible at once to find substitutes,
but new companies were formed of time-expired soldiers.

The first thing to be done that same evening was to move on the
foremost baggage train, and the ambulance corps from the right bank of
the Moselle; ammunition was also served out all round. In Rezonville,
which was crowded with the wounded, a little garret for the King and
quarters for the Staff had with much difficulty been secured. The
officers were engaged throughout the night in studying the
requirements which the new situation created by the victory
peremptorily demanded. All these orders were placed before His Majesty
for approval by the morning of the 19th.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 45: From _The Franco-German War of 1870-71_. Permission
Harper & Brothers, New York and London.]





CONSOLATORY THOUGHTS ON THE EARTHLY LIFE AND A FUTURE EXISTENCE
(1890)[46]

TRANSLATED BY MARY HERMS

PREFACE


The last noteworthy use to which the aged Fieldmarshal put his pen was
to commit to paper certain reflections and chains of reasoning, for
which he drew upon the rich experience of his strenuous and eventful
life, and in which he hoped to find consolation in his last days, and
a vantage ground from which he might cast a glance over the unknown
future and confirm his faith in an everlasting life.

The aim of the Fieldmarshal, in writing these pages, was to attain to
clearness of vision concerning his earthly lot, to bring the forces
which were at work in his soul into harmony with those which govern
the universe, to reconcile faith and knowledge, and to satisfy himself
that life on this earth can only be regarded as a preparation for
eternal life, and must be regulated accordingly. So lofty is this aim
that it alone entitles these confessions to a serious and respectful
consideration. But how much must our admiration and our sense of the
value of this work be increased when we perceive with what earnestness
of effort, and with what depth of feeling, the Fieldmarshal had
revolved these thoughts in his mind till he brought them to maturity.
And more than that. It was his wish to bequeath these consolatory
thoughts to his family, as a sincere confession of his private
convictions. This is the light in which he wished posterity to regard
this manuscript, which he wrote out in the last year of his life, in
wonderfully firm characters, which attest the worth of the matter
contained in it.

He wrote down these thoughts at Creisau, and left the copy on his
desk. Whenever he visited his country-seat he revised and corrected
what he had written. No less than four drafts of the introduction to
this work have been preserved.

The succession of thoughts is the same in all four versions, but on
the one hand renewed and deepened meditations enabled him to express
his ideas with greater force and precision, and on the other sometimes
developed them further, so as to present them more exhaustively and
convincingly.

These pages contain the last efforts of a noble life. In them Moltke
appears as he was when we knew him and took him for our pattern,
reconciled with the anomalies and the contradictions of life, with a
pious grasp of principles which he had thought out for himself, and in
the assurance of which he found peace. We learn here how it was
possible for him to rise superior to the world, and preserve a
contented mind in all the vicissitudes of life.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 46: From _Moltke: His Life and Character_. Permission Harper
& Brothers, New York and London.]




DR. TORCHE-MITTLER.


Man feels that he is a complete being, different from other creatures,
and outwardly distinguished from them by his body, which here on earth
is the habitation of the soul.

Yet in this complete whole I believe I can distinguish different
functions, which, though closely connected with the soul, and ruled by
it, have an independent existence.

In the mysterious beginnings of life physical development takes the
first place. Nature is busily at work in the child's body as it grows,
and is already preparing it to be the dwelling-place of higher
functions. The body reaches the acme of its perfection before its
career is half over, and out of the surplus of its energy calls new
life into being. Thenceforward its lot is decay and painful struggling
to preserve its own existence.

During something like a third of our existence, that is, while we are
asleep, the body receives no commands from its ruler, and yet the
heart beats without interruption, the tissues are wasted and repaired,
and the process of respiration is continued, all independently of our
will.

The servant may even rebel against the master, as when our muscles are
painfully contracted by cramp. But pain is the summons for help which
is sent by the living organism when it has lost control over the dead
matter, which loss we feel as the illness of our vassal.

On the whole we must regard our body as a real part of our being,
which is still, in a sense, external to our inmost selves.

Is, then, the soul at least the true ego, a single and indivisible
whole?

The intellect advances, by slow development, to greater and greater
perfection till old age is reached, if the body does not leave it in
the lurch. The critical faculty grows as experience accumulates, but
memory, reason's handmaid, disappears at an earlier stage, or at least
loses the power of receiving new impressions. Wonderful enough is this
faculty which enables us to store up all the valuable lessons and
experiences of earliest youth in a thousand drawers, which open in a
moment in answer to the requirements of the mind.

It is not to be disputed that the old often appear dull-witted, but I
cannot believe in a real darkening of the reason, which is a bright
spark of the Divine, and even in madness the negation of reason is
only external and apparent. A deaf man playing on an instrument out of
tune may strike the right notes, and be inwardly persuaded that his
execution is faultless, while all around him hear nothing but the
wildest discords.

The sovereignty of reason is absolute; she recognizes no superior
authority. No power, not even that of our own wills, can compel her to
regard as false what she has already recognized as true.

_E pur si muove_!

Thought ranges through the infinite realms of starry space, and
fathoms the inscrutable depths of the minutest life, finding nowhere
any _limit_, but everywhere _law_, which is the immediate expression
of the divine thought.

The stone falls on Sirius by the same law of gravitation as on the
earth; the distances of the planets, the combinations of chemical
elements are based on arithmetical ratios, and everywhere the same
causes produce the same effects. Nowhere in nature is there anything
arbitrary, but everywhere law. True, reason cannot comprehend the
origin of things, but neither is she anywhere in conflict with the
laws that govern all things. Reason and the universe are in harmony;
they must therefore have the same origin.

Even when, through the imperfection of all created things, reason
enters on paths which lead to error, truth is still the one object of
her search.

Reason may thus be brought into conflict with many an honored
tradition. She rejects miracle, "faith's dearest child," and refuses
to admit that Omnipotence can ever find it necessary for the
attainment of its purposes to suspend, in isolated cases, the
operation of those laws by which the universe is eternally governed.
But these doubts are not directed against religion, but against the
form in which religion is presented to us.

Christianity has raised the world from barbarism to civilization. Its
influence has, in the course of centuries, abolished slavery, ennobled
work, emancipated women, and revealed eternity. But was it dogma that
brought these blessings? It is possible to avoid misunderstandings
with regard to all subjects except those which transcend human
conception, and these are the very subjects over which men have fought
and desolated the world for the last eighteen hundred years, from the
extermination of the Arians, on through the Thirty Years' War, to the
scaffold of the Inquisition, and what is the result of all this
fighting? The same differences of opinion as ever.

We may accept the doctrines of religion, as we accept the assurance of
a trusty friend, without examination, but the kernel of all religions
is the morality they teach, of which the Christian is the purest and
most far-reaching.

And yet men speak slightingly of a barren morality, and place the form
in which religion is presented before everything else. I fear it is
the pulpit zealot, who tries to persuade where he cannot convince,
that empties the church with his sermons.

After all, why should not every pious prayer, whether addressed to
Buddha, to Allah, or to Jehovah, be heard by the same God, beside whom
there is none other? Does not the mother hear her child's petition in
whatever language it lisps her name?

Reason is nowhere in conflict with morality, for the good is always
finally identical with the rational; but whether our actions shall or
shall not correspond with the good, reason cannot decide. Here the
ruling part of the soul is supreme, the soul which feels, acts, and
wills. To her alone, not to her two vassals, has God entrusted the
two-edged sword of freewill, that gift which, as Scripture tells us,
may be our salvation or our perdition.

But, more than this, a trusty councillor has been assigned us, who is
independent of our wills, and bears credentials from God Himself.
Conscience is an incorruptible and infallible judge, whom, if we will,
we may hear pronounce sentence every moment, and whose voice at last
reaches even those who most obstinately refuse to listen.

The laws which human society has imposed upon itself can take account
of actions only in their tribunals, and not of thoughts and feelings.
Even the various religions make different demands among the different
peoples. Here they require the Sunday to be kept holy, here the
Saturday or Friday. One allows pleasures which another forbids. Even
apart from these differences there is always a wide neutral ground
between what is allowed and what is forbidden; and it is here that
conscience, with her subtler discrimination, raises her voice. She
tells us that _every_ day should be kept sacred to the Lord, that even
permitted interest becomes unjust when exacted from the needy; in a
word, she preaches morality in the bosom of Christian and Jew, of
heathen and savage. For even among uncivilized races which have not
the light of Christianity there is an agreement as to the fundamental
conceptions of good and evil. They, too, recognize the breaking of
promises, lying, treachery, and ingratitude as evil; they, too, hold
as sacred the bond between parents, children, and kinsmen. It is
hard to believe in the universal corruption of mankind, for, however
obscured by savagery and superstition, there lies dormant in every
human breast that feeling for the noble and the beautiful which is the
seed of virtue, and a conscience which points out the right path. Can
there be a more convincing proof of God's existence than this
universal sense of right and wrong, this unanimous recognition of one
law, alike in the physical and in the moral world, except that nature
obeys this law with a full and absolute obedience, while man, who is
free, has the power of violating it?

The body and the reason serve the ruling part of the soul, but they
put forward claims of their own, they have their own share of power,
and thus man's life is a perpetual conflict with self. If in this
conflict the soul, hard-pressed from within and without, does not
always end by obeying the voice of conscience, let us hope that He who
created us imperfect will not require perfection from us.

For consider to what violent storms man is exposed in the voyage of
life, what variety there is in his natural endowments, what
incongruity between education and position in life. It is easy for the
favorite of fortune to keep in the right path; temptation, at any rate
to crime, hardly reaches him; how hard, on the other hand, is it for
the hungry, the uneducated, the passionate man to refrain from evil.
To all this due weight will be given in the last judgment, when guilt
and innocence are put in the balance, and thus mercy will become
justice, two conceptions which generally exclude one another.

It is harder to think of nothing than of something; when the something
is once given, harder to imagine cessation than continuance. This
earthly life cannot possibly be an end in itself. We did not ask for
it; it was given to us, imposed upon us. We must be destined to
something higher than a perpetual repetition of the sad experiences of
this life. Shall those enigmas which surround us on all sides, and for
a solution of which the best of mankind have sought their whole life
long, never be made plain? What purpose is served by the thousand ties
of love and friendship which bind past and present together, if there
is no future, if death ends all?

But what can we take with us into the future?

The functions of our earthly garment, the body, have ceased; the
matter composing it, which even during life was ever being changed,
has entered into new chemical combinations, and the earth enters into
possession of all that is her due. Not an atom is lost. Scripture
promises us the resurrection of a glorified body, and indeed a
separate existence without limitation in space is unthinkable; yet it
may be that this promise implies nothing more than the continued
existence of the individual, as opposed to pantheism.

We may be allowed to hope that our reason, and with it all the
knowledge that we have painfully acquired, will pass with us into
eternity; perhaps, too, the remembrance of our earthly life. Whether
that is really to be wished is another question. How if our whole life
all our thoughts and actions should some day be spread out before us
and we became our own judges, incorruptible and pitiless?

But, above all, the emotions must be retained by the soul, if it is to
be immortal. Friendship does indeed rest on reciprocity, and is partly
an affair of the reason; but love can exist though unreturned. Love is
the purest, the most divine spark of our being.

Scripture bids us before all things love God, an invisible,
incomprehensible Being, who sends us joy and happiness, but also
privation and pain. How else can we love Him than by obeying His
commandments, and loving our fellow-men, whom we see and understand?

When, as the Apostle Paul writes, faith is lost in knowledge, and hope
in sight, and only love remains, then we hope, not without reason, to
be assured of the love of our merciful Judge. COUNT MOLTKE.

Creisau, October, 1890.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE LIFE AND WORK OF FERDINAND LASSALLE

By ARTHUR N. HOLCOMBE, Ph.D.

Assistant Professor of Government, Harvard University


Ferdinand Lassalle was born on April 11, 1825, at Breslau, of Jewish
parents. The father, Hyman Lassal, was a prosperous business man,
ambitious for his son, able to give him the best education the times
afforded, and willing to let him choose his own career. The life of
the Lassal family seems to have been like that of any well-to-do
Jewish family in the kingdom of Prussia during the early nineteenth
century. Of a quiet and peaceable behavior, they were devoted mainly
to money-making and their domestic affairs.

The young Lassalle gave early indications of his unusual character.
While still a boy in the local grammar school, his proud and
independent disposition won him the displeasure of his teachers.
Especially the oppression of his own race filled his soul with wrath.
"O could I only give myself up to my boyish day-dreams," he wrote in
his note-book at this time, "how I would put myself at the head of the
Jews, weapons in hand, and make them independent!" Eventually he
abandoned in disgust the attempt to gain a classical education in the
schools of his native city and entered the commercial high school in
Leipzig. Here again his fiery temperament could not brook the
restraints imposed upon him and he presently returned to his father's
house.

The problem of a career was not easy to solve. The father's success
enabled the son to choose his course in life without regard to
financial considerations. Business and mere money-making were in fact
distasteful to him.

[Illustration: FERDINAND LASSALLE]

The learned professions were more to his liking. The father
recommended medicine or the law, but the son aspired to some less
hackneyed career. Jews were not then admitted to the service of the
state in Prussia and the absence of popular institutions of government
rendered an independent political career for the time being out of the
question. The son chose, therefore, to make his mark as a man of
learning. He would be a great philosopher or scientist. Doubtless he
kept in mind the possibility of engaging in journalism, should the
times change, and becoming a tribune of the people. Such bold ideas
are the birthright of all boys of spirit.

Ferdinand Lassale finished his education with his destiny consciously
before him. He studied philology and philosophy at the universities of
Breslau and Berlin and in the winter of 1845-46 made his first visit
to Paris as a traveling scholar. Here he first adorned his family name
with the final _le_, and here, also, he met the chief of the heroes of
his youth, Heinrich Heine. Heine has given us a vivid pen-picture of
Lassalle, as he saw him in those student days. "My friend, Mr.
Lassalle ... is a most highly gifted young man, uniting the widest
knowledge with the greatest astuteness. I have been astounded at his
energy of will, vigor of intellect, and promptness of action....
Lassalle is a true child of modern times, wishing to know nothing of
the humility and renunciation which have characterized our own lives.
This new race means to enjoy, to assert itself.... We were, however,
perhaps happier in our idealism than these stern gladiators who go
forth so proudly to mortal combats."

Returning to Berlin in the spring of 1846, Lassalle signalized the
attainment of his majority by espousing the cause of the Countess von
Hatzfeld, then in the midst of her suits for divorce and for an
accounting of her property. It was a characteristic act. The Countess'
troubles arose through no fault of his. He had little to gain by
engaging in the affair and much to lose--not only time and money,
but friends, reputation, and his very career. Yet he plunged into the
thick of the fray and made the cause of the unhappy lady his own. For
eight long years he fought her enemies from law-court to law-court,
through thirty-six of them in all, to final victory. From it all he
gained a good working knowledge of the law, a splendid training in
forensic address, and a taste of the joys of combat against bitter
odds. These things were later to stand him in good stead. But he had
touched smut and was himself besmirched.

Meanwhile the famous year, 1848, had come and gone. Men like Lassalle
are made for just such years. His friends all played their parts, each
in his own way, in the struggle for German liberty and union. Lassalle
alone was absent from the field. He was defending himself against a
charge of criminal conspiracy to commit larceny, an incident in the
case of the Countess von Hatzfeld. He disposed of this charge in
season to join the editors of the _Neue Rheinische Zeitung_, and in
the spring of 1849 he completed his apprenticeship as a revolutionist
with a term in jail. At the expiration of his sentence he returned to
the cause of the Countess, but he was required by the Prussian
government to keep away from Berlin. Not until 1857, through the
intervention of A. von Humboldt, did he receive permission to resume
his residence in the capital. Then, with his friend, the Countess, he
settled down once more to the realization of his youthful dreams, and
the long-deferred career was taken up in earnest.

Lassalle's career as a scholar and man of learning was short, but
productive. It was opened in 1857 with the publication of his work,
the _Philosophy of Heraclitus,_ projected more than ten years before,
and it was concluded in 1861, as the event proved, by the publication
of his _System of the Acquired Rights_. Midway between the two
appeared a dramatic composition, _Franz von Sickingen,_ which served
both as an intellectual diversion from the more serious studies in
philosophy and law and as a personal confession of faith on the part
of the author. None of these works can be pronounced an unqualified
success. The philosophy of Heraclitus was too obscure to exert any
great influence upon contemporary thought, even when expounded by a
Lassalle, and the philosophy of Lassalle himself was too closely
modeled upon that of his master, Hegel, to obtain much notice on its
own account. The treatise on the acquired rights of man was too
technical to attract popular attention and too unorthodox to receive
the general approval of professional students of the law. The _Franz
von Sickingen_ was too deficient in dramatic action to be presented on
the stage and too artificial in literary form to be read in the
library. The three productions secured for Lassalle a position among
scholars but brought him no general recognition.

The three productions, however, pour a flood of light upon
Lassalle's own powerful personality. In the _Philosophy of
Heraclitus_ he grappled with the most formidable philosophical
problems and showed himself a master of the Hegelian dialectic.
In the _System of the Acquired Rights_ he attacked the very foundations
of the current theories of law and justice with the same concentration
of energy and purpose as had been displayed in the more practical
problems of law and justice involved in the case of the Countess
von Hatzfeld. But it is in _Franz von Sickingen_ that Lassalle
expressed his own nature most clearly and most completely.
Here indeed he speaks directly for himself through the lips of
Ulrich von Hutten. Passage after passage springs from the soul of
the living Lassalle, the same Lassalle that in his boyhood dreams
would emancipate the Jews by force of arms, that in his early manhood
so deeply impressed Heine, and that so shortly afterwards
was ready to defy all the powers of the kingdom in defence
of a friendless woman. The following speech of the legendary
von Hutten is characteristic of the real Lassalle:

  "O worthy Sir! Think better of the sword!
  A sword, when swung in freedom's sacred cause,
  Becomes the Holy Word, of which you preach,
  The God, incarnate in reality.
         *       *       *       *       *
  And all great things, which e'er will come to pass
  Will owe their final being to the sword."

In short, Lassalle was not by nature a man of the study. He was a man
of the battlefield.

The hour for battle was fast approaching. In 1859 the alliance of
Napoleon the Third and Cavour against the Austrians was consummated
and the war for the liberation and unification of Italy began. The
hopes of all true Germans for the unification of the Fatherland took
new life. Especially the survivors of '48 felt their pulses quicken.
In 1859 Lassalle revealed his own interest in contemporary politics by
the publication of his pamphlet on _The Italian War and the Duty of
Prussia_, and in the following year by his address on _Fichte's
Political Legacy and Our Own Times_. He also planned to establish a
popular newspaper in Berlin, but the scheme was abandoned in 1861, on
account of the refusal of the Prussian government to sanction the
naturalization of the man whom Lassalle desired for his associate in
the enterprise, Karl Marx. With the Prince of Prussia's accession to
the throne and the brilliant successes of the Progressive party in the
Prussian elections, men instinctively felt that the times were big
with portentous events.

Lassalle's political ideas were already well developed. He was born a
democrat. In early nineteenth-century England the young Disraeli could
hopefully plan a different course, but Lassalle in Prussia could look
for no public career as an aristocrat. Under the circumstances to be a
democrat meant also to be a republican, and, if need be, a
revolutionist. As a youth he drank deep from the idealistic springs
that inspired the republican party throughout Germany. He admired
Schiller and Fichte and, above all, Heine and Börne. Lassalle indeed
had drunk deeper than most of the revolutionists of '48. He was not
only a democrat and a republican; he was also a socialist. Even before
his first visit to Paris he had become acquainted with the writings of
St. Simon, Fourier, and the utopian socialists in general. His mind
was ripe for the doctrines of the _Communist Manifesto_, when that
epoch-making document appeared, but he does not seem to have become
personally acquainted with Marx until his connection with the _Neue
Rheinische Zeitung_ in the fall of 1848. From that time on till the
foundation of the _Allgemeiner Deutscher Arbeiterverein_ Lassalle
stood closer to Marx than to any other one man.

Lassalle's opportunity to turn definitely from scholarship to politics
came in 1862 with the outbreak of the struggle over the Prussian
constitution. In a series of vigorous addresses (April, 1862, to
February, 1863) he first criticised, then condemned, the Progressive
party for its--as it seemed to him--pusillanimous policy. But Lassalle
was not content merely to criticise and condemn. His restless energy
found no adequate expression short of the creation of a new party of
his own. His repudiation of the Progressives, however, was not
dictated by differences over tactics alone. He rejected the
fundamental principles of the liberal movement in German politics. He
saw around him the evidences of deep and widespread poverty. The great
problem of the day to his mind was not the political problem of a
proper constitution of government, but the social problem of a proper
distribution of wealth. The need, as he saw it, was not for
parchment-guarantees of individual liberty. It was for practical
promotion of social welfare. Hence, at the same time that he opened
fire upon the tactics of the Progressives, he unfolded his plans for
the constructive treatment of the social, as distinct from the
political, problem.

The nature of Lassalle's social ideal and the character of the means
by which he sought to justify it are for the first time
systematically set forth in his address (April 12, 1862) "upon the
special connection between modern times and the idea of a laboring
class," subsequently published under the title, _The Workingmen's
Programme_. This address was the point of departure for the socialist
movement in Germany, as the _Communist Manifesto_ of Marx and Engels
was that of international socialism. It was indeed largely inspired by
the spirit of that revolutionary document. During the two and a half
years which followed the publication of this address, Lassalle often
set forth his fundamental social philosophy with extraordinary
clearness and force, but he never surpassed his opening salutation to
the workingmen of Germany. It has been read by hundreds of thousands.
It was his masterpiece.

_The Workingmen's Programme_ attracted the immediate attention of the
Prussian government. The police took offence at the tone of the
address and brought against its author a charge of criminal incitement
of the poor to hatred and contempt of the rich. On January 16, 1863,
Lassalle appeared in court and defended himself against this charge in
an almost equally celebrated address, published under the title,
_Science and the Workingmen_. Here Lassalle speaks in a different but
no less brilliant vein. From that time forth Lassalle's appearances
before audiences of workingmen quite generally led to corresponding
appearances before audiences of judges. If one court set him free, he
was liable to be haled before another court for defamation of the
prosecuting attorney in the court of first resort. But the prisoner's
dock served as well as the orator's platform for the purposes of his
agitation.

_The Workingmen's Programme_ attracted less immediate attention from
the workingmen themselves. But among the few whose attention was
attracted was a group of Leipzig labor leaders who invited Lassalle to
advise them more fully concerning his plans for the formation of an
independent labor party. Lassalle's reply to this invitation was the
_Open Letter to the Committee for the Calling_ _of a General
Convention of German Workingmen at Leipzig_, dated March 1, 1863. This
letter sets forth the platform upon which Lassalle proposed to make
his appeal for the support of the working classes. The two main planks
of the platform were the demands for manhood suffrage and for the
establishment of coöperative factories and workshops with the aid of
subventions from the State. Through manhood suffrage Lassalle expected
that the working classes would immediately become the dominant power
in the State, and through State-aided producers' associations he
expected that the coöperative commonwealth would eventually come into
being. Manhood suffrage was thus the fundamental political condition
of Social Democracy. State-aided producers' associations were but a
temporary economic expedient. Upon this basis, May 23, 1863, the
General Association of German Workingmen (_Allgemeiner Deutscher
Arbeiterverein_) was founded.

The immediate results of the foundation of the General Association of
German Workingmen were much less than Lassalle had anticipated. He had
hoped that it would quickly surpass the Liberal National Association,
founded by the leaders of the Progressive party in 1859, which at this
time counted about 25,000 members. In fact, during Lassalle's life the
Workingmen's Association never reached one-fifth of that number. The
workingmen generally were slow to recognize either the character of
Lassalle's purposes or the character of the man himself. Despite the
power and brilliancy of the speech-making campaign upon which Lassalle
promptly entered he made little headway. The progress of the movement
among the rank and file, however, was more satisfactory than in any
other quarter. Marx had been lost to the movement before it was
inaugurated and the rigid Marxians among the German socialists
continued to hold aloof. Lassalle's close personal friend, Lothar
Bucher, could see no prospect of early success and withdrew while
there was still time. The independent socialist, Rodbertus, to whom
Lassalle next turned for assistance, had little faith in manhood
suffrage and none at all in State-aided producers' associations. To
confirm his unbelief in manhood suffrage he pointed to the ease with
which a popular plebiscite could be manipulated by a Louis Napoleon.
State-aided producers' associations, he declared to be incompatible
with scientific socialism, a dangerous compromise between the national
workshops advocated by the utopian socialist, Louis Blanc, and the
coöperative corporations, advocated by the anarchist, Prudhomme. So
Lassalle found himself alone at the head of his new independent labor
party.

It was not the workingmen but the middle-class Progressive party that
was most aroused by Lassalle's _Open Letter._ He was regarded as a
traitor to the cause of the constitution and a practical ally of the
forces of reaction--in short, as either a fool or a knave. Lassalle
saw clearly enough that he could not succeed without making clear to
his prospective followers the irreconcilability of liberalism and
socialism, and directed his most powerful efforts against the position
of the Progressive party. His _Workingmen's Reader_ (May, 1863) and
_Bastiat-Schulze von Delitzsch_ (January, 1864) are conspicuous
memorials of his campaign against liberalism. The liberal position was
substantially that the workingmen, though without effective
voting-power, were honorary members of the Progressive party, and
hence needed no independent party of their own, and that, for the
rest, they could best promote their special economic interests by
"self-help," that is, through voluntary and unassisted coöperation.
Liberal leaders, especially Schulze-Delitzsch, labored strenuously to
improve the well-being of the working-classes along these lines, and
their efforts were not in vain. The Progressive watchword, "right
makes might," sophistical as it seemed to Lassalle, appealed to the
idealism of the German people, and the party was in the heyday of its
success. More and more Lassalle found himself forced by the
necessities of his struggle with the Progressives into compromising
relations with the government of Bismarck. His last great speech
delivered at Ronsdorf on the first anniversary of the foundation of
the Workingmen's Association betrays the dilemma into which he had
fallen. Under the conditions of the time there was not enough room
between the contending forces of progress and reaction for the great
independent labor party which Lassalle had hoped to create. There was
room for a humble beginning, but that was all.

It is not necessary to dwell on the details of Lassalle's last twelve
months and tragic end. The story is brief: a year of exhausting toil
and small result, then a short vacation, an unfortunate love-affair, a
foolish challenge to a duel, a single pistol-shot, and three days
later, August 31, 1864, the end. Thus he died, and on his tomb in
Breslau was written: "Here lies what was mortal of Ferdinand Lassalle,
the Thinker and Fighter."

The name of Lassalle is most frequently connected with that of Marx.
Certainly the two had much in common. They worked together in 1848 and
would have done so again in 1862 if Lassalle had had his way. For
fourteen years they were personal friends. Though they ultimately
drifted apart, they never became enemies. Lassalle was seven years
younger than Marx and was unquestionably strongly influenced by the
ideas of the founder of scientific socialism. At the same time he was
a man who did his own thinking, and his speeches and writings, even
those dealing most particularly with the philosophy of socialism, are
by no means mere paraphrases of Marx. His ideas betray resemblances to
those of various contemporary writers on socialism and the socialist
movement, notably Lorenz von Stein, the author of the _History of the
Social Movements in France from 1789_. The economic interpretation of
history, set forth in the _Workingmen's Programme_, however, is in
many respects but an amplification of the economic interpretation of
history originally and more briefly set forth in the _Communist
Manifesto_. The theory of economics in general and of wages in
particular, contained in the _Bastiat-Schulze von Delitzsch_, is
substantially the same as that contained in Marx's _Critique of
Political Economy,_ published in 1859. Regarded solely as a
theoretical socialist, Lassalle is rightly classed among the Marxians.

Yet Lassalle's position with regard to some important theoretical
questions was distasteful to Marx. In philosophy, for example,
Lassalle was a pure Hegelian and never abandoned the idealistic
standpoint of his master. Marx, as is well known, was a materialistic
Hegelian. The differences between them in this regard were revealed
most clearly in the _System of the Acquired Rights_. Lassalle traced
the development of the German laws of inheritance from the Roman
concept of the immortality of the legal personality. Marx would have
derived them from the conditions of life among the Germans themselves.
In Franz von Sickingen and his cause Lassalle thought he saw a glimpse
of the revolutionary spirit of modern times. Marx saw only a belated
and futile struggle on the part of a member of the decadent medieval
order of petty barons against the rising order of territorial princes.
Had Lassalle linked up the cause of the petty barons with the revolt
of the peasants, Marx would have thought better of his performance,
but this Lassalle had neglected to do. In the _Philosophy of
Heraclitus_ Marx took little interest.

The most important differences between Marx and Lassalle arose with
respect to the exigencies of practical politics. Marx, like Lassalle,
was a democrat. Lassalle, however, consistently placed the demand for
manhood suffrage in the forefront of his immediate political demands,
whilst Marx believed that manhood suffrage under the then-existing
conditions on the Continent of Europe would prove more useful to those
who controlled the electoral machinery than to the workingmen
themselves. Marx, like Lassalle, believed in the republican form of
government. Lassalle, however, could recognize the temporary value of
monarchical institutions in the struggle against the capitalistic
system, whilst Marx would have had the workingmen depend upon
themselves alone. Marx, like Lassalle, believed in the inevitableness
of the fall of capitalism. Lassalle, however, could appreciate the
desirability of realizing some portion of the promised future in the
immediate present, whilst Marx preferred not to risk the prolongation
of the life of the capitalistic system by attempting to discount the
day when the wage-earning classes should come wholly into their own.
Marx, like Lassalle, was a revolutionist. Lassalle, however, was
interested primarily in bringing about the social revolution on German
soil, whilst Marx was an internationalist, a veritable man without a
country.

The two were bound to clash as soon as Lassalle began the development
of his practical political programme. Marx was not only sceptical of
the wisdom of Lassalle's campaign for manhood suffrage, but he was
even strongly opposed to the campaign for the establishment of
producers' associations with the aid of subventions from the Prussian
monarchy. That programme represented all that was odious to Marx:
organization of the wage-earners on purely national instead of
international lines, conversion of private ownership of capital into
corporate instead of public ownership, establishment of a social
monarchy instead of a coöperative commonwealth. Obviously Marx could
not endorse Lassalle's proposals to make the socialist movement a
factor in contemporary German politics, nor did Lassalle endorse the
Marxian policy presently embodied in the "International."

In the matter of programme and tactics neither Marx nor Lassalle has
been altogether justified by the verdict of history. In the beginning
the followers of Lassalle and the followers of Marx pursued their
common ends by independent roads. Brought together by the logic of
events, they composed their differences, taking what seemed best to
serve their purpose from the ideas of each. It is known that Marx was
harshly critical of the programme adopted at Gotha in 1875. It may be
guessed that Lassalle, had he lived, would not altogether have
approved of the tactics pursued by those in charge of the united
party's affairs. Today, the Social Democratic party, having grown
strong and great, can recognize its obligations to both Marx and
Lassalle.

Lassalle and Marx had entirely different functions to perform in the
socialist movement. Marx's part was to be the prophet of socialism,
not a prophet in the vulgar sense of a mere prognosticator, but in the
old Hebrew sense of an inspired voice crying in a wilderness of
unbelief. Lassalle was no prophet. His function was to reduce
principles to action, to engage the forces of the times in the spirit
of the times, and by combat with such weapons as lay to hand to urge
the cause forward. The word "agitator" might have been invented for
him. He was the first great warrior of socialism. It is no reflection
upon Marx to indicate that the present need of the Social Democracy is
for warriors rather than for prophets.

Lassalle was one of the great figures of modern German history.
Bismarck's judgment of men was of the keenest and his opinion of
Lassalle, expressed in a speech before the Reichstag (September 16,
1878) is well known: "In private life Lassalle possessed an
extraordinary attraction for me, being one of the most brilliant and
most agreeable men I have ever met, and ambitious in the biggest sense
of the term." The eminent classical historian, Boeckh, who knew
Lassalle well, compared him to Alcibiades. Heine, in a letter
introducing Lassalle to a friend, wrote: "I present to you a new
Mirabeau." There is much that is striking in either of these
parallels.

Thoughts of what might have been, had Lassalle's career in politics
not been brought to so melancholy an end, are likely to be idle. Helen
von Racowitza, the pathetic instrument of his fate, not unnaturally
indulged her fancy in such thoughts. Writing in her old age she
queries: "Would he, ... with his incomparable ambition and will, ever
have been able to adapt himself to the compact edifice of the German
empire? Assuredly it must always have seemed to him like a prison!" To
a woman wracked by remorse it may have been comforting to believe that
when the catastrophe occurred the work of the man she once had loved
was really completed. Doubtless indeed Lassalle himself had begun to
realize, short as was the period from the foundation of the
Workingmen's Association to the fatal duel with the Rumanian Yanko,
that he could not bring his enterprise to a head as quickly as he had
hoped. Doubtless he already saw that the establishment of an
independent labor party was not a matter of a single hard-fought
campaign, to be waged and won by the genius of any one great leader,
but a task requiring long and patient toil and the indefinite
postponement of the sweet joys of victory. Certainly in his last
months Lassalle showed an unwise readiness seriously to compromise his
position for the sake of more immediate success. Had he lived, he
would soon have discovered that he must retrace those latest steps, or
Bismarck, and not he, would have been the actual leader of the first
German independent labor party. There was nothing in Lassalle's life
to warrant the assumption that he would deliberately sell his party
for a mess of pottage. Lassalle had put his hand to the plow and it
was not in his nature to leave the furrow unturned.

Yet Lassalle's title to greatness must lie less in what he himself
achieved than in the achievements of others in his name. He founded a
political party; others have made that party great. But the most
signal service is the service of the founder, for to found a party is
to generate a living organism which will, in the fullness of time,
express the purposes and unite the energies of millions. So it has
been with the party of Lassalle. Like the husbandman who casts his
seed on good ground, he implanted the germs of the Social-Democracy in
the hearts of his country's workingmen when the time was ripe for the
sowing. It is enough to secure his fame that he had the vision to see
that the time was ripe and the strength to break the ground.

       *       *       *       *       *




_FERDINAND LASSALLE_



THE WORKINGMEN'S PROGRAMME (1862)

TRANSLATED BY E.H. BABBITT, A.B.

Assistant Professor of German, Tufts College


Gentlemen: Requested to deliver an address before you, I have thought
it best to choose, and to treat in a strictly scientific way, a
subject, which, from its nature, must be particularly interesting to
you, namely, the special relation of the character of the historical
period in which we are living to the idea of a working class.

I have said that my treatment of the subject will be purely
scientific.

A true scientific attitude, however, is nothing more than perfect
clearness, and therefore the complete separation of our thinking from
any preconceived notion. For the sake of this complete absence of
preconceived notions with which we must approach the subject, it will
even be necessary, in the course of the discussion, to form a clear
conception of what we really mean by the term "workingmen" or "working
class." For even on this point we must not admit any preconceived
notion, as if these terms were something perfectly well
understood--which is by no means the case. The language of common life
very frequently attaches at different times different conceptions to
the words "workingman" or "working class," and we must therefore, in
due time, get a clear conception as to what meaning we will attach to
these designations.

With this problem, however, we are not concerned at the present
moment. We must rather begin this presentation with a different
question: The working class is only one class among several which
together form the body politic, and there have been workingmen at
every historical period. How, then, is it possible, and what does the
statement mean, that a particular connection exists between the idea
of this special definite class and the principle of the particular
historical period in which we are living?

To understand this it is desirable to take a glance into history--into
the past, which properly interpreted, here, as everywhere, gives us
the key to the present and points out to us an outline of the future.
In this retrospect we must be as brief as possible, or we shall be in
danger (in the short time which is before us) of not reaching at all
the essential subject of the discussion. But even at this risk we
shall at least be obliged to cast such a glance into the past, even if
it is limited to the most general considerations, in order to
understand the import of our question and of our subject.

If, then, we go back to the Middle Ages, we shall find, in general,
that the same classes and divisions of the population which today
compose the body politic were already in existence, although by no
means so fully developed; but we find, furthermore, that at that time
one class, one element, is predominate--the landholding element. It is
land proprietorship which in the Middle Ages is the controlling
influence in every particular, which has put its own special stamp
upon all the institutions and upon the whole life of the time: it must
be pronounced the ruling principle of that period.

The reason why land ownership is the ruling principle of that time is
a very simple one. It lies--at least this reason is quite sufficient
for our present purposes--in the economic conditions of the Middle
Ages and in the state of development of production. Commerce was then
very slightly developed, manufactures still less. The chief wealth of
every community consisted, in greatest measure, in the products of
agriculture.

Personal property at that time, in comparison with the ownership of
real estate, came only slightly into consideration; how far this was
the case is shown very plainly by property law, which always gives a
very clear criterion for the economic relations of the period in which
it arises. Medieval property law, for instance, with the object of
holding the property of families from generation to generation and
protecting it from dissipation, declared family property or "estate"
inalienable without the consent of the heirs; but by this family
property or "estate" was expressly understood only real estate.
Personal or portable property, on the other hand, could be disposed of
without the consent of the heirs; and in general all personal property
was treated by the old German law not as an independent
self-perpetuating basis of property (capital), but always as the fruit
of the soil--in the same way, for instance, as the annual crop from
the soil--and was subject to the same legal conditions as the latter.
Nothing but real estate was then regularly treated as an independent
self-perpetuating basis of property. It is therefore entirely in
keeping with this condition of things, and a simple consequence of it,
that landed property and those who had it in their hands almost
exclusively--the nobility and clergy--formed the ruling factor, from
every point of view, in the society of that period.

Whatever institution of the Middle Ages you may consider, you meet
this phenomenon at every point. It will suffice us to glance at a few
of the most essential of these institutions in which landholding
appears as a ruling principle.

First: The organization of the public power given by it, or the Feudal
System. The essential point of this was that kings, princes and lords
ceded to other lords and knights land for their use, in return for
which the recipient had to promise military vassalage--that is, he had
to support the feudal lord in his wards or feuds, both in person and
with retainers.

Second: The organization of public law, or the constitution of
the empire. In the German parliaments the princes and the large
landholdings of the counts, the empire, and of the clergy were
represented. The cities had the right to a seat or a vote only if they
had succeeded in acquiring the privileges of an imperial free city.

Third: The exemption from taxation of the large landholdings. It is a
characteristic and constantly recurring phenomenon that every ruling
privileged class tries constantly to throw the burden of the
maintenance of the State, in open or disguised manner, in direct or
indirect form, on the propertyless classes. When Richelieu, in 1641,
demanded six million francs from the clergy as an extraordinary
revenue, the latter gave, through the archbishop of Sens, the
characteristic answer: "L'usage ancien de l'église pendant sa vigeur
était que le peuple contribuait ses biens, la noblesse son sang, le
clergé ses prières aux necessités de l'État." (The ancient custom of
the church in her prosperity was that the people contributed to the
needs of the State their property, the nobility their blood, the
clergy their prayers.)

Fourth: The social stigma that rested upon all work other than
occupation of the soil. To conduct manufacturing enterprises, to
acquire money by commerce and manual trades, was considered
disgraceful and dishonorable for the two privileged ruling classes,
the nobility and the clergy, for whom it was regarded as honorable to
obtain their revenue from landownership only.

These four great and determining motives which established the basic
character of the period are entirely sufficient, for our purpose, to
show how it was that landed property put its stamp upon that epoch and
formed its ruling principle.

This was so far the case that even the movement of the Peasant War,
which apparently was completely revolutionary--the one which broke out
in Germany in 1524 and involved all Swabia, Franconia, Alsace,
Westphalia, and other parts of Germany--depended absolutely upon
this same principle, and was therefore in fact a reactionary movement
in spite of its revolutionary attitude. The peasants at that time
burned down the castles of the nobles, killed the nobles themselves,
and made them run the gauntlet according to the custom of the times;
but, nevertheless, in spite of this externally revolutionary
appearance, the movement was essentially thoroughly reactionary. For
the new birth of State relations--the German freedom which the
peasants desired to establish--was to consist, according to their
ideas, in the abolition of the special and intermediary position which
the princes occupied between the emperor and the empire, and, in its
stead, the representation in the German parliament of nothing but free
and independent landed property, including that of the peasants and
knights (these two classes up to this time not having been
represented), as well as the individual independent estates of the
nobles of every degree--knights, counts, and princes, without regard
to former differences; and, on the other hand, of the landed property
of the nobles as well as of the peasants.

It is clear at once, then, that this plan, in the last instance,
results in nothing more than still more logical, clear, and equitable
carrying-out of the principle which had formed the basis of the
historical period which was even then approaching its end; that is,
landownership was to be the ruling element and the only condition
which entitled anybody to participation in the government of the
State: that anybody should demand such participation just because he
was a man, because he was a reasonable being, even without owning any
land--this did not occur to the peasants in the remotest degree! For
this the conditions of the time were not sufficiently developed, the
method of thought of the time was not revolutionary enough.

So then this peasant uprising, which came forward externally with such
revolutionary determination, was in its essence completely
reactionary; that is to say, instead of standing upon a new
revolutionary principle, it stood unconsciously on the old,
existing principle of the period which was then just closing; and just
because it was reactionary, while it thought itself revolutionary, did
the peasant uprising fail.

Accordingly, in comparison with the uprising of the peasants as well
as that of the nobles under Franz von Sickingen--both of which had the
principle in common of basing participation in the government, more
definitely than had before been the case, upon landholding--the rising
monarchical idea was relatively a justifiable and revolutionary
factor, since it was based upon the idea of a state sovereignty
independent of landholding, representing the national idea independent
of private property relations; and it was just this which gave it the
power for a victorious development and for the suppression of the
uprising of the peasants and the nobles.

I have gone into this point somewhat explicitly, in the first place to
show the reasonableness and the progress of liberty in the development
of history, even by an example in which this is not at all evident on
superficial observation; in the second place, because historians are
still far from recognizing this reactionary character of the peasant
uprising and the reason for its failure, which lay chiefly in this
aspect; but, rather deceived by external appearances, they have
considered the Peasant War a truly revolutionary movement.

Finally, in the third place, because at all ages this phenomenon is
frequently repeated--that men who do not think clearly (among whom are
often found those apparently most highly educated, even professors)
have fallen into the tremendous mistake of taking for a new
revolutionary principle what is only a more logical and clear
expression of the thought of a period and of institutions which are
just passing away.

Gentlemen, let me warn you against such men, who are revolutionists
only in their own imaginations, and such tendencies, because we shall
have them in the future as we have had them in the past. We can also
derive consolation from the fact that the numerous movements which,
after momentary success, have immediately, or in a short time, come to
naught again, which we find in history and which may cloud the
superficial vision of many a patriot with gloomy forebodings, have
never been revolutionary movements except in imagination. A true
revolutionary movement, one which rests upon a really new idea, as the
more thoughtful man can prove from history to his consolation, has
never yet failed, at least not permanently.

I return to my main subject. If the Peasant Wars are revolutionary
only in imagination, what was really and truly revolutionary at that
time was the advance in manufacturing--the production of the middle
class, the constantly developing division of labor, and the resulting
wealth in capital, which accumulated exclusively in the hands of the
middle class because it was just this class that devoted itself to
production and reaped its profits.

It is usual to date the end of the Middle Ages and the beginning of
modern history from the Reformation--accordingly, from the year 1517.
This is correct in the sense that, in the two centuries immediately
following the Reformation, a slow, gradual, and unnoticed change took
place, which completely transformed the aspect of society and
accomplished within it a revolution that later, in 1789, was merely
proclaimed, not actually produced, by the French Revolution.

Do you ask in what this transformation consisted?

In the legal position of the nobility there had been no change.
Legally the nobility and the clergy had remained the two ruling
classes, and the middle class the class universally kept down and
oppressed. But although there had legally been no change, yet actually
the reversal of conditions had been all the more tremendous.

By the production and accumulation of capital and of personal
property, in contrast to real estate, in the hands of the
middle class, the nobility had dwindled into complete
insignificance--even into actual dependence upon the enriched middle
class. If the nobles wished to maintain their place beside the middle
class, they must renounce all class traditions and begin to adopt the
same methods of industrial acquisition to which the middle class owed
their wealth and in consequence their _de facto_ power. The comedies
of Molière, who lived at the time of Louis XIV., show us, as an
extremely interesting phenomenon, the nobles of the times despising
the rich middle class and at the same time playing the parasite at its
tables. Louis XIV. himself, this proudest of monarchs, takes off his
hat in his palace at Versailles and humbles himself before the Jew,
Samuel Bernard, the Rothschild of the times, in order to influence him
in favor of a loan.

When Law, the famous Scotch financier, at the beginning of the
eighteenth century, formed in France his trading companies--a stock
corporation which was formed for the exploitation of the Mississippi
region, the East Indies, etc., the Regent of France himself was on its
directorate--a member of a merchant company! The Regent found himself
in fact compelled in August, 1717, to issue edicts in virtue of which
the nobles might, without loss of dignity, enter into the naval and
military service of these trading companies! To that point, then, the
warlike and proud feudal aristocracy of France had fallen--to be the
armed employees of the industrial and commercial enterprises of the
middle class, whose relations extended through all continents.

Corresponding to this radical change, there had already developed a
materialism and an eager, grasping struggle for money and property
which could overcome all moral ideas and (what I regret to say was
generally still more significant for the privileged classes) even all
privileges of rank. Under this same Regent of France, Count Horn, one
of the highest of the aristocracy and connected with the first
families of France, even with the Regent himself, was broken on the
wheel as a common robber and murderer; and the Duchess of Orleans, a
German princess, writes in a letter of November 29, 1719, that six
ladies of the highest rank waylaid in the court of a building the
above-mentioned Law, who was at that time the most courted and the
busiest man in France and therefore very hard to interview, in order
to induce him to dispose of some of the shares founded by him, for
which at that time all France was competing and which brought on the
Exchange six and eight times the nominal price at which Law had issued
them.

If you ask me again what the causes were which made possible this
development of manufacturing and the consequent wealth of the middle
class, I should have to exceed, if I tried to give them thorough
treatment, the time at my disposal. I can only enumerate for you the
most essential ones: The discovery of America and its tremendous
influence on production; the route to the East Indies around the Cape
of Good Hope, taking the place of the former land route by way of Suez
for all trade with the East Indies; the discovery of the magnetic
needle and the invention of the mariner's compass, and in consequence
greater safety and speed and lower insurance rates for all ocean
traffic; the waterways established in the interior of the countries,
the canals, also the good roads which made possible for the first time
a more remote market through the lessening of the transportation costs
of various commodities which formerly could not carry the raise in
price thus caused; greater security of property; well-established
courts of law; the invention of powder, and, in consequence of this
invention, the breaking down by the monarchy of the feudal military
power of the nobility; the dismissal of the mercenaries and mounted
retainers of the nobles on account of the destruction of their castles
and of their independent military power. For these retainers there was
now nothing left but to find work in the medieval workshops. All these
events gave impetus to the triumphal chariot of the middle class. All
these events, and many more which might be enumerated, combined to
produce this one effect. By the opening of wider markets and the
accompanying reduction of the costs of production and transportation,
there comes production for the world-market, and consequently the
necessity for cheap production which, in its turn, can be met only by
a constantly extending division of labor, i.e., by the more perfectly
developed division of the work into its simplest mechanical processes;
this in turn brings about a constantly increasing output.

We are on the ground here of action and reaction. Each of these
circumstances is a cause for the other, and the latter then reacts
upon the former, and extends it and increases its scope.

It must be clear that the production of an article in enormous
quantities--its production for the world-market--is, in general,
possible only if the costs of production of the article are low and if
also its transportation is cheap enough not to raise its price
essentially. Production in enormous quantities demands a wholesale
market, and a wholesale market for any commodity can be obtained only
by its low price, which makes it available for a very large number of
consumers; thus the low cost of production and transportation of any
commodity brings about its production on a huge scale in enormous
quantities. It must also be clear, on the other hand, that the
production of a commodity in enormous quantities causes and increases
its cheapness. A manufacturer, for instance, who turns out 200,000
pieces of cotton goods in a year, is able, because he procures his raw
material more cheaply on a large scale and because the profit on his
capital and the interest on his plant is distributed over so large a
number of pieces, to market each piece, within certain limits, at a
far lower price than the manufacturer who produces yearly only 5,000
such pieces. Greater cheapness of production leads accordingly to
production on a large scale. This results, in turn, in greater
cheapness; this in its own turn brings about production in still
greater quantities, and this still greater cheapness, and so on.

The relations are also quite similar in the matter of division of
labor, which is another necessary condition for production in large
quantities and for cheapness, for without it neither cheapness of
production nor large quantities would be possible.

The division of labor which splits up the production of an article
into a great number of very simple and often purely mechanical
operations requiring no thought on the part of the operative, and sets
at each one of these single operations a single workman, would be
entirely impossible without extensive production of this article. It
is therefore established and extended only through such production. On
the other hand, this division of the work into simple operations leads
(1), to a constantly increasing cheapness; (2), to production in
enormous and constantly increasing quantities--a production calculated
not only for this or that neighboring market, but for the entire
world-market; and (3), through this and through new divisions which
can for this reason be applied to single operations, to still farther
advances in the division of labor itself.

By this series of actions and reactions there had accordingly appeared
a complete transformation in the manufacturing institutions of the
community and hence in all its relations of life. The best way to
state this briefly is to reduce it to the following contrast:

In the early Middle Ages, since only a small number of very valuable
products could stand the expense of transportation, production was
calculated for the need of the immediate locality and a very limited
neighboring market whose demand was, just for this reason, a
well-known, steady, and unchanging one. The need or the demand
preceded production and formed a well-known criterion for it; in other
words, the production of the community had been chiefly artisan
production. Now, in distinction from factory or wholesale production,
the character of small or artisan production is this: Either the need
is awaited before production--as, for example, a tailor waits for my
order before he makes me a coat, a locksmith before he makes me a
lock; or even if some goods are manufactured to be sold ready-made, on
the whole this ready-made business is limited to a minimum of what is
definitely known from experience to be the needs of the immediate
locality and its nearest neighborhood--as, for instance, a tinsmith
makes up a certain number of lamps, knowing that the local demand will
soon dispose of them.

The characteristics of a community producing chiefly in this manner
are poverty, or at least only a moderate prosperity, but, to offset
this, a certain definiteness and steadiness of all relations.

Now, on the other hand, through the incessant and complete action and
reaction which I have been describing to you, there had appeared in
the community a totally different kind of work, and therefore of all
relations of life. There had already appeared the germ of the same
characteristic which today marks, in a differently developed but
enormously extended manner, the production of the community. In the
tremendous development which it has today this characteristic, in
contrast to that previously described, can be indicated as follows:
Whereas, formerly, need preceded production, made it a consequence of
itself, determined it, and formed a criterion and well-known standard
for it--production and supply now go in advance of the demand and try
to develop it. Production is no longer for the locality, no longer for
the well-known need of neighboring markets, but for the world-market.
Production goes on for remote regions and for a general market, for
all continents, for an actually unknown and not definitely calculated
need; and in order that the product may arouse need a weapon is
supplied it--cheapness. Cheapness is the weapon of a product, with
which, on the one hand, it obtains customers, and, on the other,
drives from the field other goods of the same nature, which are likewise
urged upon the consumers; so that under the system of free
competition any producer may hope, no matter what enormous quantities
he may produce, to find a market for them all if he only succeeds, by
making his goods exceedingly cheap, in keeping out of the market the
goods of his competitors. The predominant character of such a society
is vast and boundless wealth, but, on the other hand, a great
instability of all relations, an almost continual, anxious insecurity
in the position of each individual, together with a very unequal
sharing of the returns of production among those taking part in it.

Thus great had been the changes brought about, unnoticed in the heart
of society, by the revolutionary and all-pervading activity of
industrialism, even before the end of the eighteenth century.

Though the men of the Peasant Wars had not ventured any other
conception than that of founding the State upon land ownership, though
they had not, even in thought, been able to free themselves from the
view that land ownership is necessarily the element which holds
sovereignty over the State and that participation in that ownership is
the condition for participation in that sovereignty, yet the quiet,
imperceptible, revolutionary progress of industrialism had brought
about the condition that, long before the end of the eighteenth
century, land ownership had become an element stripped entirely of its
former importance, and had fallen to a subordinate position, in the
face of the development of new methods of production, of the wealth
which this development bore in its bosom and increased from day to
day, and of the influence which it clearly had on all the people and
their affairs--even upon the largely impoverished nobility.

The revolution was therefore an accomplished fact in the actual
relations of society long before it broke out in France; and it was
only necessary to bring this reversal of conditions to outward
recognition to give it legal sanction. This is always the case in
all revolutions. You can never make a revolution. You can only give
external legal recognition and logical embodiment in practice to a
revolution which has already become an actuality in the essential
relations of society. Trying to make a revolution is the folly of
immature men who have no conception of the laws of history.

Precisely for this reason it is just as immature and childish to
suppress a revolution already fully formed in the womb of society and
to oppose its legal recognition, or to reproach those who assist at
its birth with being revolutionary. If the revolution is at hand in
the actual conditions of society, nothing can prevent its appearing
and passing into legislation.

How these things were related, and how far they had already gone in
this direction in the period of which I speak, you will best see from
another matter which I will mention.

I have already spoken about the division of labor, the development of
which consists of separating all production into a series of entirely
simple mechanical operations requiring no thought on the part of the
operator. As this separation progresses farther and farther, the
discovery is finally made that these single operations, because they
are quite simple and call for no thought, can be accomplished just as
well, and even better, by unthinking agents; and so in 1775, fourteen
years before the French Revolution, Arkwright invented the first
machine, his famous spinning-jenny.

We can see that the machine in itself was not the cause of the
revolution. Too little time intervened between this invention, which
furthermore was not immediately introduced into France, and the
revolution; but it embodied in itself the actually incipient and fully
ripe revolution. This machine, however innocent it seemed, was in fact
the revolution personified. The reasons for this are simple. You, of
course, have heard of the guild system, by which production in the
Middle Ages was directed. The guild system of the Middle Ages was
inseparably connected with other institutions. The guilds lasted
through the whole medieval period up to the French Revolution; but as
early as 1672 the matter of their abolition was considered in the
German parliament, though without result. Even in 1614, in the French
_États Généraux_, the abolition of the guilds was demanded by the
middle class, whose production the guilds everywhere restricted; but
also without result. Indeed thirteen years before the Revolution, in
1776, a minister of the Reformed party in France, the famous Turgot,
abolished the guilds, but the privileged world of medieval feudalism
considered itself, and with perfect justice, in mortal danger if its
vital principle of privilege did not extend to all classes of society;
and so, six months after the abolition of the guilds, the king was
empowered to revoke this edict and to reestablish the guilds. Nothing
but the Revolution could overthrow (and it did overthrow in one day,
by the capture of the Bastille) that which in Germany had been vainly
assailed since 1672 and in France since 1614--for almost two
centuries--by legal means.

You see from this, Gentlemen, that however great the advantages of
reformation by legal means are, such means have nevertheless in all
the more important points one great disadvantage--that of being
absolutely powerless for whole centuries; and, furthermore, that the
revolutionary means, undeniable as its disadvantages are, has as a
compensation the advantage of attaining quickly and effectively a
practical result.

If you will now keep in mind that the guilds were connected in an
inseparable manner with the whole social arrangement of the Middle
Ages, you will see at once how the first machine, Arkwright's
spinning-jenny, embodied a complete revolution in those social
conditions.

For how could machine production be possible under the guild system,
in which the number of journeymen and apprentices a master workman
could employ was determined by law in each locality; or how, under
the guild system, in which the different trades were distinguished by
law from one another in the most exact manner, and each master could
carry on only one of them--so that, for instance, the tailors and the
nail-makers of Paris for centuries had lawsuits with the menders of
clothes and the locksmiths, in order to draw lines between their
respective trades--how, under such a guild system, could production be
possible with a system of machines which requires the union of the
most varied departments of work under the control of one and the same
management?

It had come to the point, then, that production itself had called into
being, by its constant and gradual development, instruments of
production which must necessarily destroy the existing condition of
things--instruments and methods of production which, under the guild
system, could no longer find place and opportunity for development.

Thus considered, I call the first machine in itself a revolution; for
it bore in its wheels and cogs, little as this could be seen on
external observation, the germ of the new condition of things, based
upon free competition, which must necessarily develop from this germ
with the power and irresistibility of life itself.

And so, if I am not greatly mistaken, it may be true today that there
exist various phenomena which imply a new condition that must
inevitably develop from them--phenomena which, at this time also,
cannot be understood from external conditions; so that the authorities
themselves, while persecuting insignificant agitators, not only
overlook these phenomena, but even let them stand as necessary
accompaniments of our civilization, hail them as the climax of
prosperity, and, on occasion, make appreciative and approving speeches
in their honor.

After all these discussions you will now understand the true meaning
of the famous pamphlet published by Abbé Sieyes in 1788--and so before
the French Revolution--which was summed up in these words: _"Qu'est-ce
que c'est que le tiers état? rien! qu' est qu'il doit être? Tout!"
Tiers état_, or third class, is what the middle class in France was
called, because they formed, in contrast to the two privileged
classes, the nobility and the clergy, a third class, which meant all
the people without privilege. This pamphlet brings together the two
questions raised by Sieyes, and their answers: "What is the third
class? Nothing! What ought it to be? Everything." This is how Sieyes
formulates these two questions and answers. But from all that has been
said, the true meaning of these questions and answers would be more
clearly and correctly expressed as follows: "What is the third class
_de facto_--in reality? Everything! But what is it _de jure_--legally?
Nothing!"

What was to be done, then, was to bring the legal position of the
third class into harmony with its actual meaning; to clothe its
importance, already existing in fact, with legal sanction and
recognition; and just this is the achievement and significance of the
victorious revolution which broke out in France in 1789 and exerted
its transforming influence on the other countries of Europe.

This question arises here: What was this third class, or
_bourgeoisie_, that through the French Revolution obtained victory
over the privileged classes and gained control of the State? Since
this third class stood in contrast to the privileged classes of
society with legal vested rights, it considered itself at that time as
equivalent to the whole people, and its cause as the cause of all
humanity. This explains the exalting and mighty enthusiasm which was
general in that period. The rights of man were proclaimed; and it
seemed as if, with the liberation and sovereignty of this third class,
all legal privileges in society were ended, and as if every legally
privileged distinction had been replaced by its principle of the
universal liberty of man.

At that time, however, in the very beginning of the movement, in
April, 1789, on the occasion of the elections to a parliament which
was summoned by the king under the condition that the third class
should this time send as many representatives as the nobility and
clergy together, a newspaper of a character anything but revolutionary
writes as follows: "Who can tell us whether a despotism of the
bourgeoisie will not follow the so-called aristocracy of the nobles?"

But such cries at that time were drowned in the general enthusiasm.

Nevertheless we must come back to that question, we must put the
question definitely: Was the cause of the third class really the cause
of all humanity; or did this third class, the _bourgeoisie_, bear
within it a fourth class, from which it wished to distinguish itself
clearly, and subject it to its sovereignty?

I must now, if I do not wish to run the risk of subjecting my
presentation to great misunderstandings, explain my own conception of
the word _bourgeoisie_, or upper _bourgeoisie_, as a term for a
political party. The word _bourgeoisie_ may be translated into German
by _Bürgertum_ (body of citizens). In my opinion this is not what it
means. We are all _Bürger_ (citizens)--the working man, the
_Kleinbürger_ (lower middle class), _Grossbürger_ (upper middle
class), etc. But in the course of history the word _bourgeoisie_ has
acquired the significance of a definite political tendency, which I
will now explain.[47]

The whole class of commoners outside the nobility was divided, when the
French Revolution began, and is still divided in general, into two
subordinate classes--first, those who get their living chiefly or
entirely from their labor, and are supported in this by very little
capital, or none at all, which might give them the possibility of
actively engaging in production for the support of themselves and their
families; to this class, accordingly, belong the laborers, the lower
middle class, the artisans, and, in general, the peasants; second, those
who control a large amount of property and capital, and on that basis
engage in production or receive an income from it. These can be called
the capitalists; but no capitalist is a _bourgeois_ merely because of
his wealth.

No commoner has any objection to a nobleman's rejoicing privately over
his ancestry and his landed estates. But if the nobleman tries to make
these ancestors or these landed estates the condition of special
influence and privilege in the government, of control over public
policy, then the anger of the commoner rises against the nobleman and
he calls him a feudalist.

Conditions are the same with reference to the actual difference of
property within the class of commoners. If the capitalist rejoices in
private over the great convenience and advantage which a large estate
implies for the holder, nothing is more simple, more moral, and more
lawful.

To whatever extent the laborer and the poorer citizen--in a word, all
classes outside the capitalists--are entitled to demand from the State
that its whole thought and effort be directed toward improving the
lamentable and poverty-stricken material condition of the working
classes and toward assuring to them, through whose hands all the
wealth is produced of which our civilization boasts, to whose hands
all products owe their being, without whom society as a whole could
not exist another day, a more abundant and less uncertain revenue, and
thus the possibility of intellectual culture, and, in time, an
existence really worthy of a human being--however much, I say, the
working classes are entitled to demand this from the State and to
establish this as its true object, the workingmen must and will never
forget that all property once lawfully acquired is completely
inviolable and legitimate.

But if the capitalist, not satisfied with the actual advantages of
large property, tries to establish the possession of capital as a
condition for participation in the control of the State and in the
determination of public policy, then the capitalist becomes a
_bourgeois_, then he makes the fact of possession the legal condition
of political control, then he characterizes himself as a new
privileged class which attempts to put the controlling stamp of its
privileges upon all social institutions in as full a degree as the
nobility in the Middle Ages did with the privilege of landholding.

The question therefore which we must raise with reference to the
French Revolution and the period of history inaugurated by it, is the
following: Has the third class, which came into control through the
French Revolution, looked upon itself as a _bourgeoisie_ in this
sense, and has it attempted successfully to subject the people to its
privileged political control?

The answer is given by the great facts of history, and this answer is
definitely in the affirmative. In the very first constitution which
followed the French Revolution--the one of September 3, 1791--the
difference between _citoyen actif_ and _citoyen passif_--the "active"
and "passive" citizen--is set forth. Only the active citizens received
the franchise, and the active citizen, according to this constitution,
is no other than one who pays a direct tax of a definitely stated
amount.

This tax was at that time very moderate. It was only the value of
three days' work: but what was more important was that all those were
declared passive citizens who were _serviteurs à gages_ (wage
earners), a definition by which the working class was expressly
excluded from the franchise. After all, in such questions the
essential point is not the extent, but the principle.

This meant the introduction of a property qualification, the
establishment of a definite amount of property as the condition of the
franchise--this first and most important of all political rights--and
in the determination of public policy.

All those who paid no direct tax at all, or less than this fixed
amount, and those who were wage earners, were excluded from control of
the State and were made a subject body. The ownership of capital had
become the condition for control over the State, as was nobility, or
ownership of land, in the Middle Ages.

This principle of property qualification remains (with the exception
of a very short period during the French Republic of 1793, which
perished from its own indefiniteness and from the whole state of
society at the time, which I cannot here discuss further) the leading
principle of all constitutions which originated in the French
Revolution.

In fact, with the consistency which all principles have, this one was
soon forced to develop into a different quantitative scope. In the
constitution of 1814, according to the classified list promulgated by
Louis XVIII., a direct tax of three hundred francs (eighty thalers)
was established, in place of the value of three days' work, as a
condition of the franchise. The July Revolution of 1830 broke out, and
nevertheless, by the law of April 19, 1831, a direct tax of two
hundred francs (about fifty-three thalers) was required as a condition
of the franchise.

What under Louis Philippe and Guizot was called the _pays légal_--that
is, the country as a legal entity--consisted of 200,000 men; for there
were not more than 200,000 electors in France who could meet the
property requirement, and these exercised sovereignty over more than
30,000,000 inhabitants. It is here to be noted that it makes no
difference whether the principle of property qualification, the
exclusion of those without property from the franchise, appears, as in
the constitutions referred to, in direct and open form, or in a form
in one way or another disguised. The effect is always the same.

So the second French Republic in 1850 could not possibly revoke the
general direct franchise, once proclaimed, which we shall later
consider, but adopted the expedient of granting the franchise (law of
May 31,1850) only to such citizens as had been domiciled in a place
without interruption for at least three years. For, because workingmen
in France are frequently compelled by conditions to change their
domicile and to look for work in another commune, it was hoped, and
with good reason, that extremely large numbers of workingmen, who
could not bring proof of three years uninterrupted residence in the
same place, would be excluded from the franchise.

Here you have a property qualification in disguised form. It is still
worse in our country, since the promulgation of the three-class
election law, under which, with variations according to locality,
three, ten, thirty, or more voters without property, of the third
class of electors, have only the same franchise as one single
capitalist who belongs to the first class; so that, in fact, if the
proportion were only one to ten, nine men out of every ten who had the
franchise in 1848 have lost it through the three-class election law of
1849, and exercise it only in appearance.[48]

But this is only the average situation. In reality, conditions vary
greatly in different localities, and they are often still more
unfavorable, most unfavorable in fact where the inequality of property
is most developed; thus for instance, in Düsseldorf twenty-six voters
of the third class have no more power than one rich man.

If we return from this discussion to our main thought, we have shown,
and shall continue to show, in what manner, since the time when, through
the French Revolution, the capitalist element obtained sovereignty, its
principle, the possession of capital, has now become the controlling
principle of all social institutions; how the capitalist class,
proceeding in just the same manner as the nobility in the Middle Ages
with land ownership, impresses now the controlling and exclusive stamp
of its particular principle, the possession of capital, upon all
institutions of society. The parallel between the nobility and the
capitalist class is, in this respect, complete. We have already seen
this with regard to the most important fundamental point, the
constitution of the Empire. As in the Middle Ages landholding was the
prevailing principle of representation in the German parliaments, so
now, by a direct or disguised property qualification, the amount of tax,
and therefore, since this is determined by the capital of an individual,
the holding of capital, is what, in the last instance, determines the
right of election to legislative bodies and therefore of participation
in the control of the State.

Just so in reference to all other institutions in which I have
demonstrated to you that land ownership was the controlling principle
in the Middle Ages. I called your attention then to the exemption from
taxation of the noble landholders of the Middle Ages, and told you
that every privileged ruling class tries to throw the burden for the
maintenance of public welfare upon the oppressed propertyless class.
Just so the capitalists. To be sure they cannot declare publicly that
they wish to be exempt from taxation. Their expressed principle is
rather the rule that everybody shall be taxed in proportion to income;
but, on the other hand, they attain, at least fairly well, the same
result in disguised form by the distinction between direct and
indirect taxes.

Direct taxes are those which, like the classified income tax, are
collected, and therefore are determined, according to the amount of
income and capital. Indirect taxes, however, are those which are laid
upon any necessity--for instance, salt, grain, beer, meat, fuel; or on
the necessity for legal protection--law costs, stamp taxes, etc., and
which the individual very frequently pays in the price of the
commodity without knowing or perceiving that he is being taxed, that
the tax increases the price.

Now no man, of course, who is twenty, fifty, or a hundred times as
rich as another eats by any means twenty, fifty or a hundred times as
much salt, or bread, or meat; or drinks fifty or a hundred times as
much beer or wine; or has fifty or a hundred times as much need for
heat, and therefore for fuel, as the workingman or the relatively poor
man.

The result of this is that all indirect taxes, instead of falling
upon individuals according to the proportion of their capital and
income, are paid in the main by the propertyless classes, the poorer
classes of the nation. It is true that the capitalists did not invent
indirect taxes--they were already in existence--but they were the
first to develop them into a monstrous system and to throw upon them
nearly the whole cost of government. To make this clear to you, I will
simply allude to the Prussian financial administration of 1855. (Shows
by official statistics that out of a budget of 109,000,000 thalers all
but 12,800,000 were derived from indirect taxes.)

Indirect taxation is therefore the institution through which the
capitalistic class obtains the privilege of exemption for its capital
and lays the cost of the government upon the poorer classes of
society.

Observe, at the same time, Gentlemen, the peculiar contradiction and
the strange kind of justice of the procedure of laying the whole
expense upon indirect taxation, and therefore upon the poor people,
and of setting up as a test and a condition of the franchise, and
therefore of political control, the direct taxes, which contribute for
the total need of the State only the insignificant sum of twelve
million out of one hundred and eight million.

I said further with reference to the nobility of the Middle Ages, that
they held in contempt all activity and industry of the commoners. The
situation is the same today. All kinds of work, to be sure, are
equally esteemed today, and if anybody became a millionaire by
rag-picking he would be sure of obtaining a highly esteemed position
in society.

But what social contempt falls upon those who, no matter at what they
labor or how hard they toil, have no capital to back them--that is a
matter which you, Gentlemen, do not need to be told by me, but can
find often enough, unfortunately, in your daily life. Indeed, in many
respects, the capitalist class asserts the supremacy of its special
privilege with even stricter consistency than the nobility of the
Middle Ages did with its land ownership. The instruction of the
people--I mean here of the adult people--was in the Middle Ages the
work of the clergy. Since then the newspapers have assumed this
function; but through the securities a newspaper must give, and still
more through the stamp tax which is laid in our country, as in France
and elsewhere, on newspapers, a daily newspaper has become a very
expensive institution, which cannot be established without very
considerable capital, with the result that, for this very reason, even
the opportunity to mold public opinion, instruct it, and guide it has
become the privilege of the capitalist class.

Were this not the case, you would have much different and very much
better papers. It is interesting to see how early this attempt of the
_bourgeoisie_ to make the press a privilege of capital appears, and in
what frank and undisguised form. On July 24, 1789, a few days after
the capture of the Bastille, during the first days after the middle
class obtained political supremacy, the representatives of the city of
Paris passed a resolution by which they declared printers responsible
if they published pamphlets or sheets by writers _sans existence
connue_ (without visible means of support). The newly won freedom of
the press, then, was to exist only for writers who had visible means
of support. Property thus appears as the condition of the freedom
of the press, indeed of the morality of the writer. The
straightforwardness of the first days of citizen sovereignty only
expresses in a childishly frank manner what is today artfully obtained
by bonding and stamp taxes. With these main characteristic facts
corresponding to our consideration of the Middle Ages we shall have to
be satisfied here.

What we have seen so far are two historical periods, each of which
stands for the controlling idea of a distinct class, which impresses
its own principle upon all institutions of the time.

First, the idea of the nobility, or land ownership, which forms the
controlling principle of the Middle Ages, and permeates all the
institutions of that time.

This period closed with the French Revolution; though, of course,
especially in Germany, where this revolution came about, not through
the people, but in much slower and more complete reforms introduced by
the governments, numerous and important survivals of that first
historical period still exist, preventing to a large extent, even
today, complete control by the capitalist class.

We observed, second, the period beginning with the French Revolution
at the end of the last century, which has capitalism as its principle
and establishes this as the privilege which permeates all social
institutions and determines participation in the public policy. This
period is also, little as external appearances indicate, essentially
at an end.

On February 24, 1848, the first dawn of a new historical period became
visible, for on that day in France--that land in whose mighty internal
struggles the victories as well as the defeats of liberty indicate
victories and defeats for all mankind--a revolution broke out which
placed a workingman at the head of the provisional government, which
declared the principle of the State to be the improvement of the lot
of the working classes, and proclaimed the universal and direct
franchise, through which every citizen who had attained his
twenty-first year, without regard to property, should receive an equal
share in the control of the State and the determination of public
policy. You see, Gentlemen, if the Revolution of 1789 was the
revolution of the _tiers état_ (the third class), this time it is the
fourth class--which in 1789 was still undistinguished from the third
class and seemed to coincide with it--that now attempts to establish
its own principle as the controlling one of society and to make it
pervade all institutions.

But here, in the case of the supremacy of the fourth class, we find
the tremendous distinction that this class is the final and
all-inclusive disinherited class of humanity, which can set up no
further exclusive condition, either of legal or actual kind, neither
nobility, land ownership, nor capital, which it might establish as a
new privilege and carry through the institutions of society.
Workingmen we all are, so far as we have the desire to make ourselves
useful to human society in any way whatsoever.

This fourth class, in whose bosom therefore no possible germ of a new
order of privilege is concealed, is for that very reason synonymous
with the whole human race. Its class is, in truth, the class of all
humanity, its liberty is the liberty of humanity itself, its
sovereignty is the sovereignty of all. Whoever hails the principle of
the working class, in the sense in which I have developed it, as a
controlling principle of society, utters no cry which separates and
makes hostile to another the classes of society. He utters, rather, a
cry of reconciliation, a cry which includes all society, a cry for the
leveling of all hostilities among the social strata, a cry of accord,
in which all should join who do not wish privilege and the oppression
of the people by privileged classes, a cry of love, which, ever since
it spoke for the first time from the heart of the people, will always
remain the true voice of the people, and, on account of its meaning,
will still be a cry of love, even if it sounds the battle-cry of the
people.

The principle of the working class as a controlling principle of
society we have still to consider from three points of view--first, as
to the formal means of its realization; second, as to its moral
significance; third, as to its political conception of public policy.

The formal means for carrying out this principle is the universal and
direct franchise already discussed--I say the universal and direct
franchise, not merely the general franchise such as we had in 1848.
The introduction in elections of two steps--of voters and of
electors--is nothing but an artful means introduced purposely with the
intention of thwarting, so far as possible, the will of the people in
the elections. To be sure, the universal and direct franchise will
be no magic wand, Gentlemen, which can protect you from temporary
mistakes. We have seen in France, in the years 1848 and 1849, two
unfavorable elections in succession, but the universal and direct
franchise is the only means which automatically corrects, in course of
time, the mistakes and temporary wrong to which this may lead. It is
that legendary lance which itself heals the wounds it makes. In the
course of time it is impossible, with universal and direct franchise,
for chosen representatives not to be a completely faithful reflection
of the people who have elected them. The people, therefore, at every
time will consider universal and direct franchise as an indispensable
political weapon, and as the most fundamental and important of their
demands.

Let us now glance at the moral bearing of this social principle which
we are considering.

Perhaps the idea of the lowest classes of society as the controlling
principle of society and of the State may appear very dangerous and
immoral, one which threatens to expose morality and culture to the
danger of being overrun by a "modern barbarism."

And it would be no wonder if this thought should appear so at present.
For even public opinion--I have already indicated by what means,
namely, through the newspapers--receives today its imprint from the
coining-die of capital and from the hands of the privileged capitalist
class.

Nevertheless this fear is only a prejudice; and it can be proved, on
the contrary, that this thought would represent the highest moral
progress and triumph which the world's history has shown. That view is
a prejudice, I say, and it is the prejudice of the present time, which
is still controlled by privilege.

At another time--at the time of the first French Republic of 1793,
which was necessarily forced to fail from its own lack of
clearness--the opposite prejudice prevailed. At that time it was held
as a dogma that all the upper classes were immoral and only the
common people were good and moral. This view is due to Rousseau. In
the new Declaration of Human Rights which the French Convention, that
powerful constitutional assembly, published, it is even set forth in a
special article--Article 19--which reads "_Toute institution, qui ne
suppose le peuple bon et le magistrat corruptible, est vicieuse_."
(Every institution which does not assume that the people is good and
the magistracy corruptible is faulty.) You see that is exactly the
opposite of the confidence which is called for today, according to
which there is no greater crime than to doubt the good-will and the
virtue of the magistrates, while the people are considered on
principle a sort of dangerous beast and centre of corruption.

At that time the opposite dogma even went so far that almost anybody
whose coat was in good repair appeared for that very reason corrupt
and suspicious, and virtue and purity and patriotic morality were
believed to be found only in those who had no good coat. It was the
period of _sans-culottism._

This point of view had really a foundation of truth, which, however,
appears in a false and perverted form. Now there is nothing more
dangerous than a principle which appears in false and perverted form;
for, whatever attitude you take toward it, you are sure to fare badly.
If you adopt this truth in its false, perverted form, then, at certain
times, this will produce the most terrible devastation, as was the
case in the period of _sans-culottism._ If, on account of the false
form, you reject the whole proposition as false, you fare still worse,
for you have rejected a truth, and, in the case which we are
considering, a truth without whose recognition no wholesome progress
is possible in modern political affairs.

There is therefore no other procedure possible than to overcome the
false and perverted form of that proposition, and to try to establish
clearly its true meaning.

Current public opinion is, as I said, disposed to stamp the whole
proposition as entirely false and as a declamation of the French
Revolution and of Rousseau. However, if this unreceptive attitude
toward Rousseau and the French Revolution were still possible, it
would be entirely impossible with reference to one of the greatest
German philosophers (Fichte), the one hundredth anniversary of whose
birth this State will celebrate next month, one of the most powerful
thinkers of all nations and all times.

Fichte also declares expressly and literally that, with the rising
social scale, a constantly increasing moral deterioration is found,
and that "inferiority of character increases in proportion to the
higher social class."

The final reason of these propositions Fichte has nevertheless not
developed. He gives as the reason of this corruption the selfishness
of the upper classes; but then the question must immediately arise
whether selfishness is not also to be found in the lower classes, or
why less in these classes. Now it must immediately appear as a strong
contradiction that less selfishness should prevail in the lower
classes than in the upper, who have in large measure the advantage of
them in the well-recognized moral elements, culture and education.

The real reason, and the explanation of this contradiction, which
appears at first so strong, is the following:

For a long time, as we have seen, the development of nations, the
tendency of history, has been toward a constantly extending abolition
of the privileges which guarantee to the higher classes their position
as higher and ruling classes. The wish for perpetuation of these, or
personal interest, brings therefore every member of the upper classes
who has not once for all, by a wide outlook upon his whole personal
existence, raised himself above such considerations (and you will
understand, Gentlemen, that these can form only very unusual
exceptions) into a position which is from principle hostile to the
progress of the people, to the extension of education and science, to
the advance of culture, to all tendencies and victories of historical
life.

This opposition of the personal interest of the upper classes to the
progress of culture in the nation produces the great and inevitable
immorality of the upper classes. It is a life whose daily requirements
you only need picture to yourselves in order to feel the deep decline
of character to which it must lead. To be obliged daily to take an
attitude of opposition to everything great and good, to bewail its
success, to rejoice at its failures, to check its further progress, to
make futile or to curse the progress which has already been made, is
like a continual existence in the enemy's country; and this enemy is
the moral fellowship of the whole country in which you live, for which
all true morality urges support. It is a continual existence, I say,
in an enemy's country. This enemy is your own people, who must be
looked upon and treated as an enemy, and this hostility must, at least
in the long run, be craftily concealed and more or less artfully
veiled.

From this arises the necessity either of doing what is against the
voice of your own conscience, or of stifling this voice from the force
of custom in order not to be annoyed by it, or, finally, of never
knowing this voice, never knowing anything better or having anything
better than the religion of your own advantage.

This life, Gentlemen, therefore leads necessarily to a complete lack
of appreciation and a contempt for all ideal efforts, to a pitying
smile when the great word "ideal" is even mentioned; to a deep lack of
appreciation and of sympathy for everything beautiful and great; to a
complete transformation of all moral elements in us into the one
passion of selfish opportunism and the pursuit of pleasure.

This conflict between personal interest and the cultural development
of the nation is, fortunately, not to be found in the lower classes of
society.

In the lower classes, to be sure, there is, unfortunately, selfishness
enough, much more than there should be; but this selfishness, if it
exists, is the fault of individuals and not the inevitable fault of
the class.

Even a very slight instinct tells the members of the lower classes
that, so far as each one of them depends merely upon himself and
merely thinks of himself, he can hope for no considerable improvement
of his situation; but so far as the lower classes of society aim at
the improvement of their condition as a class, so far does this
personal interest, instead of opposing the course of history and
therefore of being condemned to the aforesaid immorality, coincide in
its tendency completely with the development of the people as a whole,
with the victory of the ideal, with the progress of culture, with the
vital principle of history itself--which is nothing else than the
development of liberty. Or, as we have already seen, their cause is
the cause of all humanity.

You are therefore in the fortunate position, Gentlemen, instead of
being compelled to be dead to the idea, of being destined rather,
through your own personal interests, to a greater receptiveness for
it. You are in the fortunate position that that which forms your own
true personal interest coincides with the throbbing heart-beat of
history--with the active, vital principle of moral development. You
can therefore devote yourself to historical development with personal
passion and be sure that the more fervent and consuming this passion
is, the more moral is your position, in the true sense which I have
explained to you.

These are the reasons why the control of the fourth class over the
State must produce a fullness of morality and culture and knowledge
such as never yet existed in history.

But still another reason points in the same direction, which again is
most intimately connected with all the considerations which we have
stated and forms their keystone.

The fourth class has not only a different formal political principle
from the capitalist class--namely, the universal direct franchise in
place of the property qualification of the capitalist class; it has,
further, not only through its social position a different relation to
moral forces than the upper classes, but also, and partly in
consequence of this, a conception of the moral purpose of the State
entirely different from that of the capitalist class. The moral idea
of the capitalist is this--that nothing whatsoever is to be guaranteed
to any individual but the unimpeded exercise of his faculties.

If we were all equally strong, equally wise, equally educated, and
equally rich, this idea might be regarded as a sufficient and a moral
one; but since we are not so, and cannot be so, this thought is not
sufficient, and therefore, in its consequences, leads necessarily to a
serious immorality; for its result is that the stronger, abler, richer
man exploits the weaker and becomes his master.

The moral idea of the working class, on the other hand, is that the
unimpeded and free exercise of individual faculties by the individual
is not sufficient, but that in a morally adjusted community there must
be added to it solidarity of interests, mutual consideration, and
mutual helpfulness in development.

In contrast to such a condition the capitalist class has this
conception of the moral purposes of the State--that it consists
exclusively and entirely in protecting the personal liberty of the
individual and his property.

This is a policeman's idea, Gentlemen--a policeman's idea because the
State can think of itself only in the guise of a policeman whose whole
office consists in preventing robbery and burglary. Unfortunately this
conception is to be found, in consequence of imperfect thinking, not
only among acknowledged liberals, but, often enough, even among many
supposed to be democrats. If the capitalist class were to carry their
thought to its logical extreme they would have to admit that,
according to their idea, if there were no thieves or robbers the State
would be entirely unnecessary.

The fourth class conceives of the purpose of the State in a quite
different manner, and its conception of it is the true one.

History is a struggle with nature--that is, with misery, with
ignorance, with poverty, with weakness, and, accordingly, with
restrictions of all kinds to which we were subject when the human race
appeared in the beginning of history. A constantly advancing victory
over this weakness--that is the development of liberty which history
portrays.

In this struggle we should never have taken a step forward, nor should
we ever take another, if we had carried it on, or tried to carry it
on, as individuals, each for himself alone.

It is the State which has the office of perfecting this development of
freedom, and of the human race to freedom. The State is this unity of
individuals in a moral composite--a unity which increases a
millionfold the powers of all individuals who are included in this
union, which multiplies a millionfold the powers which are at the
command of them all as individuals.

The purpose of the State, then, is not to protect merely the personal
liberty of the individual and the property which, according to the
idea of the capitalist, he must have before he can participate in the
State; the purpose of the State is, rather, through this union to put
individuals in a position to attain objects, to reach a condition of
existence which they could never reach as individuals, to empower them
to attain a standard of education, power, and liberty which would be
utterly impossible for them, one and all, merely as individuals. The
object of the State is, accordingly, to bring the human being to
positive and progressive development--in a word, to shape human
destiny, i.e., the culture of which mankind is capable, into actual
existence. It is the training and development of the human race for
freedom.

Such is the real moral nature of the State--its true and higher task.
This is so truly the case that for all time it has been carried out
through the force of circumstances, by the State, even without its
will, even without its knowledge, even against the will of its
leaders.

But the working class, the lower classes of society in general, have,
on account of the helpless position in which their members find
themselves as individuals, the sure instinct that just this must be
the function of the State--the aiding of the individual, by the union
of all, to such a development as would be unobtainable by him merely
as an individual.

The State then, brought under the control of the idea of the working
class, would no longer be driven on, as all states have been up to
this time, unconsciously and often reluctantly, by the nature of
things and the force of circumstances; but it would make this moral
nature of the State its task, with the greatest clearness and complete
consciousness. It would accomplish with ready willingness and the most
complete consistency that which, up to this time, has been forced only
in the dimmest outlines from the opposing will, and just for this
reason it would necessarily promote a nourishing of intellect, a
development of happiness, education, prosperity, and liberty, such as
would stand without example in the world's history, in comparison with
which the most lauded conditions in earlier times would drop into a
pale shadow.

It is this which must be called the political idea of the working
class, its conception of the purpose of the State, which, as you see,
is just as different, and in a perfectly corresponding manner, from
the conception of the purpose of the State in the capitalist class as
the principle of the working class--a share of all in the
determination of public policy, or universal suffrage--is from the
corresponding principle of the capitalist class--the property
qualification.

The line of thought here developed is therefore what must be
pronounced the idea of the working class. It is that which I had in
view when, at the beginning, I spoke of the connection between the
particular period of history in which we live and the idea of the
working class. It is this period, beginning with February, 1848, which
has the task of bringing such a political idea to realization, and we
may congratulate ourselves that we have been born in a time which is
destined to see the accomplishment of this most glorious work of
history, and in which we have the privilege of lending a helping hand.

But for all who belong to the working class there follows from what I
have said the duty of an entirely new attitude. Nothing is more
effective in impressing upon a class a dignified and deeply moral
stamp than the consciousness that it is destined to be the ruling
class; that it is called upon to elevate the principle of its class to
the principle of the whole historical period; to make its idea the
leading truth of the whole of society, and so, in turn, to shape
society into a reflection of its own character. The lofty historical
honor of this destiny must lay hold upon all your thoughts. It is no
longer becoming to you to indulge in the vices of the oppressed, or
the idle distractions of the thoughtless, or even the harmless
frivolity of the insignificant. You are the rock upon which the church
of the present is to be built.

The lofty moral earnestness of this thought should entirely fill your
mind, should fill your hearts and shape your whole life to be worthy
of it and conformable to it. The moral earnestness of this thought,
without ever leaving you, must stand for better thoughts in your shop
during your work, in your leisure hours, your walks, your meetings;
and, even when you lie down to rest on your hard couch, it is this
thought which must fill and occupy your soul until it passes into the
realm of dreams. The more exclusively you fill your minds with this
moral earnestness, the more undividedly you are influenced by its
warmth--of this you may be assured--the more you will hasten the time
in which our present historical period has to accomplish its task, the
sooner you will bring about the fulfilment of this work.

If, among those who listen to me today, there were even two or three
in whom I have succeeded in kindling the moral warmth of this thought,
with that fullness which I mean and which I have described to you, I
should consider even that a great gain, and account myself richly
rewarded for my presentation.

Above all, your soul must be free from discouragement and doubt, to
which an insufficiently valid consideration of historical efforts
might easily lead. So, for instance, it is absolutely false that in
France the Republic was overthrown by the _coup d'état_ of December,
1851.

What could not maintain itself in France, what really was destroyed at
that time, was not _the_ Republic but _that_ republic, which, as I
have already shown you, abolished, by the law of May 30, 1850, the
universal franchise, and introduced a disguised property qualification
for the exclusion of the workingman. It was the capitalist republic
which wished to put the stamp of the _bourgeoisie_--the domination of
capital--upon the republican forms of the State; it was this which
gave the French usurper the possibility, under an apparent restoration
of the universal franchise, to overthrow the Republic, which otherwise
would have found an invincible bulwark in the breast of the French
workingman. So what in France could not maintain itself, and was
overthrown, was not the Republic, but the _bourgeois_ republic; and,
on really correct consideration, the fact is confirmed, even by this
example, that the historical period which began with February, 1848,
will no longer tolerate any State which, whether in monarchical or in
republican form, tries to impress upon it, or maintain within it, the
controlling political stamp of the third class of society.

From the lofty mountain tops of science the dawn of a new day is seen
earlier than below in the turmoil of daily life.

Have you ever beheld a sunrise from the top of a high mountain? A
purple line colors blood-red the farthest horizon, announcing the new
light. Clouds and mists collect and oppose the morning red, veiling
its beams for a moment; but no power on earth can prevail against the
slow and majestic rising of the sun which, an hour later, visible to
all the world, radiating light and warmth, stands bright in the
firmament. What an hour is, in the natural phenomena of every day, a
decade or two is in the still more impressive spectacle of a sunrise
in the world's history.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 47: The word _bourgeoisie_ is henceforth used throughout the
discussion to designate the political party now defined.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 48: Here the speaker quotes statistics showing that, on the
average, throughout Prussia, a vote by a man of the first class has as
much weight as seventeen votes by men of the third class.--TRANSLATOR.]

       *       *       *       *       *




SCIENCE AND THE WORKINGMEN (1863)

[A speech delivered by Lassalle in his own defense before the Criminal
Court of Berlin on the charge of having incited to class hatred.]

TRANSLATED BY THORSTEIN B. VEBLEN, PH.D. Lecturer in Economics,
University of Missouri


Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Court:

I shall have to make my beginning with an appeal to your indulgence.
My defense will go somewhat into detail. It will, on that account,
necessarily be somewhat long. But I consider myself justified in
pursuing this course, first, by the magnitude of the penalty with
which I am threatened under Section 100 of the Criminal Code--the full
extent of this penalty amounting to no less than two years'
imprisonment. In the second place, and more particularly, I consider
my course justified by the fact that this trial by no means centres
about a man and the imposition of a penalty.

You will, therefore, permit me, without further preliminary, to carry
the discussion from the region of ordinary court-room routine to that
higher level on which it properly belongs.

The indictment brought against me is an evil and deplorable sign of
the times. It not only offends the common law, but it is a notable
violation of the Constitution. This is the first count in the defense
which I have to offer.

I. Article 20 of the Constitution reads: "Science and its teaching is
free."

What may be the meaning of this phrase in the Constitution, "is free,"
unless it means that science and its teaching are not subject to the
ordinary provisions of the Criminal Code? Is this expression, "Science
and its teaching is free," perhaps to be taken as meaning "free within
the limits of the general provisions of the criminal code?" But
within these limits every expression of opinion is absolutely
free--not only science and its teaching. So long as they live within
the general specifications of the criminal code, every newspaper
writer and every market woman is quite free to write and say whatever
they choose. This liberty, which is conceded to all expressions of
opinion, need not and could not be proclaimed by a special article of
the Constitution as a peculiar concession to "science and its
teaching."

To put such a construction upon this article of the Constitution
amounts to reading it out of the Constitution, to so interpreting it
that it has nothing to say,--which is in our time by no means a
neglected method of quietly putting the Constitution out of the way.

Now, the first principle of legal interpretation is that a provision
of law must not be so interpreted as to make it superfluous or absurd,
or to virtually expunge it. This, of course, applies with peculiar
force to an article of the Constitution. There can accordingly be no
doubt, Gentlemen, that precisely this was the intention of this
provision of the Constitution; namely, that the prerogative was to be
conceded to science that it should not lie under the limitations which
the general criminal code imposes upon every-day, trivial expressions
of opinion.

It is easy to understand that the legislature of any country will seek
to protect the institutions of the country. In the nature of the case,
the laws forbid inciting the citizens of a country to disorderly
outbreak against the constituted authority.

Indeed, if we accept certain current views of law and order we have no
difficulty in understanding that the law may consistently forbid all
such appeal to the passions as is designed to foster contempt and
disregard of existing conventions, or to stir up sentiments of hatred
and distrust in their populace through a direct appeal to the unstable
emotions.

But what is in the eternal nature of things free, on which no limits
must be imposed, the importance of which to the State itself is
greater than that of any single provision of law, to the free exercise
of which no provision of law can set bounds--that is the impulse to
scientific investigation.

No situation and no institution is perfect. Such a thing may happen as
that an institution which we are accustomed to consider the most
unimpeachable and indispensable, may, in fact, be vicious in the
highest degree, and be most seriously in need of reform.

Will any one deny this whose view comprehends the changes which
history records since the days of the Hindus or the Egyptians? Or even
if he looks no further than the narrow space of the past one hundred
years?

The Egyptian fellah warms the hearth of his squalid mud hut with the
mummies of the Pharaohs of Egypt, the all-powerful builders of the
everlasting pyramids. Customs, conventions, codes, dynasties, states,
nations come and go in incontinent succession. But, stronger than
these, never disappearing, forever growing, from the earliest
beginnings of the Ionic philosophy, unfolding in an ever-increasing
amplitude, outleaping all else, spreading from one nation and from one
people to another, and handed down, with devout reverence, from age to
age, there remains the stately growth of scientific knowledge.

And what is the source of all that unremitting progress, of all that
uninterruptedly, but insensibly, broadening amelioration which we see
peacefully accomplishing itself in the course of history, if it is not
this same scientific knowledge? And, this being so, science must have
its way without restraint; for science there is nothing fixed and
definite, to which its process of chemical analysis may not be
applied, nothing sacred, no _noli me tangere_. Without free scientific
inquiry, therefore, there is no outcome but stagnation, decline and
barbarism. And, while free scientific inquiry is the perennial
fountain-head of all progress in human affairs, this inquiry and its
gradually extending sway over men's convictions, is at the same time
the only guarantee of a peaceable advance. Whoever stops up this
fountain, whoever attempts to prevent its flowing at any point, or to
restrain its bearing upon any given situation, is not only guilty of
cutting off the sources of progress, but he is guilty of a breach of
the public peace and of endangering the stability of the State. It is
through the means of such scientific inquiry and its work of
painstaking elaboration that the exigencies of a progressively
changing situation are enabled gradually, and without harm, to have
their effect upon men's thinking and upon human relations, and so to
pass into the life of society. Whoever obstructs scientific inquiry
clamps down the safety valve of public opinion, and puts the State in
train for an explosion. He prohibits science from finding out the
malady and its remedy, and he thereby substitutes the resulting
convulsions of the death struggle for a diagnosis and a judicious
treatment.

Unrestrained freedom of scientific teaching is, accordingly, not only
an inalienable right of the individual, but, what is more to the
point, it is, primarily and most particularly, a necessity of life to
the community; it involves the life of the State itself.

Therefore has society formulated the provision that "Science and its
teaching is free," without qualification, without condition, without
limits; and this proviso is incorporated into the Constitution, in
order to make it plain that it must remain inviolate even at the hands
of the law-giver himself, that even he must not for a moment overlook
or disregard it. And so it serves as pledge of the continual peaceable
development of social life down to the remotest generations.

Does a question present itself at this point, Gentlemen? Am I setting
up a new and unheard-of theory on this head?

Am I, possibly, misconstruing the wording of the Constitution in order
to extricate myself from an embarrassing criminal process?

On the contrary, nothing is easier than to prove to you from the
evidences of history that this provision of the Constitution has never
been taken in any other sense; that for long centuries before the days
of the Constitution this theory has been current among us in usage
and practice; that it is by ancient tradition a characteristic feature
of the culture of all Germanic peoples.

In the days of Socrates, it was still possible to be indicted for
having taught new gods (Greek: katnos theous), and Socrates drank
the hemlock under such an indictment.

In antiquity all this was natural enough. The genius of antiquity was
so utterly identified with the conditions of its political life, and
religion was so integral an element in the foundations of the ancient
State, that the ancient mind was quite incapable of divesting itself
of these convictions, and so getting out of its integument. The spirit
of antiquity must stand or fall with its particular political
conventions, and, in the event, it fell with them.

Such being the spirit of those times, it follows that any scientific
doctrine which carried a denial of any element of the foundations of
the State was in effect an attack upon the nation's life and must
necessarily be dealt with as such.

All this changes when the ancient world passes away and the Germanic
peoples come upon the scene. These latter are peoples gifted with a
capacity to change their integument. By virtue of that faculty for
development that belongs to the guiding principle of their life, viz.:
the principle of the subjective spirit,--by virtue of this, these
latter are possessed of a flexibility which enables them to live
through the most widely varied metamorphoses. These peoples have
passed through many and extreme transformations, and, instead of
meeting their death and dissolution in the process, they have by force
of it ever emerged on a higher plane of development and into a richer
unfolding of life.[49]

The means by which these peoples are able to prepare the way for and
to achieve these transmutations through which they constantly emerge
to that fuller life, the rudiments of which are inborn in them, is the
principle of an unrestrained freedom of scientific research and
teaching.

Hence it comes that this instinct of free thought among these peoples
reaches expression very early, much earlier than the modern learned
world commonly suspects. "We are mistakenly in the habit of thinking
of free scientific inquiry as a fruitage of modern times. But among
these peoples that instinct is an ancient one which asserts that free
inquiry must be bound neither by the authority of a person nor by a
human ordinance; that, on the contrary, it is a power in itself,
resting immediately upon its own divine right, superior to and
antedating all human institutions whatever.

"_Quasi lignum vitae_," says Pope Alexander IV. in a constitution
addressed to the University of Paris in 1256, "_Quasi lignum vitae in
Paradiso Dei, et quasi lucerna fulgoris in Domo Domini, est in Sancta
Ecclesia Parisiensis Studii disciplina_." "As the tree of life in God's
Paradise and the lamp of glory in the house of God, such in the Holy
Church is the place of the Parisian corporation of learning." To
appreciate the import of these words of the holy father, it should be
borne in mind that in the Middle Ages all things whatever lived only by
virtue of a corporate existence, so that learning existed only as
incorporated in a university.

It would be a serious mistake to believe that the universities of the
Middle Ages rested that prerogative of scientific censure--_censura
doctrinatis_--to which they laid claim in such a comprehensive way,
upon these and other like papal or imperial and royal decrees of
establishment. Petrus Alliacensis, a man whom the University of Paris
elected as its _magnus magister_ in 1381, and who afterward wore the
archiepiscopal and also the cardinal's hat, tells us that not _ex jure
humano_, not from human legislation, but _ex jure divino_, from divine
law, does science derive its competence to exercise the _censura_; and
the privileges and charters granted by popes, emperors and kings are
nothing more than the acts of recognition of this prerogative of
science that comes to it _ex jure divino_, or, as an alternative
expression has it, _ex jure naturali_, by the law of nature. And in
this, Petrus Alliacensis is substantially borne out by all the later
scholastics.

Gentlemen, we are in the habit of giving ourselves airs and of looking
down on the Middle Ages as a time of darkness and barbarism. But in so
doing we are frequently in the wrong, and in no respect are we more
thoroughly in the wrong than in passing such an opinion upon the
position of science in the Middle Ages. Frequent and most solemn are
the cases in which recognition is made of the right of science to
raise her voice without all regard to king and pope, and even against
king and pope.

We have recently witnessed a conflict between the government and the
house of deputies as to the meeting of expenditures not granted by the
house. An impression has been diligently spread abroad through the
country that this is an unheard of piece of boldness and a subversive
assumption of power on the part of the house of deputies, and indeed
there have not been wanting deputies who have been astonished at
their own daring, and have taken some pride in it.

But, on the other hand, Gentlemen, in February, 1412, the University
of Paris, which was in no way intrusted with an oversight or a control
of this country's fiscal affairs, took occasion to address a memorial
to the King of France, Charles VI., as it said: "_pour la chose
publique du votre royaume_"--on the public concerns of the realm. And
in this memorial the university subjects the fiscal administration of
the country, together with other branches of the administration, to a
drastic criticism, and passes a verdict of unqualified condemnation
upon it. This _rémonstrance_ of the University of Paris rises to a
degree of boldness, both in its demands and in its tone, that is quite
foreign to anything which our house of deputies has done or might be
expected to do. It points out that the revenues have not been expended
for the purposes for which they were levied--"_on appert clairement,
que les dictes finances ne sont point employées à choses dessus
dictes_," etc.--and it closes this its review with the peremptory
demand: "_Item, et il fault savoir, où est cette finance,"--"Now, we
have a right to know what has become of these funds." It describes the
king's fiscal administration, including the highest officials, the
finance ministers, gouverneurs and treasurers, as a gang of lawless
miscreants, a band of rogues conspiring together for the ruin of the
country. It upbraids the king himself with having packed the
parliament of Paris, and so having corrupted the administration of
justice. It points out to him that his predecessors carried on the
government by means of much smaller revenues: "_au quel temps estoit
le royaume bien gouverné, autrement que maintenant_"--"when the
country was well governed, as is not the case today." The
_rémonstrance_ goes on to picture the burdens which rest upon the
poor, and to demand that these burdens be lightened by means of a
forced loan levied upon the rich. And the _rémonstrance_ closes with
the declaration that all this, which it has set forth is, in spite of
its length, but a very adequate presentation of the matter, in so
much that it would require several days to describe all the
misgovernment the country suffered.

[Illustration: THE IRON FOUNDRY _From the Painting by Adolph von
Menzel_]

The university rests its right to make such a _rémonstrance_ upon this
ground alone,--that it is the spokesman of science, of which all men
know that it is without selfish interest, that there are neither
public offices nor emoluments in its keeping, and that it is not
concerned with these matters in any connection but that of their
investigation; but precisely for this reason, it is incumbent upon
science to speak out openly when the case demands it.

And the conclusion to which it comes is of no less serious import than
this: It is the king's duty, without all delay (_sans quelque
dilacion_) to dismiss all comptrollers (_gouverneurs)_ of finance from
office, without exception (_sans nul excepter_), to apprehend their
persons and provisionally to sequestrate their goods, and, under
penalty of death and confiscation of property, to forbid all
communication between the lower officials of the fisc and these
comptrollers.

If you will read this voluminous _rémonstrance_, Gentlemen--you may
find it in the annals of that time by Enguerrand de Monstrelet (liv.
I. c. 99, Tom. II. p. 307 _et seq_., ed. Douët d'Aroy)--you cannot
avoid seeing that, had this memorial been promulgated in our time,
e.g., by the University of Berlin, there is scarce an offense
enumerated in the code but would have been found in it by the public
prosecutor. Defamation and insult of officials in the execution of
their office, contempt and abuse of the government's regulations and
the disposition taken by the officials, lèse majesté, incitement of
the subjects of the State to hatred and disrespect--and, indeed, I
know not what all would be the offenses which our prosecutors would
have discovered in the document. It is less than a year since,
according to the newspapers, a disciplinary inquiry was instituted
with respect to a memorial of a very different tenor, wherein one of
our universities declined the mandatory suggestions addressed to the
university by the ministers in regard to a given appointment. But,
at that earlier day, in the dark ages, such was not the custom. On the
other hand, in compliance with the university's demands, the treasurer
of the crown, Audry Griffart, together with many others of the high
officers of finance, was taken into custody, while others avoided a
like fate only by escaping into a church vested with the right of
asylum.

That was in 1412. But already eighty years before that date there
occurred another, and perhaps even more significant case, which I may
touch upon more briefly. Pope John XXII. promulgated a new
construction of the dogma of _visio beatifica_ and had it preached in
the churches. The University of Paris,--_nec pontificis reverentia
prohibuit_, says the report, _quominus veritati insistereat_,--"reverence
of the holy father prevented not the university from declaring the
truth"--, although the matter then in question was an article of the
faith and lay within a field within which the competence of the pope
could not be doubted, still the university, on the 22d of January, 1332,
put forth a decree in which this construction of the dogma was classed
to be erroneous.

Philip VI. served this decree upon the pope, then resident at Avignon,
with the declaration that, unless he recanted as the decree required,
he would have him burned as a heretic. And the pope, in fact,
recanted, although he was then on his deathbed. All of which you may
find set forth in Bulas, _Historia Universitatis Parisiensis_. (Paris,
1668, fol. Tom. IV. p. 375 _et seq_.)

These instances, which might be multiplied at will, may suffice to
show how unqualified was the freedom of science even in early days,
constrained by no punitive limitation at the hands of pope or king;
for, be it remembered, in the Middle Ages, science had, as I have
before remarked, only a corporate existence in its bearers, the
universities. So that the view for which I speak has practically been
accepted as much as five hundred years back, even in Catholic times
and among Latin peoples.

But now comes Protestantism and creates its political structure,
which it erects on precisely this broad principle of free thought and
free research. This principle has since that epoch been the foundation
upon which our entire political life has rested. A protestant State
has no other claim to existence than precisely this--cannot possibly
exist on other ground. When has there, since that time, been talk of a
penal prosecution in Prussia on account of a scientific doctrine?

Christian Wolf, at Halle, popularized the Leibnizian philosophy, and
it was then brought to the notice of the soldier-king, Frederick
William I., that, according to Wolf's teaching of preëstablished
harmony, deserting soldiers did not desert by their own free will but
by force of this peculiar divine arrangement of a preëstablished
harmony;[50] wherefore this doctrine, being spread abroad among the
military, could not but be very detrimental to the maintenance of
military discipline. It is true, this soldier-king, whose regiments
were his State, was incensed at all this in the highest degree, and
that he forthwith, in November, 1723, issued an order-in-council
against Wolf, ordering him on penalty of the halter, to leave Prussian
ground within twice twenty-four hours--and Wolf was obliged to flee.
But, inasmuch as the king's _lettres de cachet_ in that time permitted
no appeal, they are also passed over in history as being devoid of
interest or historic significance. It may be added that the
soldier-king had simply perpetrated a gratuitous outrage, and had not
set the claims of law and right aside. He threatened to hang Wolf, and
this threat he could have carried out with the help of his soldiers.
Even brute force is not devoid of dignity when it acts openly and
above-board. He did not insult his courts by asking them to condemn
scientific teaching. It did not occur to him to disguise his act of
violence under the forms of law.

Moreover, no sooner had Frederick the Great ascended the throne, 31st
of May, 1740, than he, six days later, 6th of June, 1740, sent a note
to the Councillor of the Consistory, Reinbeck, directing the recall of
Wolf. Even Frederick William I. had repented of his violence against
Wolf and had in vain, in the most honorable terms, addressed letters
of recall to him. But Frederick the Great, while he too had use for
soldiers, was no soldier-king, but a statesman. The note to Reinbeck
runs: "You are requested to use your best endeavor with respect to
this Wolf, who is a person that seeks and loves the truth, who is to
be held in high honor among all men, and I believe you will have
achieved a veritable conquest in the realm of truth if you persuade
Wolf to return to us."

So it appears, then, that also this conflict serves only to add force
to the ancient principle that scientific research and the presentation
of scientific truth is not to be bound by any limitations or by any
considerations of expediency, and must find its sole and all
sufficient justification in itself alone. This principle hereby
achieved a new lustre and gained the full authentication of the crown.

Even the existence of God was not shielded from the discussion of
science. Science was allowed, as it is still allowed, to put forth its
proofs against his existence. The provisions of the new penal code
bear only upon blasphemous utterances, such revilings of God as may
offend those who believe otherwise, not upon the denial of his
existence.

For many decades before the days of the Constitution the
unquestioned liberty of science on Prussian ground had served the
antagonists of Prussia as their supreme recourse, their chief
boast and proudest ornament. You will remember the extraordinary
sensation created by the case of Bruno Bauer, the Privat Docent
on the theological faculty at Bonn, whom it was attempted to
deprive of his _licentia docendi_[51] at the ominous instance of
the absolutist-pietistical Eichhorn ministry, because of his
peculiar doctrine concerning the gospel. This was the first case
during the present century in which an assault has been attempted
upon the freedom of scientific teaching, and even this was an
infinitely less heinous one than the present. The faculties of
the university were deeply stirred, and for months together
official pronunciamentos swarmed about the town; men of the
highest standing, such as Marheinecke and others, declared that
protestantism and enlightenment were threatened in their very
foundations in case such usurpation, hitherto unheard of in
Prussia, were allowed to take its course. And even such
expressions of opinion as reached a conclusion subservient to the
ministerial view based their conclusion on the ground that
the case in question concerned a _licentia docendi_ in the
theological faculty, with the fundamental principles of which
Bauer's doctrines were incompatible. They took care expressly to
declare that had the question concerned a _licentia docendi_ in
any one of the nontheological faculties, in a philosophical
faculty, e.g., the decision must necessarily have been reversed.
No one, not even Eichhorn himself, harbored the conceit that this
doctrine and its teaching was to be dealt with by the criminal
court. A teacher who spread abroad scientific teachings
subversive of theological doctrines was deprived of the
opportunity to proclaim his teaching from a theological chair;
but to call in the jailer to suppress him--to that depth of
subservience to absolutism had no one at that time descended.
Alas, that Eichhorn, the much berated, could not have lived to
see this day! With what admiration and with what gratification
would he have looked upon his "constitutional" successors!

Even in the days of Eichhorn's pietistical absolutism, with its
_ecclesia militans_ of obscurantism, there survived so much of a sense
of decency regarding the ancient traditions as to exempt the liberty
of scientific teaching from the indignity of that preventive censure
which in those days rendered repressive legislation superfluous. In
their search for some tenable and tangible criterion of the scientific
 character of any publication, the men of that time, it is true, hit
upon a somewhat absurd one in making the test a test of bulk--books of
more than twenty forms were exempt from censure. But however awkward
the outcome, the aim of the provision is not to be denied.

These ancient traditions, with more than five hundred years of
prescriptive standing; this principle which prevailed by usage and
acceptance among all modern peoples long before it was embodied in
legal form; this primordial deliverance of the spiritual life of the
Germanic nations is the substantial fact which our modern society has
now finally embodied in Article 20 of the Constitution and so has
constituted a norm for the guidance of all later law-givers, in other
words: "Science and its teaching is free."

It is free without qualification, without limits, without bolts and
bars. Under established law everything has its limitations,--every
power, every function, every vested authority. The only thing which
remains without bounds or constituted limitation, whose privilege it
is to over-spread and to overlie all established facts, in such
boundless and unhindered freedom as the sun and the air, is the
irradiating force of theoretical research.

Scientific theory must be free even to the length of license.
For, even if we could speak of a license in science and its
teaching,--which, by the way, is most seriously to be
questioned,--this is by all means a point at which an attempt to guard
against abuse in one case would be liable in a million instances to
put a check upon the blessings of rightful use. If any given measures
of state, or any given class institutions, were shielded from
scientific discussion, so that science might not teach that the
arrangements in question are inadequate or detrimental, iniquitous or
destructive,--under these circumstances, what genius could there be of
such comprehensive reach, so far overtopping the spiritual level of
all his contemporaries and all succeeding generations, as even to
surmise the total extent of the loss which would thereby be sustained?
What fruitful discoveries and developments, what growth of spiritual
power and insight would be stifled in the germ by one such rigid
interdict upon abuse; and what violent convulsions and what decay
might not come upon the State in consequence of it?

The question is also fairly to be asked: what is legitimate use and
what is abuse of science? Where lies the line between them, and who
determines it? This discretion would have to lie, not with a court of
law, but with a court made up of the flower of scientific talent of
the time, in all departments and branches of science.

However enlightened your honorable body may be--and indeed the more
enlightened the more unavoidably--this proposition must appeal to you
as beyond question. What am I saying? The flower of the scientific
talent of the time? No; that would not answer. The scientific genius
of all subsequent time would have to be included; for how often does
history show us the pioneers of science in sheer contradiction with
the accepted body of scientific knowledge of their own time! It may
take fifty, and it may often take a hundred years of discussion in
scientific matters to settle the question as to what is true and
legitimate and what is abuse.

In point of fact, there has hitherto been not an attempt, since the
adoption of the constitution, to bring an indictment against any given
scientific teaching.

Gentlemen, since 1848--since 1830--we have here in Prussia had many a
sore and heavy burden to bear, and our shoulders are lame and tired
with the bearing of them. But even under the Manteuffel-Westphalen
administration, and until today, we have been spared this one
indignity, of being called upon to see a scientific doctrine cited
before the court.

The keenest attacks, attacks which, taken by themselves, might easily
have been subject to criminal prosecution, have suffered no
prosecution in any case where they have been embodied in a scientific
work and when promulgated in the form of a scientific doctrine.

I am myself in a position to testify on this point. It is not quite
two years since I published a work in which, I believe, I have
succeeded in contributing something to the advancement of your own
science, Gentlemen,--the science on which the administration of
justice is based. The work of which I speak is my "System of Acquired
Rights." _(System der erworbenen Rechte.)_ In this work I take
occasion to say (Vol. I., p. 238): "Science, whose first duty is the
most searching inquiry and concise thinking, can on this account in no
way deprive itself of the right to formulate its conceptions with all
the definiteness and concision which the clearness of these
conceptions itself requires." And proceeding on this ground I go on,
in the further discussion, to show that the agrarian legislation of
Prussia subsequent to 1850 is nothing else--to quote my own words
literally--than a robbery of the poor for the benefit of the wealthy
landed aristocracy, illegal and perpetrated in violation of the
perpetrators' own sense of equity.

How easy would it not have been, if the expressions had occurred
elsewhere than in a scientific treatise, to find that they embodied
overt contempt of the institutions of the State, and incitement to
hatred and disregard of the regulations of the government. But they
occurred in a scientific treatise--they were the outcome of a
painstaking scientific inquiry,--therefore they passed without
indictment.

But that was two years ago.

In return for the accusation which has been brought against me, I, in
my turn, retort with the accusation that my accusers have this day
brought upon Prussia the disgrace that now for the first time since
the State came into existence scientific teaching is prosecuted before
a criminal court. For what can the public prosecutor say to my
accusation, since he concedes the substance of my claims, since he is
compelled to acknowledge that science and its teaching is free, and
therefore free from all penal restraint? Will he contend, perhaps,
that I do not represent science? Or will he, possibly, deny that the
work with which this indictment is concerned is a scientific work?
The prosecutor seems to feel himself hampered by the fact that he has
here to do with a scientific production, for he begins his indictment
with the sentence: "While the accused has assumed an appearance of
scientific inquiry, his discussion at all points is of a practical
bearing." The appearance of scientific inquiry? And why is it the
appearance only? I call upon the prosecutor to show why only the
appearance of scientific inquiry is to be imputed to this scientific
publication. I believe that in a question as to what is scientific and
what not, I am more competent to speak than the public prosecutor.

In various and difficult fields of science I have published voluminous
works; I have spared no pains and no midnight vigils in the endeavor
to widen the scope of science itself, and, I believe, I can in this
matter say with Horace: _Militavi non sine gloria_.[52] But I declare
to you: Never, not in the most voluminous of my works, have I written
a line that was more carefully thought out in strict conformity to
scientific truth than this production is from its first page to its
last. And I assert further that not only is this brochure a scientific
work, as so many another may be that presents in combination results
already known, but that it is in many respects a scientific
achievement, a development of new scientific conceptions.

What is the criterion by which the scientific standing of a book is to
be judged? None else, of course, than its contents.

I beg you, therefore, to take a look at the contents of this pamphlet.
Its content is nothing else than a philosophy of history, condensed in
the compass of forty-four pages, beginning with the Middle Ages and
coming down to the present. It is a development of that objective
unfolding of rational thought which has lain at the root of European
history for more than a thousand years past; it is an exposition of that
inner soul of things resident in the process of history that manifests
itself in the apparently opaque, empirical sequence of events and which
has produced this historical sequence out of its own moving, creative
force. It is, in spite of the brief compass of the pamphlet, the
strictly developed proof that history is nothing else than the
self-accomplishing, by inner necessity increasingly progressive
unfolding of reason and of freedom, achieving itself under the mask of
apparently mere external and material relations.

In the brief compass of this pamphlet, I pass three great periods of
the world's history in review before the reader; and for each one I
point out that it proceeds on a single comprehensive idea, which
controls all the various, apparently unrelated, fields of development
and all the different and widely-scattered phenomena that fall within
the period in question; and I show that each of these periods is but
the necessary forerunner and preparation for the succeeding period,
and that each succeeding period is the peculiar and imminently
necessary continuation, the consequence and unavoidable consummation
of the preceding period, and that these together, consequently,
constitute a comprehensive and logically inseparable whole.

First comes the period of feudalism. I here show that feudalism, in
all its variations, rests on the one principle of control of landed
property, and I also show how at that time, owing to the fact that
society's productive work to a preponderating extent consisted in
agriculture, landed property necessarily was the controlling factor,
that is to say, the feature conditioning all political and social
power and standing.

And I beg you, Gentlemen, to take note with what a strict scientific
objectivity of treatment, how free from all propagandist bias, I
proceed with the discussion. If there is any one datum which lends
itself to the purposes of that propagandist bias which the public
prosecutor claims to find in this pamphlet--namely the incitement of
the indigent classes to hatred of the wealthy--it is the peasant wars.
If there is any one fact which has hitherto been accepted, in
scientific and in popular opinion alike, and more particularly among
the unpropertied classes, with, the fondest remembrance, as a national
movement iniquitously put down by the strong hand of violence, it is
the peasant wars.

Now, unmoved by this predilection and this shimmer of sentiment, with
which the science and the popular sense have united in investing the
peasant wars, I go on to divest these wars of this deceptive
appearance and show them up in their true light,--that they were at
bottom a reactionary movement, which, fortunately for the cause of
liberty, was of necessity doomed to failure.

Further: If there exists in Germany an institution which, as a
question of our own times, I abominate with all my heart as the source
of our national decay, our shame and our impotence, it is the
institution of the territorial State.

Now, the pamphlet in question is so strictly scientific and objective
in its method, so far removed from all personal bias, that I therein
go on to show that the institution of the territorial State was, in
its time, historically a legitimate and revolutionary feature; that it
was an ideal advance, in that it embodied and developed the concept of
a State independent of relations of ownership; whereas the peasant
wars sought to place the State, and all political power and standing,
on the basis of property.

I then, further, go on to show how the period of feudalism is
succeeded by a second world-historic period. I show how, while the
peasant wars were revolutionary only in their own delusion, there
begins almost simultaneously with them a real revolution, namely, that
accumulation of capitalistic wealth which arose through the
development of industry. This wrought a thoroughgoing change in the
whole situation,--a change which reached its final act, achieved its
legal acceptance, in the French Revolution of 1789, but which had in
point of fact for three hundred years been imperceptibly advancing
toward its consummation.

I show in detail, which I need not here expound or recapitulate, what
are the economic factors that were destined to push landed property
into the remotest back-ground and leave it relatively powerless,
by making the new industrial activity the great lever and the bearer
of modern social wealth. All this took place by force of the new
industrial activity the great lever and the bearer of methods which
they brought in.

I show how this capitalized wealth, which has come forward as an
outcome of this industrial development and has grown to be the
dominant factor in this second period, must in its turn attain the
position of prerogative as the recognized qualification of political
competence, as the condition of a voice in the councils and policy of
the State; just as was at an earlier time the case with landed
property in relation to the public law of feudalism. I show how,
directly and indirectly in the control of opinion, in the requirement
of bonds and stamp duties, in the public press, in the growth of
individual taxation, etc., capitalized wealth, as a basis of
participation in public affairs, must work out its inherent tendency
with the same thoroughness and the same historical necessity as landed
property had done in its time.

And this second period, which has completed its three hundred and
fifty years, as I further go on to show, is now essentially concluded.
With the French Revolution of 1848 comes the dawning of a new, a third
historical period. By its proclamation of universal and equal
suffrage, regardless of property qualifications, this third period
assigns to each and every one an equal share in the sovereignty, in
the guidance of public affairs and public policy. And so it installs
free labor as the dominating principle of social life, conditioned by
neither the possession of land nor of capital.

I then develop the difference in point of ethical principles between
the _bourgeoisie_ and the laboring class, as well as the resulting
difference in the political ideals of the two classes. The
aristocratic principle assigned the individual his status on the basis
of descent and social rank, whereas the principal for which the
_bourgeoisie_ stands contends that all such legal restriction is
iniquitous, and that the individual must be counted simply as such,
with no prerogative beyond guaranteeing him the unhindered
opportunity to make the most of his capacities as an individual. Now,
I claim, if we all were by native gift equally wealthy, equally
capable, equally well educated, then this principle of equal
opportunity would be adequate to the purpose. But since such equality
does not prevail, and indeed cannot come to pass, and since we do not
come into the world simply as undifferentiated individuals, but
endowed in varying degree with wealth and capacities, which in turn
result in differences of education; therefore, this principle is not
an adequate principle. For, if under these actual circumstances,
nothing were guaranteed beyond the unhindered opportunity of the
individual to make the most of himself, the consequence must be an
exploitation of the weaker by the stronger. The principle for which
the working classes stand is this, that free opportunity alone will
not suffice, but that to this, for the purposes of any morally
defensible organization of society, there must be added the further
principle of a solidarity of interests, a community and mutuality in
development.

From this difference between the two classes, in point of ethical
principle, follows, as a matter of course, the difference in political
ideals.

The _bourgeoisie_ has elaborated the principle that the end of the
State is to protect the personal liberty of the individual and his
property. This is the doctrine put forth by the scientific spokesmen
of the _bourgeoisie_. This is the doctrine of its political leaders,
of liberalism. But this theory is in a high degree inadequate,
unscientific, and at variance with the essential nature of the State.

The course of history is a struggle against nature, against need,
ignorance and impotence, and, therefore, against bondage of every kind
in which we were held under the state of nature at the beginning of
history. The progressive overcoming of this impotence,--this is the
evolution of liberty, whereof history is an account. In this struggle
we should never have made one step in advance, and we should never
take a further step, if we had gone into the struggle singly, each for
himself.

Now the State is precisely this contemplated unity and coöperation of
individuals in a moral whole, whose function it is to carry on this
struggle, a combination which multiplies a million fold the force of
all the individuals comprised in it, which heightens a million fold
the powers which each individual singly would be able to exert.

The end of the State, therefore, is not simply to secure to each
individual that personal freedom and that property with which the
bourgeois principle assumes that the individual enters the state
organization at the outset, but which in point of fact are first
afforded him in and by the State. On the contrary, the end of the
State can be no other than to accomplish that which, in the nature of
things, is and always has been the function of the State,--in set
terms: by combining individuals into a state organization to enable
them to achieve such ends and to attain such a level of existence as
they could not achieve as isolated individuals.

The ultimate and intrinsic end of the State, therefore, is to further
the positive unfolding, the progressive development of human life. In
other words, its function is to work out in actual achievement the
true end of man; that is to say, the full degree of culture of which
human nature is capable. It is the education and evolution of mankind
into freedom.

As a matter of fact, even the older culture, which has become the
inestimable foundation of the Germanic genius, makes for such a
conception of the State. I may cite the words of the great leader of
our science, August Böckh: "The concept of the State must," according
to him, "necessarily be so broadened as to make the State the
contrivance whereby all human virtue is to be realized to the full."

But this fully developed conception of the State is, above all and
essentially, a conception that is in a peculiar sense to be ascribed
to the working classes. Others may conceive this conception of the
State by force of insight and education, but to the working
classes it is, by virtue of the helpless condition of their numbers,
given as a matter of instinct; it is forced home upon them by material
and economic facts.

Their economic situation necessarily breeds in these classes an
instinctive sense that the function of the State is and must be that
of helping the individual, through the combined efforts of all, to
reach a development such as the individual in isolation is incapable
of attaining.

In point of fact, however, this ethical conception of the State does
not set up any concept that has not already previously been the real
motor principle in the State. On the contrary, it is plain from what
has already been said, that this, in an unconscious way, has been the
essential nature of the State from the beginning. This essential
character of the State has always in some measure asserted itself
through the logical constraint of the course of events, even when such
an aim has been absent from the conscious purposes of the State, even
when opposed to the will of those in whose hands the power of control
had rested.

In setting up this conception of the working classes as the dominant
concept of the State, therefore, we do nothing more than articularly
formulate what has all along, but obscurely, been the organic nature
of the State, and bring it into the foreground as the consciously
avowed end of society.

Herein lies the comprehensive unity and continuity of all human
development, that nothing drops into the course of development from
the outside. It is only that that is brought clearly into
consciousness, and worked out on the ground of free choice, which has
in substance all along constituted the obscurely and unconsciously
effective organic nature of things.

With the French Revolution of 1848 this clearer consciousness has made
its entry upon the scene and has been proclaimed. In the first place,
this outcome was symbolically represented in that a workman was made a
member of the provisional government; and, further, there was
proclaimed universal, equal and direct suffrage, which is in point of
method the means whereby this conception of the State is to be
realized. February, 1848, therefore, marks the dawning of the
historical period in which the ethical principle of the working
classes is consciously accepted as the guiding principle of society.

We have reason to congratulate ourselves upon living in an epoch
consecrated to the achievement of this exalted end. But, above all, it
is to be said, since it is the destined course of this historical
period to make their conception the guiding principle of society, it
behooves the working classes to conduct themselves with all moral
earnestness, sobriety and studious deliberation.

Such, expressed in the briefest terms, is the content and the course
of argument of the disquisition in question.

What I have sought to accomplish in that argument is nothing else than
to explain to my auditors the intrinsic philosophical content of the
historical development, to initiate them into this most difficult of
all the sciences, to bring home to them the fact that history is a
logical whole which unfolds step by step under the guidance of
inexorable laws.

One who gives himself up to work of this kind is entitled to address
your public prosecutor in the words of Archimedes, when, at the
sacking of Syracuse, he was set upon, sword in hand, by the savage
soldiery while drawing and studying his mathematical figures in the
sand: "_Noli turbare circulos meos_."[53]

To enable me to write this pamphlet, five different sciences, and more
than that, have had to be brought into coöperation and had to be
mastered: History in the narrower sense of the term, Jurisprudence and
the History of Law, Political Economy, Statistics, Finance, and, last
and most difficult of the sciences, the science of thought, or
Philosophy.

What a paragon of scientific erudition must the public prosecutor be,
in whose eyes all this is not sufficient to lend a publication the
attribute of scientific quality.

But the indictment itself, when it is more closely examined, is seen
to assign the ground on which this work is held to lack the requisite
scientific character. The indictment says: "While the defendant,
Lassalle, has been at pains to give himself the appearance of
scientific method in this address, still the address is after all of a
thoroughly practical bearing."

So it appears, then, that, according to the public prosecutor, the
address is not scientific because it is claimed to have a practical
bearing. The test of scientific adequacy, according to the public
prosecutor, is the absence of practical bearing. I may fairly be
permitted to ask the public prosecutor--and it is a Schelling whose
signature this indictment bears--where he has learned all this. From
his father? Assuredly not. Schelling the elder assigns philosophy no
less serious a task than that of transforming the entire cultural
epoch. "It is conceived to be too much," says he in formulating an
anticipated objection, "to expect that philosophy shall rehabilitate
the times." To this his answer is: "But when _I_ claim to see in
philosophy a means whereby to remedy the confusion of the times, I
have, of course, in mind not an impotent philosophy, not simply a
product of workman-like dexterity, but a forceful philosophy which can
face the facts of life, philosophy which, far from feeling itself
impotent before the stupendous realities of life, far from confining
itself to the dreary business of simple negation and destruction,
draws its force from reality and, therefore, reaches effective and
enduring results."

The public prosecutor, with his brand-new and highly extraordinary
discovery, will scarcely find much comfort with the other men of the
science.

In his Address to the German People, Fichte tells us: "What, then, is
the bearing of our endeavors even in the most recondite of the
sciences? Grant that the proximate end of these endeavors is that of
propagating these sciences from generation to generation, and so
conserving them; but why are they to be conserved? Manifestly only in
order that they in the fulness of time shall serve to shape human life
and the entire scheme of human institutions. This is the ulterior end.
Remotely, therefore, even though it may be in distant ages, every
endeavor of science serves to advance the ends of the State."

Now, Your Honor and Gentlemen of the Court, if I were to spend further
speech in the refutation of this discovery of the public
prosecutor--that impracticability is the test of science--I should be
insulting your intelligence.

In the pamphlet in question my aim was the thoroughly practical one of
bringing my readers to a comprehension of the times in which they
live, and thereby permanently to affect their conduct throughout the
course of their life and in whatever direction their activity may lie.

Now, then, what characteristic of scientific work is it which the
public prosecutor finds wanting in all this? Is it, perhaps, that it
falls short in respect of bulk? Is it the circumstance that this work
is only a pamphlet of less than fifty pages, instead of comprising
three folio volumes? But when was it decided that the bulk of a work,
instead of its contents, is to be accepted as a test of its scientific
character? Is the public prosecutor prepared, for instance, to deny
that the papers presented by the members of the Royal Academy at their
sessions are scientific productions? But nearly all of these are
shorter than this of mine.

During the past year, as speaker for the Philosophical Society at the
celebration of Fichte's birthday, it was my fortune to present an
address in which I dealt intimately with the history of German
metaphysics. That address fills only thirty-five pages as against the
forty-four pages of the present pamphlet. Is the public prosecutor
prepared to deny the character of science to that address because of
its brevity?

Who will not, on the contrary, appreciate that the very brevity
imposed by circumstances makes the scientific inquiry contained in
this work all the more difficult and the more considerable? I was
compelled to condense my exposition within the compass of a two-hours'
address, a pamphlet of forty-four pages, at the same time that I was
obliged to conform my presentation of the matter to an audience on
whose part I could assume no acquaintance with scientific methods and
results. To overcome obstacles of this kind and, at the same time, not
to fall short in point of profound scientific analysis, as was the
case in the present instance, requires a degree of precision, close
application and clarity of thought far in excess of what is demanded
in these respects in the common run of more voluminous scientific
works.

I return, therefore, again to the question: What is the requirement of
science with respect to which this address falls short? Is it,
perhaps, that it offends the canons of science in respect of the place
in which it was held?

This, in fact, touches the substantial core of this indictment, and,
at the same time, the sorest spot of the whole. This address might
well--so runs the prosecutor's reflection--have been delivered
wherever you like--from the professor's chair or from the rostrum of
the singing school, before the so-called élite of the educated people;
but that it was actually delivered before the actual people, that it
was held before workingmen and addressed to workingmen, that fact
deprives it of all standing as a scientific work and makes it a
criminal offense,--_crimen novum atque inauditum_.[54]

I might, of course, content myself with the answer that the substance
of an address, and therefore its scientific character, is in no way
affected by the place in which it happens to have been delivered,
whether it is in the Academy of Science, before the cream of the
learned world, or in a hall in the suburbs before an audience of
machinists.

But I owe you, Gentlemen, a somewhat fuller answer. To begin with, let
me express my amazement at the fact that here in Berlin, in the city
where Fichte delivered his immortal popular lectures on philosophy, his
speeches on the fundamental features of the modern epoch and his
speeches on the German nation before the general public, that in this
place and day it should occur to any one to fancy that the place in
which an address is delivered has anything whatever to do with its
scientific character.

The great destiny of our age is precisely this--which the dark ages
had been unable to conceive, much less to achieve--the dissemination
of scientific knowledge among the body of the people. The difficulties
of this task may be serious enough, and we may magnify them as we
like,--still, our endeavors are ready to wrestle with them and our
nightly vigils will be given to overcoming them.

In the general decay which, as all those who know the profounder
realities of history appreciate, has overtaken European history in all
its bearings, there are but two things that have retained their vigor
and their propagating force in the midst of all that shriveling blight
of self-seeking that pervades European life. These two things are
science and the people, science and the workingman. And the union of
these two is alone capable of invigorating European culture with a new
life.

The union of these two polar opposites of modern society, science and
the workingman,--when these two join forces they will crush all
obstacles to cultural advance with an iron hand, and it is to this
union that I have resolved to devote my life so long as there is
breath in my body.

But, Gentlemen, is this view something new and entirely unheard-of in
the realm of science? Let us see what Fichte himself, in his Addresses
to the German People, has to say to the cultured classes, to whom he
addresses these words: "It is particularly to the cultured classes of
Germany that I wish to direct my remarks in the present address, for
it is to these classes I hope in the first place to make myself
intelligible. And I implore these classes, then, as the first step to
be taken, to take the initiative in the work of reconstruction, and
so, on the one hand, atone for their past deeds, and, on the other
hand, earn the right to continued life in the future.

[Illustration: FLAX BARN IN LAREN _From the Painting by Max
Liebermann_]

It will appear in the course of this address that hitherto all the
advance in the German nation has originated with the common
people, and that hitherto all the great national interests have, in
the first instance, been the affair of the people, have been taken in
hand and pushed forward by the body of the people; so that today for
the first time does it happen that the initiative in the cultural
advance of the nation is committed to the hands of the cultured
classes, and if they will but accept the commission it will be the
first time when such has been the case. It will presently appear that
it is quite impossible for these classes to determine how long the
matter will yet rest in their discretion, how long the choice will yet
be open to them whether to take the initiative in this matter or not,
for the whole matter is nearly ripe to be taken in hand by the people,
and it will be carried out by men sprung from the body of the people,
who will presently be able to help themselves without assistance from
us."

Fichte, then, knew and proclaimed this fact, that the realization of
all the great national interests in the past has been the work of the
common people and has never been carried out at the hands of the
cultured classes. That, in spite of this knowledge, he turned to the
cultured classes is due, as he himself says, to the hope he had of
first and most readily making himself understood by them. It is
because, in his apprehension, for the presentment of the matter to the
people, the whole was, so he says, "only approaching readiness and
maturity," but not yet ready and mature.

That it is possible today to do what in Fichte's time was recognized
as the only fruitful thing to do, but, at the same time, as not then
ready to be done, and therefore too serious to be undertaken,--this
expresses the whole short step in advance that has been accomplished
in Germany during the past fifty years; for you will seek in vain for
the slightest progress on the part of the German government.

Fichte himself, in the passage cited, says that this advance is coming
in the near future. This "near future" proves to have been fifty years
removed, and I trust, Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Court, that
you will all consider a fifty-years' interval long enough to satisfy
the requirements of the "near future."

But the men who, undeterred by all the difficulties of the task, put
all their energies into this stupendous undertaking of carrying
scientific knowledge and scientific habits of thought among the body
of the people,--are they fairly open to the accusation of having
sought to incite the indigent classes to hatred of the well-to-do? Do
they not thereby really deserve the thanks and the affection of the
propertied classes, and of the bourgeoisie above all?

Whence arises the bourgeoisie's dread of the people in political
matters?

Look back, in memory, to the months of March, April, and May, 1848.
Have you forgotten how things looked here at that time? The power of
the police was broken; the people filled all the streets and public
places. And all streets, all public places and all the people in the
hands of Karbe, Lindenmüller, and other reckless agitators like
them,--men without knowledge, without intelligence, without culture,
thrown into prominence by the storm which stirred our political life
to its depths. The _bourgeoisie_, scared and faint hearted, hiding in
their cellars, trembling every instant for fear of their property and
their lives, which lay in the hands of these coarse agitators, and
saved only by the fact that these agitators were too good-natured to
make such use of their power as the bourgeoisie feared they would. The
_bourgeoisie_, secretly praying for the reëstablishment of the police
power and quaking with a fright which they have not yet forgotten, the
recollection of which still leaves them incapable of taking up the
political struggle.

How came it that in a city which proudly calls itself the metropolis
of intelligence, in so great a city, in the home of the most brilliant
intellects,--how came it that the people here for months together
could be at the disposal of Karbe and Lindenmüller and could tremble
before them in fear for their life and property. Where was the
intelligence of Berlin? Where were the men of science and of insight?
Where were you, Gentlemen?

A whole city is never cowardly.

But these men reflected and told one another: The people do not
understand our ways of thinking; they do not even understand our
speech. There is a great gulf between our scientific views and the
ways of the multitude, between the speech of scientific discussion and
the habits of thought of the people. They would not understand us.
Therefore the floor belongs to the coarsest.

So they reflected and held their peace. Now, Gentlemen, are you quite
sure that a political upheaval will never recur? Are you ready to
swear that you have reached the end of historical development? Or are
you willing to see your lives and property again at the mercy of a
Karbe and a Lindenmüller?

If not, then your thanks are due to the men who have devoted
themselves to the work of filling up that gulf which separates
scientific thought and scientific speech from the people, and so to
raze the barriers that divide the bourgeoisie and the people. Your
thanks are due these men, who, at the expense of their utmost
intellectual efforts, have undertaken a work whose results will
redound to the profit of each and all of you. These men you should
entertain at the prytaneum, not put under indictment.

The place in which this address was held, therefore, can also not
afford ground for exception as to its scientific character.

I have now shown you conclusively that the production is a scientific
work.

But if, contrary to all expectation, this should still be questioned,
although I do not for a moment consider it possible that it should be
questioned by men as enlightened as you are, Mr. President and
Gentlemen of the Court; now, in such a case, I seek refuge in the
privilege which is accorded every cobbler and which you can all the
less deny me, viz., to submit a question of workmanship in my trade to
the award of men expert in the trade.

In the last resort, the question as to the scientific character of a
given work is a question for the men of the trade, and therefore a
question which may not be decided on a basis of common education and
common culture alone, and therefore also not by a court of law. The
question at issue does not concern jurisprudence, with which you are
necessarily familiar, but it concerns other sciences with which you
may well be unfamiliar, although, as a matter of chance, you may, in
your private capacity, not your capacity as jurists, also be
acquainted with these matters.

It is true, you may answer this question in the affirmative, your
competence extends that far. For in very many cases is the scientific
character of a given work manifest, even to the commonly instructed
intelligence.

But to pass a negative opinion in the face of the expert testimony to
which I provisionally appeal as a subsidiary recourse;[55] to that
your competence does not extend, for the nicer question, whether in a
given case the most profound researches of science may not, with a
view to their readier apprehension, be presented in a facile and
popular form, whether this fact of a facile presentation may not
itself mark a peculiarly high achievement of scientific endeavor, in
which all traces of the struggle, all difficulties and all the
refractoriness of the materials handled have been successfully
eliminated and the whole has in the outcome been reduced to the
simplest and clearest terms; where the result presented is a
scientific work of art, which, in the words of Schiller, has risen
above the limitations of human infirmity and moves with such ease and
freedom as to give the impression that it offers but the free play of
the auditor's own unfolding thought; to decide with confidence whether
you have to deal with a scientific work of this class, and to decide
it with that certainty and security that is required in order to pass
a sentence, that is something of which none but men trained in the
science are capable.

This question, therefore, I beg that the following gentlemen: Privy
Councillor August Böckh, Efficient Privy Councillor Johannes Schultze,
formerly Director of the Ministry of Public Worship, Professor Adolf
Trendelenburg, Privy Councillor and Chief Librarian Dr. Pertz, Professor
Leopold Ranke, Professor Theodor Mommsen, Privy Councillor Professor
Hanssen, all members of the Royal Academy of Science, and as specialists
capable of judging in the matter, be constituted a subsidiary tribunal
to pass on the question, whether the address in question is not in the
strict sense a scientific production.

But, if such is found to be the case, then, as I have already
explained, it has nothing to do with the penal code.

I have permitted myself to go exhaustively into an exposition of this,
my first ground of defense, because, for the sake of the country
itself and the dignity and liberty of science, and for the sake of
establishing once for all a precedent which shall bar out all similar
endeavors of the public prosecutor in the future, it is incumbent on
me to adjure you to acquit me under Article 20 of the Constitution.

But it is not that recourse to this article is necessary to protect my
person from the penalty of the law.

For, even were it held that the present case comes within the
competence of the penal code, the law appealed to has in no wise been
violated, and the paragraph cited by the public prosecutor has no
application.

Even this one exception, alone would suffice to set the indictment
aside; viz., that no objection is taken to any given passage in which
the specified offense is alleged to occur; so that the prosecution
proceeds wholely on an allegation of bias, and in the baldest manner.
The indictment runs against a bias; that is all. But a bias is not
actionable.

But I am not to be permitted to dispose of my defense in so easy a
manner. The accusation of having endeavored to incite the poor to
hatred of the rich is an accusation of such a kind that, apart from
all question of punishment, it is likely to injure any citizen's name
and fame. This accusation is of such character that, even if it is
formally disproven on legal ground, it may still leave the accused an
object of suspicion. You will, accordingly, Mr. President and
Gentlemen of the Court, take it simply as evidence of the respect I
bear you when I now go on to clear my honor in your sight, with the
same solicitude as that with which I have defended my freedom. To this
end it is necessary for me to present the grounds of fact, as
painstakingly as I have presented the grounds of law, on which this
accusation is to be quashed, and you will, therefore, I am sure, hear
me with the same forbearance if this second part of my defense turns
out to be but little briefer than the first.

I am accused of having violated Section 100 of the penal code. This
section reads as follows: "Any person who endangers or jeopardizes the
public peace by publicly inciting the subjects of the State to hatred
or to contempt of one another, is liable to punishment by a fine of
not less than 20 and not more than 200 thalers, or by imprisonment of
not less than one month and not more than two years."

This section of the law specifies three different conditions, which
must be found to concur if it is to be applicable.

I. There must be incitement to hatred or to contempt;

II. This incitement must be directed to the detriment of given classes
of the subjects of the State, and I am accordingly accused by the
public prosecutor of having incited the class of the unpropertied
against the class of the propertied;

III. This incitement must be of such a nature as to endanger the
public peace.

These three conditions must concur, must combine, if the section of
the law is to apply,--and not one of these conditions occurs.

As to I. There must be incitement to hatred and contempt; there can in
the case before you be no question of this point, and for several
reasons.

1. The offense specified in Section 100 cannot be committed except
there be an intention to incite to hatred and contempt. A contingent
incitement to hatred and contempt, an incitement by inadvertence, is
in this case not conceivable. If such a contingent incitement, an
unintended incitement to hatred and contempt, were conceivable, what
would not the consequences be? We have, all of us, for instance,
recently read certain speeches delivered in the upper house, which
have, we will say, filled me,--and not me alone, Gentlemen, but along
with me a very large part of the nation--with hatred and contempt to
the point of distraction. Does it follow that the public prosecutor
could take action against the speakers in question? He is not
competent to do so, even aside from the political prerogative of the
speakers, for, although such has been the effect of these speeches,
the purpose of these gentlemen was assuredly not to stir up hatred and
contempt. But it is equally true that no one can deny that the purpose
of my address was to impart knowledge. The most that the public
prosecutor can allege is that it was a matter of indifference to me if
the knowledge imparted stirred up hatred and contempt,--an allegation
without significance, since there is no such thing as an incitement to
hatred and contempt by inadvertence.

But, in point of fact, a deliberate incitement of this kind is in the
present case absolutely excluded for another reason, which at the same
time establishes that the address in question could not even have had
the effect of stirring up hatred and contempt. I, therefore, in order
to prevent repetition, beg to present this reason in connection with
the second, viz.: that my address could not have the effect of causing
hatred and contempt.

I have, therefore, to say, as the second count under this head, that
this address cannot possibly have had the effect of stirring up hatred
and contempt, and _a fortiori_ cannot have had that intention.

On what grounds alone can hatred and contempt be deserved?

On the ground of viciousness, which in turn is an attribute of
voluntary human actions alone. But in this address of mine, I show
that the dominance of this principle of the bourgeoisie, against which
I am by the public prosecutor accused of inciting to hatred and
contempt, is but a stage of economic and ethical development, which is
the outcome of historical necessity, and that its nonexistence is an
utter impossibility and that it therefore has all the character of
natural necessity that belongs to the developmental progress of the
earth.

Do we hate Nature because we have to struggle with her? Because we
have to strive to guide her processes and improve her products?

But there is the further question: How has the public prosecutor
understood my pamphlet?

The fundamental idea of my address is that the dominance of the
bourgeoisie has in no wise been produced, consciously and by their own
motion, intentionally and in a responsible manner, by the propertied
class as persons or individuals. On the contrary, the bourgeois are
but the unconscious, choiceless, and therefore irresponsible products,
not the producers of the situation as it stands and as it has
developed under the guidance of quite other laws than the direction of
personal choice. Even their reluctance to surrender this their mastery
I refer back to the laws of human nature, whose character it is to
hold fast to whatever is and to account it necessary. But a doctrine
which goes the length of denying the propertied class all
responsibility for the existing state of things, which makes them a
product instead of the producers of this state of things--this
doctrine the public prosecutor construes to have incited to hatred and
contempt of these persons.

For, be it noted, we have here to do with persons and classes of
persons, under section 100, not with institutions established by the
State, as under section 101.

No workingman has got so faulty an understanding of my address as the
public prosecutor, and I leave it to him to say whether this is due to
his lack of understanding or to his lack of will to understand.

But, more than all this, I go on to show that the dominance of the
idea of the bourgeoisie is a great historic move in the liberation of
humanity; that it was a most potent moral cultural advance; that in
fact it was the historically indispensable prerequisite and
transitional stage through development out of which the idea of the
working class was to emerge.

I therefore must be said to reconcile the working class to the
dominance of the bourgeoisie as an historical fact by showing the
logical necessity of this dominance. I reconcile them to it, for a
comprehension of the rationality of what restricts us is the fullest
possible reconciliation to it.

And if I proceed, further, to show that the idea of the bourgeoisie is
not the highest stage of the historical development, not the perfect
flower of advancing improvement, but that beyond it lies yet a higher
manifestation of the human spirit, and that this ulterior phase rests
on the former as its base--does this mean that I incite to hatred and
contempt of the former?

The working class might as well hate and despise themselves and all
human nature, whether in their own or in their neighbors' persons,
because it is the law of human nature to unfold step by step and to
proceed to each succeeding stage of development from the indispensable
vantage ground of the phase preceding.

If I had any predilection for homiletical discourse, Gentlemen, I
should be quite justified in saying that I have exhorted the working
classes to a filial piety toward the bourgeoisie, in that I have shown
that the dominance of the bourgeoisie was the indispensable
prerequisite and condition by transition out of which alone the idea
of the working class could come forth. For even if the son, by grace
of a freer and fuller education and a larger endowment of personal
force, strives to place himself above the level on which his father
stood, still he never forgets the source of his own blood and the
author of his own being. How deep in the mud is it the intention to
thrust the noblest of all the sciences in bringing this charge of
criminal instigation against the doctrine that history is an unfolding
evolution of reason and human liberty?

It was for long incomprehensible to me how the public prosecutor could
use such words as instigation to hatred and contempt in this
connection. In the end I have been able to explain this fact to myself
only on this one supposition. The public prosecutor must have
endeavored in reading this address, to put himself in the place of a
working man and has then come to feel that he would in such a case be
moved to hatred.

The public prosecutor, then, is sensible that he would hate.

Now, Gentlemen, I might say that this would be attributable to the
peculiarity of his temperament, and that he had no call to generalize
and go beyond that. But I will lend a hand to the public prosecutor in
this perplexity. I will bring the charge against myself in a more
telling form than he has been able to do. I will formulate it as the
facts of the case require that it must be formulated if it is to be
preferred at all. And in so doing, the more pointedly I may be able to
bring to light the essential nature of the charge, the more utterly
shall I annihilate it.

This is what the public prosecutor should have said:

It is true this address held by Lassalle appeals to the intellect of
the auditors, not to their practical impulses or their emotions. It is
accordingly true also that this address does not come within the
sphere of competence of the penal code.

But in a person endowed with the normal complement of human
sensibility, cognition, will and emotion are not so many insulated
pigeonholes which stand in no relation to one another. Whenever the
one compartment is full it flows over into the next. Will and emotion
are servants of the intellect and are controlled by it.

Lassalle, it is true, has not a word to say of hatred and contempt; he
is simply occupied with a theoretical exposition of how certain
arrangements, for instance, the three-class suffrage, is pernicious. I
am unable to confute this teaching. But I have this to say with
respect to the organic unity of human nature, that if the doctrine is
true then it follows that every normally constituted working man must
come to hate and distrust not only these arrangements and institutions
but also those who profit by them.

Such is the logical framework on which this indictment must proceed.
This is the line of argument which avowedly or not, by logical
necessity comes to expression in this indictment.

It is not I, but the public prosecutor speaking from the eminence of
his curule chair, who proclaims to the working classes the awful
doctrine: You must hate and distrust.

It is not for me, it is for the public prosecutor to square himself
with the bourgeoisie.

But what is my answer to the public prosecutor and his indictment
which charges me with his own offense?

My answer is a four-fold one:

In the first place a full recognition of the inadequacy or the
viciousness of a given institution must arouse in any person of normal
sensibility an enduring purpose to change such an institution, if
possible, and the arousing of such an undying purpose in my hearers
has necessarily been the aim of my scientific investigation, as it
necessarily is the end of all scientific work. But such a purpose, so
long as it does not utter itself in an illegal manner, is absolutely
unconstrained by law. The like is true of all effort to arouse such a
purpose, so long as it does not resort to illegal means. But such a
purpose to amend the shortcomings of any established arrangement, is
by no means the same thing as hatred and contempt of the arrangement
in question; since these shortcomings are a matter of historical
growth, of historical necessity; since, indeed, they may even be, in
effect, a factor in the work of liberation, and a factor of the
gravest consequence and of the most beneficial effect for cultural
growth. Further reasons to the like effect have already been recited
and I will not take up your time with their repetition and further
development. Here, then, is the first hiatus in the public
prosecutor's argument.

In the second place, if it actually follows in any given case that
hatred and contempt is, for a normally constituted human being, the
necessary consequence of a scientific knowledge of the facts, such
hatred and contempt could by no means be laid under penalties by the
legislator.

Whatever institution is so vicious that knowledge of it necessarily
excites hatred and contempt, that institution should be hated and
despised.

The legislator lays penalties upon such hatred and contempt as are but
the effects produced by blind emotions and passions. But he has not
imposed penalties upon human reason and the moral constitution of man.
He consequently does not impose penalties upon hatred and contempt
which are the necessary outcome of these two features of human nature.
The public prosecutor construes section 100 to the effect that the
legislator has therein intended to prohibit the use of reason and
proscribe the moral nature of man. But such a purpose has not entered
the thoughts of the law-giver. No court will put such a construction
upon the law as to make the legislator the avowed enemy of
intelligence and science,--and here come into bearing again all the
arguments of my defense directed to Article 20 of the Constitution.
The only meaning of these arguments in this connection is that even if
science and its teaching were not by Article 20 of the Constitution
exempt from the application of the criminal code, still section 100,
except it be construed to intend the utter destruction of human
nature, cannot be leveled against such hatred and contempt as is the
necessary outcome of scientific knowledge.

In the third place, hatred and contempt of a given institutional
arrangement or expedient is by no means the same thing as hatred and
contempt of those persons who profit by the arrangement in question;
whereas section 100 deals only with hatred of persons,--so that we
have here the third break in the public prosecutor's argument, and it
is a veritable _saltomortale_.

In the fourth place I have to present an argument of fact. The
prosecutor's argument presents the most remarkable _quid pro quo_[56]
that has ever come to light in a legal discussion. The point which I
here touch upon constitutes the transition to the second part of my
argument, showing that all proof touching the second condition to be
fulfilled by the indictment is wanting; viz.: that even if there were
ground for speaking of hatred and contempt in this connection, it is
still quite plain that there has been no instigation to hatred or
contempt of those against whom I am charged with having incited to
hatred and contempt.

As to this second part of the indictment: I am accused of instigating
the unpropertied classes to hatred and contempt of the propertied
classes.

"By this presentation," says the indictment, "working men will plainly
be incited to hatred and contempt of the bourgeoisie, that is to say,
the unpropertied classes will be inflamed against the propertied
classes." And after having in this way, quietly and by subreption,
introduced this its definition of the term "_bourgeoisie_," the
indictment goes on to formulate its final charge as follows:

  "It is accordingly charged that the above named citizen, F.L., (1),
  by his lecture etc., and (2) by publishing the pamphlet containing
  this same lecture, has publicly instigated the unpropertied classes
  of the State's subjects to hatred and contempt of the propertied
  classes."

It is true, in my address I speak of the "_bourgeoisie_." But what is
my definition of this term? It will be sufficient to cite a single
passage which contains the definition of "_bourgeoisie_" as used by me
in this pamphlet. This will show what an incomprehensible, unheard-of,
uncharacterisable _quid pro quo_ the public prosecutor has attempted
to impute to me in charging me with instigating the unpropertied
classes to hatred and contempt of the propertied classes.

On page 20 of this pamphlet is the following passage, quoted
literally:

  "I have now reached the point, Gentlemen, where it becomes necessary
  that, in order to avoid a possible gross misapprehension of what I
  have to say, I explain what I mean by the term 'bourgeoisie' or 'great
  bourgeoisie,' as the designation of a political party--that I define
  what the word 'bourgeoisie' means in my use of it.

  "The word 'bourgeoisie' might be translated into German by the term
  _Bürgertum_ (citizenship, or the body of citizens). But that is not the
  meaning actually attached to the word. We are all citizens--workingmen,
  petty burghers, commercial aristocracy and all the rest alike. On the
  other hand the word 'bourgeoisie' has, in the course of historical
  development, come to designate a particular political bias and
  movement which I will now go on to characterize.

  "At the time of the French Revolution, and, indeed, even yet, that entire
  body of subjects which is not of noble birth, was roughly divided into
  two sub-classes: First the class comprising those persons who, wholly or
  chiefly, get their income from their own labor and are without capital,
  or are, at the most, possessed of but a moderate capital which affords
  them the means of carrying on some employment from which they and their
  families derive their subsistence. This class comprises the
  workingmen, the lower middle classes (_Kleinbürger_), the citizen
  class and also the body of the peasants. The second class is made up
  of those persons who have the disposal of a large property, of a large
  capital, and who are producers or receivers of income on the basis of
  their possession of capital. These latter might be called the great
  burghers or commoners, or the capitalist gentry. But such a great
  burgher or capitalist gentleman, is not by reason of that fact a
  bourgeois. No commoner has any objection to raise because a nobleman
  in the bosom of his family finds comfort in his pedigree and in his
  lands. But when, on the other hand, this nobleman insists on making
  such pedigree or such landed property the basis of a peculiar
  importance and prerogative in the State, when he insists on making
  them a ground for controlling public policy, then the commoner takes
  offense at the nobleman and calls him a feudalist.

  "The case is entirely similar as regards the distinctions in respect
  of property within the body of commoners.

  "That the capitalist gentleman in his chamber takes pleasure in the high
  degree of comfort and the great advantage which large wealth confers
  upon its possessor,--nothing can be more natural, simpler or more
  legitimate than that he should do so."

Incidentally, then, Gentlemen, so far am I in this pamphlet from
instigating the unpropertied classes to hatred and contempt of the
wealthy, that, on the contrary, I expressly declare myself for the
legitimacy of such property. I explicitly declare that the
satisfaction taken in the advantages and amenities which flow from
such wealth are the most natural and legitimate things in the world.

Let me now go on with the definition referred to:

  "The workingmen and the lower middle class, that is to say the class
  without capital, may be wholly justified in demanding that those by whose
  hands all that wealth which is the pride of our civilization is produced,
  whose hands have brought forth all these products without which society
  could not live for a single day--it may well be demanded that these should
  be secured an ample and unfailing income, and thereby be given an
  opportunity for some intellectual development, and that they be by this
  means put in the way of a truly human manner of life. But, while I
  am free to say that the working classes are fairly within their rights in
  making these demands of the State, and to stand out stiffly for their
  demands as being the essential purpose for which the State exists, yet
  the workingman must never allow himself to forget that all property
  that has once been acquired and is legally held must be considered lawful
  and inviolable."

Such, then, is the manner and degree of my instigation of the
unpropertied class to hatred and distrust that I incontinently preach
to them the inviolability and sacredness of all property acquired by
the wealthy classes, and exhort them to respect it.

But I go on to say:

  "In case the man of means is not content with the material amenities
  of large wealth, but insists that possession of wealth, of capital, be
  made the basis of a control to be exercised over the State, a condition
  of participation in the direction of public policy and of the direction
  of public affairs, then and only then does the man of means become a
  bourgeois; then does he make the fact of property a legal ground of
  political power; then does he stand forth as representative of a
  privileged class aiming to put the imprint of its prerogative upon all
  social features and institutions, just as truly as the nobility of the
  Middle Ages did with respect to the basis of their privilege, landed
  property."

Accordingly, in my use of the term, as I have explicitly and
painstakingly defined it, the man of means, the man of the
upper-middle class, is a _bourgeois_ in case he proceeds to set up the
essentially harmless and inoffensive fact of his large property as a
legal condition of participation in the direction of public affairs;
in short, when he proceeds to set up the ownership of capital as a
legal and political prerogative, and so abolishes the equality of the
propertied and the unpropertied classes before the law, and thereby
infringes upon the liberty and further growth of the people, in the
interest of accumulated wealth and continued upper-class mastery. Only
under these circumstances, as I particularly point out, does the
_bourgeoisie_ become a privileged class, which it otherwise, in spite
of all inequality of wealth, is not.

In my pamphlet I point out how all this has its effect through the
census rating whereby admission to a share in the direction of public
policy, through eligibility to any legislative body, is so limited by
property qualifications as to make the possession of capital a
prerequisite. I point out further that this effect follows equally
whether the property qualification is open and above-board or
under-hand, and finally that the existing three-class system of
elections, dating back to 1849, amounts to such an under-hand,
disguised property rating.

The point at which the pamphlet strikes, therefore, albeit in a purely
theoretical way, is the three-class system of elections. It makes no
attack upon the propertied classes, whose accumulated wealth, on the
contrary, I am repeatedly at pains to define as wholly incontestable,
inoffensive, inviolable and perfectly lawful.

This three-class system of elections is one of our political
institutions.

Now, this being the case, why has not the public prosecutor indicted
me under section 101 of the criminal code, "for having exposed the
measures of the State to hatred and to contempt?" To be sure, if the
prosecutor had chosen to make this charge, I should have known how to
answer him. To go into this matter today would be superfluous,
for I am not accused of this offense, and my defense would be drawn
out endlessly if I were to defend myself against charges that have
never been brought against me.

But why, among all impossible charges, does the public prosecutor
choose to bring precisely the most impossible? Why does he make this
substitution as to the point of my attack? I point out that the
three-class system of elections is an injustice because it makes an
essentially innocent difference in wealth a legal qualification for
participation in the direction of public affairs; whereupon this
envenomed accusation is brought against me that I have instigated the
unpropertied classes to hatred and contempt of the propertied.

Is there, then, no remedy, Gentlemen, against such a public defamation
of one's name and fame?

Can we say that among us the introduction, of the three-class system
of elections is to be laid at the door of the propertied classes or
the commonalty? Something of that kind might be said of the French
_bourgeoisie_. In France the property qualification and rating was
introduced as long ago as the revolutionary _Assemblée Constituante_.
But the like has not been done by the German.

When the Prussian bourgeoisie came into power through the March
revolution of 1848 it introduced universal and equal suffrage by the
law of the 8th of April, 1848. The German bourgeoisie at St. Paul's
Church, Frankfort, enacted universal equal suffrage.

The three-class system of elections which we now have, was arbitrarily
imposed, imposed by the government.

Now, why does the public prosecutor shelter the government behind the
backs of the Prussian _bourgeoisie? A tout seigneur tout honneur_![57]

It is the Prussian government, not the propertied classes, that must
for all time and in the eyes of all people bear the responsibility of
this arbitrarily imposed three-class system of elections.

But, whatever may have been the reasons which decided the public
prosecutor to make this very singular substitution of grievances in
his indictment--and we may perhaps presently come to find out what his
reasons were--at any rate, this second ground of the indictment also
fails. There has been no incitement against the propertied classes of
the community; there has been no instigation against those against
whom I am accused of instigating to hatred and contempt.

The third ground on which the indictment is brought, the charge of
having endangered the public peace, fails likewise.

As to this third count:

  Section 100 says: "Any person who endangers the public peace by
  publicly inciting the subjects of the State to hatred or to contempt
  of one another is to be punished."

Now, when the State speaks of the public peace it cannot be taken to
mean peace of mind, for the State is not a pietistic overseer
concerned about the subjects' peace of mind and the general sphere of
spiritual edification. What it looks to is the peace of the streets.
This is made quite plain by the phrase, "public peace."

The like is plain from all principles of law. Subjective states of
mind do not concern the State; it is concerned with overt actions
alone. It has, accordingly, no concern with hatred and contempt or
with instigation thereto in so far as they are a matter of subjective
sensibility only; but such instigation is subject to penalties only in
case it is of such a nature as to lead to overt action. This is very
patently indicated by the legislator in making use of the expression,
"Any person who endangers public peace." The legislator says not any
one who "disturbs," but any one who "endangers." If, in the
contemplation of the law, any incitement whatever to hatred and
contempt were punishable; if, in the contemplation of the law, the
public peace were to be "endangered" through the mere incitement to
such subjective sentiments; then the law would necessarily have said:
any person who disturbs the public peace by inciting. If such had been
the phrasing of the law, then it might perhaps be held that such
disturbance always follows when instigation to hatred and contempt is
made.

"Endanger" means to bring about the possibility of a disturbance, and
by his choice of this term, therefore, the legislator has shown us
that in speaking of the public peace he has not in mind a harmony of
sentiments--which in the case contemplated must already have been
disturbed, not simply endangered--but the peace of the streets. He has
shown that he does not consider that a disturbance of the public peace
necessarily has arisen in case of incitement to subjective sentiments
of hatred and contempt. Consequently not every case of such incitement
is held to be punishable, but only those cases in which the peace of
the streets is in danger of being disturbed. In other words the
penalty follows only when the incitement to hatred and contempt
attains such a pitch as to become dangerous, that is to say, liable to
result in overt unlawful acts. Section 100 is accordingly not to be
taken to say that any person who incites to hatred and contempt
endangers the public peace and is therefore subject to punishment.
Such an interpretation would be wholly fallacious, on juridical as
well as on grammatical grounds. Its meaning is that any person who
puts the public peace in jeopardy through inciting to hatred and
contempt--that is to say in case the incitement is of such a nature
that it necessarily carries danger to the public peace--such a person
is subject to the penalties of this law. In making use of the term
"endanger," therefore, the law defines the crime of incitement to this
effect, that it must be incitement of such a kind that it at least may
lead to overt action--to the endangering of the peace of the
streets--otherwise it is not punishable.

To show how far my action falls short of this third criterion, how
little the alleged instigation is of the kind which might, even
conceivably, lead to tangible action in the way of endangering the
political peace, the peace of the public highways--to this end let me
simply point out that in this address I am occupied with a discussion
of periods of historical development of secular duration, and at the
close I make the explicit statement that in the advance of a
historical dawning one or two decades count but as a single hour in
the revolution of a natural day.

So that we have here to do with an indictment which meets the
requirements of the law at not a single point; whereas in order to an
adequate charge, the several counts should concur, should combine and
bear one another out.

It has frequently happened that indictments have been made in which
some one count has not been well taken. But an indictment of which not
even a single count proves to come within the contemplation of the
law,--such an indictment deserves a special, and in every sense of the
word a peculiar, place on honor in the temple of jurisprudence.

However, _audiatur et altera pars_.[58] Let us take one last look at
the motivation which the indictment offers. In so doing it is possible
that we shall find that in what I have been saying I have, by some
highly ingenious artifice of exposition, succeeded in concealing the
legally offensive features of my action; or on the other hand it may
turn out that the totally nugatory character of this indictment will
by this means be brought out in even more startling fashion than has
yet appeared.

There is one sentence in this indictment which serves as underpinning to
the whole structure. This sentence may, therefore, be expected to be of
selected timber. The preamble of the document says: "The leading ideas
of this address are as follows:--" and then, having given an ostensible
_resumé_ of these ideas, it goes on to the following effect: "By these
expositions, and by the frequently recurring allusions to an imminent
social revolution, the workingmen will manifestly be provoked to hatred
and contempt of the bourgeoisie; that is to say, the unpropertied
classes will be stirred up against the propertied, whereby the public
peace will be endangered, particularly since the address contains a
direct appeal to make the mastery of the working class over the other
classes of society the end of their endeavors, to be pursued with the
most ardent and consuming passion."

This is the only passage in the document that is of the nature of a
legal motivation. Let us look more closely into this sentence. This is
a sentence which might give the asthma to a person with weak lungs,
and it is so constructed as to hide its total lack of substance from
any superficial view under a shimmering verbiage and a confusion of
ideas. If you will look more closely into this passage, Gentlemen, you
will be astonished at the quantity of juristic monstrosities,
absurdities, misstatements and misconstructions of fact which it
contains.

Now, whereby, according to this passage, have I accomplished my
alleged incitement to hatred and contempt? "By these expositions,"
says the document. That is to say by a purely theoretical, purely
objective exposition of historical events; by what the indictment
itself designates as the exposition of my leading ideas; by nothing
else, therefore, than the scientific doctrine simply. It is by this
means that I am alleged to have incited to hatred and contempt. The
indictment may shift and turn as it likes; it cannot escape the avowal
that its accusation runs against nothing else than purely scientific
arguments,--against science and its teaching.

But the passage goes on to add an "and." By these expositions _and_ by
the frequently recurring allusions to an imminent social revolution is
the instigation alleged to have been effected.

What are these allusions to an imminent social revolution? Where are
they to be found? Why does not the public prosecutor cite them? I call
upon him to do so. But he cannot cite them. There is no passage in
this pamphlet which will bear out his insinuations on this point.

It is true, throughout this pamphlet I make frequent use of the words
"revolutionary" and "revolution;" although I do not speak of an
"imminent social revolution," as the public prosecutor alleges. What
I speak of is a social revolution which supervened in February, 1848.
But with this word, "revolution," the public prosecutor hopes to crush
me. For he, taking the word in its narrower legal sense alone, cannot
read this word, "revolution," without conjuring up before his fancy
the brandishing of pitchforks. But such is not the meaning of the word
in its scientific use, and the consistent use of the term in my
pamphlet might have apprised the public prosecutor of the fact that
the term is there employed in its alternative, scientific
signification. So, for instance, I speak of the development of the
territorial principality as a "revolutionary" phenomenon.

And so again, on the other hand, I expressly declare that the peasant
wars, which, assuredly, were sufficiently garnished with violence and
bloodshed,--I declare these wars to have been a movement which was
revolutionary only in the imagination of those who participated in
them, whereas they were in reality not a revolutionary, but a
reactionary movement.

The progress of industry which took place in the sixteenth century, on
the contrary, I repeatedly and constantly characterize as a "really
and veritably revolutionary fact" (page 7), although no sword was
drawn on its account. Likewise I characterize (page 7) the invention
of the spinning jenny in 1775 as a radical and effectual revolution.

Is this an abuse of language, or am I hereby introducing a novel use
of words in making use of the term "revolution" in this sense,--in
that I apply it to peaceful developments and deny it to sanguinary
disturbances!

The elder Schelling says (_Untersuchungen über das Wesen der
menschlichen Freiheit_, Vol. VII, p. 351): "The happy thought of
making freedom the all in all of Philosophy has not only made the
human intellect free as regards its own motives and effected a greater
change in this science in all directions than any earlier revolution,"
etc. The elder Schelling, at least, does not, like the public
prosecutor's fancy, see pitchforks flashing before his eyes at the
sound of the word "revolution." Applying the word, as he does, to the
effects wrought by a philosophical principle, he takes it, as I do, in
a sense which has no relation whatever to physical violence.

What, then, is the scientific meaning of this word "revolution," and
how does revolution differ from reform? Revolution means
transmutation, and a revolution is, accordingly, accomplished
whenever, by whatever means, with or without shock or violence, an
entirely new principle is substituted for what is already in effect. A
reform, on the other hand, is effected in case the existing situation
is maintained in point of principle, but with a more humane, more
consequent or juster working out of this principle. Here, again, it is
not a question of the means. A reform may be effected by means of
insurrection and bloodshed, and a revolution may be carried out in
piping times of peace. The peasant wars were an attempt at compelling
a reform by force of arms. The development of industry was a
full-blown revolution, accomplished in the most peaceable manner; for
in this latter case an entirely new and novel principle was put in the
place of the previously existing state of affairs. Both these ideas
are developed at length and with great pains in the pamphlet under
consideration.

How comes it that the public prosecutor alone has failed to understand
me? Why is all this unintelligible to him alone, when every workingman
understands it?

Now, even suppose that I had spoken of an "imminent social
revolution," as in point of fact I did not; would I, therefore,
necessarily have been talking of pitchforks and bayonets?

Professor Huber is a thoroughly conservative man, a strenuous
royalist, a man who, on the adoption of the constitution of 1850,
voluntarily resigned the professor's chair which he held in the
University of Berlin, because, if I am rightly informed, he had
scruples about subscribing to it; but at the same time he is a man who
is with the deepest affection devoted to the welfare of the working
classes, who has given the most painstaking study to their development
and has written most excellent works upon that subject, particularly
upon the history of industrial corporations or labor organizations.
After having shown that the labor organizations of England, France,
and Germany already have in hand a capital of fifty million thalers,
Professor Huber says in this latest work (_Concordia_, p. 24):

  "Under these circumstances and under the influences herein at work,
  and in view of the historical facts above indicated in outline, it is
  to be hoped that I need enter no disclaimer against Utopian daydreams
  of a universal millenium when I say that not only is a very substantial
  reform of the existing political conditions of the factory population
  practicable in such a measure as to bring about an elevation of their
  entire social and economic situation, but such a reform is to be looked
  for as in the natural course of things the assured outcome of the
  growth of labor organizations."

Here we have a prediction of a thoroughgoing social transmutation
spoken of as the assured outcome of the labor-organization movement
working out its effects simply within the lines of the peaceable and
conventional course of things. But how if I, with all the stronger
reason, had spoken of a prospective social change that might be
expected to result from the combined force of the two factors,
organized labor and universal suffrage?

But how can I be held accountable for the public prosecutor's literary
limitations? for his lack of acquaintance with what is going on all
around us in modern times and what science has already accepted and
made a matter of record? Am I the scientific whipping-boy of the
public prosecutor? If that were the case, the punishment which it
would be for you, Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Court, to mete
out to me would be something stupendous. But all that apart, how can
an allusion to an imminent social revolution, even to a pitchfork
revolution, constitute an instigation to hatred and contempt of the
bourgeoisie? And this is, after all, what the public prosecutor must
be held to allege in the passage cited, and this in fact is what he
does allege. Hatred and contempt can be aroused against any man only
by his own acts and their publicity. But how can anything done by
Peter excite the hatred and contempt of Paul? If any one were to tell
us: "The workingmen are going to get up a social revolution," how
could that remark arouse hatred and contempt of the bourgeoisie? The
passage in question, then, shows itself to have been one that makes no
sense, either in point of grammar or in point of logic. It is not only
untrue with a threefold untruth, but it is contradictory and
meaningless. At least it is quite unintelligible to me.

I have as great difficulty in understanding the public prosecutor's
language as he has in understanding mine. The Greeks were in the habit
of calling any one _barbaros_ (a barbarian) who did not understand the
current speech. So the public prosecutor and I are both barbarians,
the one to the other.

But this passage in the indictment which I have been analyzing brings
up a third point at which I am alleged to have been guilty of inciting
to hatred and contempt of the bourgeoisie. This is introduced with the
word "particularly." The exposition and the allusions above spoken of
are alleged to have incited to hatred and contempt, "particularly
because the address contains a direct appeal to make the mastery of
the working classes over the other classes of society the end of their
endeavors, to be pursued with the most ardent and consuming passion."
Suppose that such were the case; an exhortation addressed to a given
class of society to pursue the vain ambition of a mastery over the
other classes would be worthy of all reprobation, but it would still
be legally permissible unless it urged to criminal acts. Every class
in society is at liberty to strive for the control of the State, so
long as it does not seek to realize its end by unlawful means. No
political purpose is punishable, the means employed alone are. Now,
the character of this prosecution, as a prosecution directed against a
political bias, appears plainly and should be manifest to every one in
every line of the indictment, in that it constantly charges incitement
to the seeking of certain ends; it never attempts to show that
criminal means have been employed, or that I have, in my address,
urged the employment of such means. But even if I had been guilty of
urging the working classes to resort to criminal means for gaining
control over the other classes of society, then I could only have been
indicted under Article 61,[59] or some other article of the criminal
code, but never under Article 100, or as having offended against that
article by an instigation of the workingmen to hatred and contempt;
for such an exhortation addressed to the working classes to make
themselves masters of the other classes of society must have incited
the workingmen to political ambition, but by no means to hatred and
contempt of any third party. This ambition on the part of the
workingmen could, of course, not have been fathered upon the
bourgeoisie; and since responsibility for it could not have been put
upon them, hatred and contempt of them could not have been aroused by
the fact of such an ambition. It therefore appears again that this
passage is quite devoid of grammatical and logical content. But upon
what ground has the public prosecutor read into my address an
exhortation urging to the pursuit of "mastery on the part of the
workingmen over the other classes of society?"

All that I have to say in my pamphlet bearing on this head is that it
is the destiny of the historical epoch beginning with February, 1848,
to install the ethical principle of the working classes as the
dominant principle of society, to make it the guiding principle of the
State; the nature of this principle is expounded in my pamphlet, and I
have already restated it in outline in the introductory part of my
speech.

I repeatedly and explicitly express myself to the same effect. So I
say (page 31) that, as in 1789 the revolution was a revolution of the
third estate, so in this later case it was a revolution of the fourth
estate, "which now seeks to erect its principle into the dominant
principle of society and to permeate all institutions with it." Or
again

(page 32): "Whoever, therefore, appeals to the principle of the
working class as the dominant principle of society;" and, further, on
the same page: "We have now to examine, in three several hearings,
this principle of the working class as the dominant principle of
society." And (page 33): "Perhaps the idea of making the principle of
the lowest class of society the dominant principle of the State and of
society may seem to be a dangerous idea." I, then, proceed to develop,
from page 39 onward, the difference between the ethical and political
principle of the bourgeoisie and the ethical and political principle
of the working class, and conclude on page 42 with the words: "This,
then, is it, Gentlemen, that is to be characterized as the political
principle of the working class," etc.

And because I present an exalted ethical principle, the noblest
ethical principle which my intelligence is capable of grasping, the
noblest ethical principle yet achieved by political philosophy,
because I proclaim this as destined to become the guiding principle of
the present period of history; because of this and because I bring
evidence to show that this principle, as being the expression of the
natural instinct due to the economic situation of the working classes,
is properly to be designated as the principle of the working
classes,--this is what the public prosecutor has construed into an
atrocious crime, and has accused me of urging the working classes to
aim at making their own class the masters of the other classes of
society.

The public prosecutor appears to believe that I aspire to see the
propertied classes reduced to servitude under the working classes,
that I would invert history and make the landed gentry and the
manufacturers the servants of the workingmen.

But however widely we may differ in the use of language, however much
we may mutually be barbarians to one another, could such a
misapprehension, or anything approaching it, be at all possible?

I develop (page 32) my view, explicitly and in detail, to the effect
that this is precisely the characteristic mark of the fourth estate,
that its principle contains no ground of discrimination, whether in
point of fact or in point of law, such as could be erected into a
domineering prerogative and applied to reconstruct the institutions of
society to that end. The words I use are as follows (page 32):
"Laborers we all are, in so far as we are willing to make ourselves
useful to human society in any way whatever. This fourth estate, in
the recesses of whose heart there lies no germ of a new and further
development of privilege, is therefore a term coincident with the
human race. Its concerns are, therefore, in truth the concerns of
mankind as a whole; its freedom is the freedom of mankind itself; its
sovereignty is the sovereignty of all men." And I thereupon go on to
say: "Therefore, whoever appeals to the principle of the working class
as the dominant principle of society, in the sense in which I have
presented this idea,--his cry is not a cry designed to divide the
classes of society," etc. And while I, with all my heart and soul, am
making an appeal for the termination of all class rule and all class
antagonism, the public prosecutor charges me with inciting the
laborers to establish class rule over the propertied classes. I ask
again: How is such an astonishing misunderstanding to be explained?
Permit me once again, to quote the father against the son:

  "The medium," says Schelling (Vol. I, p. 243, _Abhandlungen zur
  Erläuterung des Idealismus der Wissenschaftslehre_)--"The medium
  whereby intellects understand one another is not the circumambient
  atmosphere, but the joint and common freedom whose movements penetrate
  to the innermost recesses of the soul. A human spirit not consciously
  replete with freedom is excluded from all spiritual communion, not only
  with others but even with himself. No wonder, therefore, that he
  remains incomprehensible to himself as well as to others, and wearies
  himself in his pitiable solitude with empty words which stir no friendly
  response whether in his own or in another's breast. To be unintelligible
  to such an unfortunate is a credit and an honor before God and man."

So says Schelling, the father.

Gentlemen, I have now reached the close of my argument. It were
bootless to ask whether this charge could possibly have any weight
with you, Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Court. But there was
probably another design at the root of the prosecution. The political
struggle between the bourgeoisie and the government has lately shown
some slight signs of life. It has, not improbably, been thought that
under these circumstances a prosecution for incitement of the
unpropertied classes to hatred and contempt of the propertied classes
would create an effective diversion; it was probably hoped that even
if such an accusation were dismissed by you, still--you remember the
ancient adage: _calumniare audacter, semper aliquit haeret_[60]--it
would serve as a wet towel to bind about the slightly-inflamed
countenance of our bourgeoisie,--and so, with this in view, Gentlemen,
I was selected as the scapegoat to be driven out into the wilderness.
But even this design, Gentlemen, will fail.

It will fail shamefully through the mere reading of my pamphlet, which
I most particularly commend to the bourgeoisie. It will fail before
the force of my own voice; and precisely with this in view I felt
called on to go so extensively into the facts of the case in my
defense. We are all, bourgeoisie and laborers, members of one people,
and we stand firmly together against our oppressors.

Let me now close. Upon a man who, as I have presented the matter to
you, has devoted his life under the motto, "Science and the
Workingmen," even a sentence which may meet him on the way will make
no other impression beyond that made upon a chemist by the breaking of
a retort used by him in his scientific experiments. With a momentary
knitting of the brow and a reflection on the physical properties of
matter, as soon as the accident is remedied he goes on with his
experiments and his investigation as before.

But I appeal to you that for the sake of the nation and its honor, for
the sake of science and its dignity, for the sake of the country and
its liberty under the law, for the sake of your own memory as history
shall preserve it, Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Court, acquit
me.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 49: The criteria which are here appealed to as working the
differences of spiritual constitution between the so-called Germanic
peoples and the peoples of antiquity are today questioned at more than
one point. And quite legitimately so. Considered as peoples simply,
the Greeks or Romans were scarcely less capable of development than
the Germanic peoples. That their States, their political
organizations, collapsed because of the decay of certain institutional
arrangements peculiar to the social life of the times, that is a
fortune in which the states of antiquity quite impartially have shared
with the various States of the Germanic world. Political structures in
general are capable of but a moderate degree of development. If the
development proceeds beyond this critical point the result, sooner or
later, is a historical cataclysm, whereby the old State is supplanted
by a new form of social organization resting on a new foundation. As
elements in this new foundation there may be comprised new religious
or new ethical notions, but, in a general way, it is to be said that,
except in the theocratic States, the rôle played by religion is only
of secondary importance even in antiquity.

Socrates was not the first nor the only one in Greece who had taught
"new gods." That he in particular was called on to drink the hemlock
was due to reasons of State policy, which had but a very slight and
unessential relation to the acts of sacrilege of which he was accused.
It may be added that this Greek promulgator of new gods is among the
German peoples fairly matched by John Huss and thousands of other
victims of religious persecution.

Lassalle's mistake lies in this, that he seeks the motor force of
development in the "spirit" of the nations, instead of looking for an
explanation of their spiritual life in the peculiar circumstances
which condition their development. But, in spite of this, it must be
said that his conclusions as bearing upon the modern situation are for
the most part substantially sound.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 50: According to this doctrine, the motions of the
"Monads"--animistically conceived units of which the entire universe,
organic or inorganic, was held to be constituted--were (by the fiat of
God at the creation of the world) bound in a preordained sequence, in
such a manner that all these motions constitute a comprehensive,
harmonious series. Wherefore, all events whatever that may take place,
take place as the necessary outcome of the constitution of these
monads moving independently of one another.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 51: Permission to teach.]

[Footnote 52: I have fought not without glory.]

[Footnote 53: Don't disturb my circles.]

[Footnote 54: A new and unheard-of-crime.]

[Footnote 55: In case it becomes necessary.]

[Footnote 56: Confusion of one thing with another.]

[Footnote 57: Honor to whom honor belongs!]

[Footnote 58: Hear also the other side.]

[Footnote 59: That is, for high treason.]

[Footnote 60: Calumniate boldly, some of it will always stick.]

       *       *       *       *       *




OPEN LETTER TO THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE (1863)

FOR THE SUMMONING OF A GENERAL GERMAN WORKINGMEN'S CONGRESS AT LEIPZIG

BY FERDINAND LASSALLE

TRANSLATED BY E.H. BABBITT, A.B.

Assistant Professor of German, Tufts College


Gentlemen:--You have asked me in your letter to express my opinion,
in any way that seems suitable to me, on the workingmen's movement
and the means which it should use to attain an improvement of the
condition of the working class in political, material, and intellectual
matters--especially on the value of associations for the class of
people who have no property.

I have no hesitation in following your wishes, and I choose the form
which is simplest and most suitable to the nature of the matter--the
form of a public letter of reply to your communication.

Last October in Berlin, at a time when I was absent from here, during
your first preliminary discussion concerning the German Workingmen's
Congress--a discussion which I followed in the newspapers with
interest--two opposing views were brought forward in the meeting.

One was to the effect that you have no concern whatever with political
agitation and that it has no interest for you.

The other, in distinction from this, was that you were to consider
yourselves an appendix to the Prussian Progressive party, and to
furnish a sort of characterless chorus or sounding-board for it.

If I had attended that meeting, I should have expressed myself against
both views. It is utterly narrow-minded to believe that political
agitation and political progress do not concern the workingman. On the
contrary, the workingman can expect the realization of his legitimate
ambitions only from political liberty.

Even the question to what extent you are allowed to meet, discuss your
interests, form general and local unions for their consideration,
etc., is a question which depends upon the political situation and
upon political legislation, and therefore it is not worth the trouble
even to refute such a narrow view by further consideration.

No less false and misleading was the other view which was placed
before you, namely, to consider yourselves politically a mere annex of
the Progressive party.

It would certainly be unjust not to recognize that the Progressive
party, in its struggle with the Prussian Government, performed at that
time a certain service, though a moderate one, in behalf of political
liberty, by its insistence upon the right of granting appropriations
and its opposition to the reorganization of the army in Prussia.

Nevertheless the realization of that suggestion is completely out of
the question, for the following reasons:

In the first place, such a position was in no way fitting for a
powerful independent party with much more important political
purposes, such as the German Workingmen's party should be, with
reference to a party which, like the Prussian Progressive party, has
set up as its standard, in the matter of principle, only the
maintenance of the Prussian constitution, and, as the basis of its
activity, only the prevention of the one-sided organization of the
army--which is not even attempted in other German countries; or the
insistence upon the right of granting appropriations--which is not
even disputed in other German countries.

In the second place, it was in no way certain that the Prussian
Progressive party would carry on its conflict with the Prussian
Government with that dignity and energy which alone are appropriate
for the working class, and which alone can count upon its warm
sympathy.

In the third place, it was also not certain that the Prussian
Progressive party, even if it had won a victory over the Prussian
administration, would use this victory in the interest of the whole
people, or merely for the maintenance of the privileged position of
the _bourgeoisie_; in other words, that it would apply this victory
toward the establishment of the universal equal and direct franchise,
which is demanded by democratic principles and by the legitimate
interests of the working class. In the latter case it evidently could
not make the slightest claim to any interest on the part of the German
working class.

That is what I should have said to you at that time with reference to
that suggestion.

Today I can add furthermore that in the meantime it has been shown by
facts--a thing which at that time would not have been very difficult
to foresee--that the Progressive party is completely lacking in the
energy which would have been required to carry to a conclusion, in a
dignified and victorious manner, even such a limited conflict between
itself and the Prussian administration.

And since it continues, in spite of the denial by the Government of
the right of granting appropriations, to meet and to carry on
parliamentary affairs with the ministry, which has been declared by
the party itself criminally liable, it humiliates, by this
contradiction, itself and the people through a lack of force and
dignity without parallel.

Since it continues to meet, to debate, and to arrange parliamentary
affairs with the administration itself--in spite of the violation of
the constitution which it has declared to exist--it is a support to
the administration and aids it in maintaining the appearance of a
constitutional situation.

Instead of declaring the sessions of the Chamber closed until the
administration has declared that it will no longer continue the
expenditures refused by the Chamber, instead of thus placing upon the
administration the unavoidable alternative either of respecting the
constitutional right of the Chamber or of renouncing every appearance
of a constitutional procedure, of ruling openly and without
prevarication as an absolute government, of taking upon itself the
tremendous responsibility of absolutism, and thus of precipitating the
crisis which must necessarily come, in time, as the result of open
absolutism, this party by its own action enables the administration to
unite all the advantages of absolute power with all the advantages of
an apparently constitutional procedure.

And since, instead of forcing the administration into open and
unconcealed absolutism and by that action enlightening the people as
to the non-existence of constitutional procedure, it consents to
continue to play its part in this comedy of mock constitutionalism, it
helps maintain an appearance which, like every system of government
based on appearances, must have a confusing and debasing effect upon
the intelligence of the people.

Such a party has in this way shown that it is, and always will be,
utterly impotent against a determined administration.

Such a party has shown that it is for this very reason entirely
incapable of accomplishing even the slightest genuine development of
the interests of liberty.

Such a party has shown that it has no claim to the sympathies of the
democratic classes of the population, and that it has no realization
and no understanding of the feeling of political honor which must
permeate the working class.

Such a party has, in a word, shown by its action that it is nothing
else than the resurrection of the unsavory Gotha idea, decked out with
a different name.

I can add today also the following facts: Today, as at that time, I
should have been obliged to say to you that a party which compels
itself through its dogma of Prussian leadership to see in the Prussian
administration the chosen Messiah for the German renaissance--while
there is not a single German administration (even including Hesse),
which is more backward than the Prussian in political development,
and while there is hardly a single German government (and
this includes Austria) which is not far ahead of Prussia--for this
reason alone loses all claim to representing the German working class;
for such a party shows by this alone a depth of illusion,
self-conceit, and incompetence drunken with the sound of its own
words, which must dash all hope of expecting from it a real
development of the liberty of the German people.

From what has been said we can now understand definitely what position
the working class must take in political matters and what attitude
toward the Progressive party it must maintain.

The working class must establish, itself as an independent political
party, and must make the universal, equal, and direct franchise the
banner and watchword of this party. Representation of the working
class in the legislative bodies of Germany--nothing else can satisfy
its legitimate interests from a political point of view. To begin a
peaceful and law-abiding agitation for this by all lawful means is and
must be, from a political point of view, the programme of the
workingmen's party.

It is self-evident what attitude this workingmen's party is to take
toward the German Progressive party.

It must feel and organize itself everywhere as an independent party
completely separate from the latter, although the Progressive party is
to be supported on points and questions in which the interest of the
two parties is a common one; it must turn its back decidedly upon the
Progressive party and oppose it whenever it departs from that
interest, and thus force the Progressive party either to develop
progressively and to rise above its own level or to sink deeper and
deeper into the mire of insignificance and weakness in which it
already stands knee deep; these must be the straightforward tactics of
the German workingmen's party with reference to the Progressive party.

So much as to what you must do from a political point of view.

Now for the social question which you raise, a question which rightly
interests you to a still greater extent.

I have read in the papers, not without a sad smile, that part of the
program for your Congress consists in debates concerning freedom of
choosing places of residence and of employment for the workingman.

What, Gentlemen, are you going to debate about the right of choosing
places of residence, the right of settling down anywhere without being
specially taxed!

I can answer you on this point with nothing better than Schiller's
epigram:

   Jahre lang schon bedien' ich mich meiner Nase zum Riechen: Aber
  hab' ich an sie auch ein erweisliches Recht?

  (Year after year I have used the nose God gave me to smell with:
  But can I legally prove any such right to its use?)

And is not the situation the same as to freedom of employment?

All these debates have at least one mistake--they come more than fifty
years too late. Freedom of moving about and freedom of employment are
things which nowadays are decreed in a legislative body in silence,
but no longer debated.

Should the German working class repeat again the spectacle of
assemblies whose enjoyment consists in giving themselves over to long
purposeless speeches and applauding them? The seriousness and the
energy of the German working class will know how to protect it from
such a pitiable spectacle.

But you propose to establish institutions for savings, funds for
retiring pensions, insurance against accidents and sickness? I am
willing to recognize the relative usefulness of these institutions,
although it is a subordinate one and hardly worth notice.

But let us make a complete distinction between two questions which
have absolutely nothing to do with each other.

Is it your object to make the misery of individual workingmen more
endurable; to counteract the effects of thoughtlessness, sickness, old
age, accidents of all kinds, through which by chance or necessity
individual workingmen are forced even below the normal condition of
the working class? For such objects all these institutions are
entirely appropriate means. Only it would not be worth while in that
case to begin a movement for such a purpose throughout all Germany, to
stir up a general agitation in the whole working class of the nation.
You must not bring mountains into labor in order that a ridiculous
mouse appear. This so extremely limited and subordinate purpose can
better be left to local unions and local organizations, which can
always handle it far better.

Or is this your object: To improve the normal condition of the whole
working class and elevate it above its present level? In truth this is
and must be your purpose, but this sharp line of distinction is
necessary, which I have drawn between these two objects, which must
not be confused with each other, in order to show you, better than I
could through a long exposition, how utterly powerless these
institutions are to attain this second object, and therefore how
utterly outside the scope of the present workingmen's movement.

Permit me to adduce the testimony of a single authority--the admission
of a strict conservative, a strict royalist, Professor Huber--a man
who has likewise devoted his studies to the social question and the
development of the workingmen's movement.

I like to call on the testimony of this man (in the course of this
letter I shall do it now and then again) because he is politically
entirely opposed to me, and in regard to economic questions differs
radically from me, and must accordingly be the best person to remove,
through his testimony, the suspicion that the slight advantage which I
attach to those institutions is only the consequence of previously
formed political tendencies; furthermore because Professor Huber,
who stands as far from liberalism as from my political views, has for
this very reason the necessary impartiality to make in the field of
political economy admissions which are in accordance with the truth;
whereas all adherents of the liberal school of political economy are
forced to deceive the workingmen, or, in order to deceive them better,
first to deceive themselves, in order to bring the facts into harmony
with their tendencies.

"Without underestimating," says Professor Huber, "the relative
usefulness of savings banks, accident and sickness insurance, etc., as
far as it really goes, these good things may nevertheless carry great
negative disadvantages with them, in that they stand in the way of
improvement."

And surely never would these negative disadvantages persist and stand
in the way of improvement more than if they took up the attention of
the great German workingmen's movement, or divided its forces.

It was stated in various newspapers, and your letter itself states,
that you have been recommended from almost all sides to take into
consideration the Schulze-Delitzsch organizations--credit associations,
raw material associations, and consumers' associations--for the
improvement of the situation of the working class. Allow me to ask you
for still closer attention.

Schulze-Delitzsch may be considered from three points of view: First,
from the political point of view, he belongs to the Progressive party,
which has already been discussed. Second, he claims to be a political
economist. In this respect--as a theoretical economist--he stands
entirely on the ground of the Liberal school: he shares all its
mistakes, fallacies, and self-deceptions. The addresses which he has
made so far to the Berlin workingmen are a striking proof of
this--misrepresentations of fact and conclusions which in no way
follow from his premises. However, it will not help your purpose, and
it is not my intention, to go into a criticism here of the economic
views and the speeches of Schulze-Delitzsch and to point out these
self-deceptions and fallacies which, in matters of theoretical
economics, he has in common with the whole Liberal school to which he
belongs. I shall be compelled later, in any case, to come back to the
essential content of these doctrines.

But Schulze-Delitzsch has, in the third place, a practical nature,
which is of more importance than his theoretical economic viewpoint.
He is the only member of his party, the Progressive party--and all the
more credit is due him just for this reason--who has done anything for
the people. Through his tireless activity, even though he stands alone
at a most unfavorable time, he has become the father and founder of
the German associations, and so has given an impulse, of the most
far-reaching importance, to the cause of associations in general, a
service for which, however I may be opposed to him in theory, I shake
his hand warmly in spirit as I write this. Truth and justice even
toward an adversary (and for the working class above all it is
befitting to take this deeply to heart)--this is the first duty of
man.

That the question whether associations are to be understood according
to his or my interpretation is under discussion today is in large part
due to him, and that is a real service which cannot be too highly
esteemed.

But the warmth with which I recognize this service must not prevent us
from stating the question with critical clearness: "Are the
Schulze-Delitzsch associations for credit and for raw materials, and
are the consumers' leagues able to accomplish the improvement of the
situation of the working class?"

The answer to this question must be a most decided "no." It will be
easy to show this briefly. As to the credit and raw material
associations, these both agree in that they exist only for those who
are carrying on business on their own account--that is, only for
artisan production. For the working class in the narrower sense--the
hands employed in factory production, who have no business of their
own for which they can use credit and raw materials--neither kind
of association exists. Their help can therefore reach only the artisan
producers.

But, even in this respect, please notice and impress upon your minds
two essential circumstances:

In the first place the inevitable tendency of our industrialism is to
put factory production more and more from day to day in place of
artisan production, and, in consequence, to drive the workmen of a
constantly increasing number of trades into the laboring class proper,
which finds work in the factories. England and France, which are ahead
of us in economic development, show this in a still greater degree
than Germany, which is, however, taking tremendous strides in the same
direction. Your own experience will confirm this sufficiently.

It follows from this that the Schulze-Delitzsch credit and raw
material associations, even if they could help the artisans, could be
of advantage only to a very small number of people, a number which is
constantly decreasing and tends to disappear, through the inevitable
development of our manufacturing system--people who through the
progress of our culture are, in constantly increasing numbers, forced
into the class of workingmen who are not affected by this aid. That
is, nevertheless, only the first conclusion. A second, of still
greater importance, is the following: In competition with factory
production, which is in constantly increasing scope taking the place
of small artisan production, even the artisans who remain in the
latter are in no way certain of being protected by the credit and raw
material associations. I will again cite Professor Huber as a witness
on this point. "Unfortunately," says he, after speaking in praise, as
I have done, of the Schulze-Delitzsch credit and raw material
associations, "unfortunately, however, the assumption that the
competition of production on a small scale with factory production
would be made possible seems by no means sufficiently established."
But, better than any testimony, the easily explained internal reasons
of what I say will convince you.

How far can the credit associations accomplish the procuring of cheap
and good raw materials? It can place the artisan without capital in a
position to compete with the artisan who has sufficient small capital
for his small artisan production. It can, therefore, at most put the
artisan without capital on an equality and in the same situation with
the master workman who has sufficient capital of his own for his
production. But now the fact is just here--even the master workman
with sufficient capital of his own cannot stand the competition of
large capitalists and of factory production, both on account of the
smaller cost of production of all kinds made possible by the factory
system, and on account of the smaller rate of the profit which in
wholesale production is to be reckoned on each single piece, and,
finally, on account of other advantages connected with it. Since, now,
the credit and raw material associations can at most bring the small
producer without capital into the same general position as the one who
has sufficient capital for his small production, and since the latter
cannot stand the competition of the wholesale production of the
factories, this result is still more certain for the small producer
who carries on his business with the help of these associations.

These associations can, therefore, with reference to the artisan, only
prolong the death struggle in which artisan production is destined to
succumb and give place to factory production; can only increase
thereby the agony of this death struggle and hold back in vain the
development of our culture--that is the whole result which they have
with reference to the artisan class, while they do not touch at all
the real laboring class occupied, in constantly increasing numbers, in
factory production.

There remain for consideration the consumers' associations. The effect
of these would reach the whole working class. They are, however,
utterly incapable of accomplishing the improvement of the situation of
the working class. This can be shown by three reasons which
essentially, however, form a single one.

(1) The disadvantage under which the working class labors affects it,
as the economic law which I shall adduce under the second head shows,
as producer, not as consumer. It is therefore an entirely false kind
of aid to try to help the workingman as a consumer instead of helping
him in the place where the shoe really pinches him--as producer.

As consumers, we are, in general, all on the same footing; as before
the law, so before the salesman, all men are equal--provided only they
pay.

Just for this reason it is true that for the working class, in
consequence of its limited ability to pay, a special additional evil
has developed which has nothing to do with the general cancer which is
eating into it--the disadvantage of having to supply needs on the
smallest scale, and so of being exposed to the extortion of the
retailer. Against this the consumers' associations give protection;
but, aside from the facts that you will see under No. 3 as to how long
this help can last and when it must cease, this limited help, which
can for the time being make the sad condition of the workingman a
little more endurable, must by no means be mistaken for a means for
that improvement in the situation of the working class at which the
workingmen are aiming.

(2) The relentless economic law which, under present conditions, fixes
the wages by the law of demand and supply of labor is this: The
average wage always remains at the lowest point which will maintain
existence and propagate the race at the standard of living accepted by
the people. This is the point about which the actual wage always
oscillates like a pendulum, without ever rising above or falling below
it for any length of time. It cannot permanently rise above this
average, for then, through the easier situation of the workingman, an
increase of the working population and therefore of the supply of
hands would ensue, which would bring the wage again to a point below
its former scale.

Neither can the wage fall permanently far below what is necessary to
support life, for then arise emigration, celibacy, and avoidance of
child-bearing, and, finally, a reduction of the number of laborers,
which then diminishes still more the supply of hands, and therefore
brings the wage back to its former position again.

The real average wage, therefore, is fixed by a constant movement
about this point of equilibrium, to which it must constantly return,
sometimes rising a little above it (period of prosperity in some or
all industries), sometimes falling a little below it (period of more
or less general distress and industrial crises).

The limitation of the average wage to the amount necessary to exist
and propagate the race under the accepted standard of living in a
community--that, I repeat, is the inexorable and cruel law which
determines the wage under present conditions.

This law can be denied by no one. I could cite as many authorities for
it as there are great and famous names in economic science, and even
from the Liberal school itself, for it is just the Liberal school of
political economy which has discovered this law and proved it. This
inexorable and cruel law, Gentlemen, you must above all things fix
deeply in your minds and base upon it all your thinking.

In this connection I can give you and the whole working class an
infallible means of escaping once for all the many attempts to deceive
and mislead you. To everyone who talks to you about the improvement of
the situation of the working class, you must first put the question:
Does he acknowledge the existence of this law, or not? If he does not,
you must say to yourself at the start that this man is either trying
to deceive you, or has the most pitiable ignorance in the science of
political economy; for, as I said, there is not a single economist of
the Liberal school worthy of mention who denies it--Adam Smith as well
as Say, Ricardo as well as Malthus, Bastiat as well as John Stuart
Mill, are unanimous in recognizing it. There is an agreement on this
point among all men of science. And if he who talks to you about the
condition of workingmen has recognized this law, then ask further: How
does he expect to abolish this law? And, if he can give no answer to
this, then coolly turn your back upon him. He is an idle prattler, who
is trying to deceive you or himself, or dazzle you with empty talk.

Let us consider for a moment the effect and the nature of this law. It
is stated in other words as follows: From the product of industry
there is first withdrawn and divided among the workingmen the amount
which is required to maintain their existence (wage). The whole
remainder of the product (profit) goes to the employer. It is
therefore a consequence of this inexorable and cruel law that you (and
for this reason in my pamphlet on the working class to which you refer
in your letter I have called you the class of the disinherited) are
forever necessarily excluded from the productiveness which increases
in amount through the progress of civilization, i.e., from the
increased product of industry, from the increased earning power of
your own work! For you there remain forever the bare necessities of
life, for the employer everything produced by labor beyond this
amount.

When, because of this great advance of productive power (yield of
labor), many manufactured products become extremely cheap, it may
happen that through this cheapness you have a certain indirect
advantage from the increased productiveness of labor--but as
consumers, not as producers. This advantage in no way affects,
however, your activity as producers. It does not affect nor change the
portion of the yield which falls to your share; it affects only your
situation as consumer and also improves the situation as consumer of
the employer, and of all men, whether they take part in the work or
not, and in a much more considerable degree than yours. And this
advantage, which affects you merely as human beings and not as
workingmen, again disappears in consequence of this inexorable and
cruel law, which always forces wages in the long run down to the point
of consumption necessary to maintain life.

Now, however, it may happen that if such an increased yield from labor
(and the extreme cheapness of many products caused thereby), comes
about very suddenly; if, moreover, it coincides with a prolonged
period of increased demand for labor, then these products, which have
become disproportionately cheaper, are taken into the body of products
that are regularly considered in a community as necessities of life.

The fact, then, that workingmen and wages are always dancing on the
extreme verge of what suffices, according to the social standard of
each age, for the maintenance of life, sometimes standing a little
above and sometimes a little below this limit--this never changes. But
this extreme limit itself may at different ages have changed through
the coincidence of the above circumstances, and it may therefore
happen that, if you compare different periods with one another, the
situation of the working class in the later century or generation
(seeing that now the minimum of necessities of life demanded by custom
is somewhat increased) has improved somewhat in comparison with the
situation of the working class in the previous century or generation.

I was obliged to make this slight digression, Gentlemen, even if it is
somewhat remote from my essential purpose, because this slight
improvement in the course of centuries and generations is always the
point to which those go back, who, after Bastiat's example, wish to
throw dust in your eyes by declamation that is as easy as it is
meaningless.

Consider exactly my words, Gentlemen. I say it may, for the above
reasons, occur that the minimum of the necessities of life has risen,
and accordingly the situation of the working class when compared with
that of former generations is somewhat improved. Whether this is
really so, whether the whole situation of the working class has
constantly improved in different centuries is a very difficult and
involved problem--a problem for scholars that cannot be treated at all
by those who incessantly fill your ears with statements of how
expensive cotton was in the last century and how much cotton clothing
is used now, and similar commonplaces which anybody may copy from any
reference book.

It is not my purpose to enter upon a consideration of this problem
here. For at this time I must confine myself to giving you not only
what is absolutely accepted, but what is also easy to prove. Let us
assume, then, that such an improvement of the minimum of the
necessities of life, and therefore of the situation of the working
class, goes on constantly in different generations and different
centuries.

But I must show you, Gentlemen, that with these commonplaces the real
question is taken out of your hands and perverted into a totally
different question.

If you speak of the situation of the workingman and its improvement,
you mean your situation compared with that of your fellow
citizens--that is, compared with contemporary standards of living.

And they amuse you with alleged comparisons of your condition with the
condition of workingmen in previous centuries! But what value has the
question for you, and what satisfaction can it give you, if, in case
the minimum of the accepted standard has risen, you are better off
today than the workingmen of eighty, two hundred, three hundred years
ago? No more than the fully proved fact that you are better off today
than Hottentots and cannibals.

Every satisfaction of human needs depends merely on the relation of
the means of satisfaction to the necessities of life demanded by the
standard of living of the time, or, what amounts to the same thing,
upon the surplus of the means over the minimum amount of such
necessities. An increased minimum of the absolute necessities of life
brings also sufferings and deprivations which former times never
knew. What deprivation is it to the Hottentot that he cannot buy soap?
What deprivation is it to the cannibal if he cannot wear a decent
coat? What deprivation was it to the workingman, if before the
discovery of America, he had no tobacco to smoke, or if, before the
invention of printing, he could not get a useful book? All human
suffering and deprivation depend only on the proportion of the means
of satisfaction to the needs and customs of living at a given time.
All human suffering and deprivation, and all human satisfactions,
accordingly every human condition, is, therefore, to be measured only
by comparison with the situation of other men of the same period and
their customary necessities of life. The condition of any class is,
therefore, to be measured only by its relation to the condition of
other classes at the same period.

If it were ever so well established, then, that the standard of the
necessaries of life has risen through different periods, that
satisfactions previously unknown have become daily necessities, and
for this reason deprivations and sufferings not before known have
appeared, your social situation has remained at these different
periods always the same, always this--that you are standing on the
verge of the usual minimum necessities of life, sometimes a little
above it, sometimes a little below. Your social position, therefore,
has remained the same, for this social position is reckoned not by its
relation to the position of the beast in primeval forests, or negroes
in Africa, or of the serf in the Middle Ages, or the workingmen of
eighty years ago, but only by the relation of this position to the
position of your fellowmen--to the position of other classes in the
same time.

And instead of taking account of this, instead of considering how this
position can be improved, and how this cruel law, which constantly
keeps you at the lowest verge of the necessities of life, can be
changed, these people amuse themselves by changing the question under
your nose without your perceiving it, and by entertaining you with
very dubious historical retrospects as to the situation of the working
class in previous periods--retrospects which are all the more
questionable because manufactured products, becoming constantly
cheaper, are far less consumed by the working class than the food
products which are their chief articles of consumption, and are in no
way subject to any similar tendency of constantly increasing
cheapness! These are retrospects, finally, which could have value only
if they undertook investigations from every point of view into the
general position of workingmen at different ages--investigations of
the most difficult nature and to be carried on only with the utmost
circumspection, investigations for which those who talk to you about
them have not even the material at hand, and which they, therefore,
should all the more leave to special scholars.

(3) Let us now come back from this necessary digression to the
question: What influence can the consumers' leagues have upon the
situation of the working class according to the law of wages discussed
under No. 2? The answer will be a very easy one.

As long as only particular groups of workingmen unite in consumers'
leagues, general wages will not be affected thereby, and the
consumers' leagues will accordingly furnish, through lower prices, to
the workingmen who belong to them--as long as this condition
lasts--that minor relief for the oppressed condition discussed and
admitted under No. 1; but as soon as the consumers' leagues begin to
take in more and more the whole working class, then, in consequence of
the above-considered law, the inevitable result will follow that the
wage, because sustenance has become cheaper through the consumers'
leagues, will drop to just that extent.

The consumers' leagues can never, even in the slightest degree, help
the whole working class, and they can furnish to the single groups of
workingmen who compose them the above-considered aid only as long as
the example of these workingmen has not been generally followed.
Every day that the consumers' leagues extend and take in larger
numbers of the working class, even this slight relief is lost more and
more even for the workingmen who belong to them, until it drops to
zero at the time when the consumers' leagues have been joined by the
majority of the whole working class. Can anybody talk seriously of the
working class turning its attention to a means which gives it no aid
whatever as a class, and furnishes its individual members this
inconsequential relief only until the time when the class as such has
completely, or to a large extent, made use of it? If the German
working class is willing to enter upon such a treadmill round, the
time before the real improvement of its position will be long indeed.

I have now analyzed all the Schulze-Delitzsch organizations and shown
that they do not and can not help you.

What then? Can not the principle of free individual associations of
workingmen effect the improvement of the position of the workingmen?

Certainly it can, but only by its application and extension to the
field of factory production. To make the working class their own
employers--that is the means, the only means, by which, as you can see
for yourself, this inexorable and cruel law which determines wages can
be abolished. When the working class is its own employer, the
distinction between wages and profits will disappear, and the total
yield of the industry will take the place, as the reward of labor, of
the bare living wage.

The abolition by this only possible means of that law which under
present conditions assigns to the workingman his wages--that part of
the product which is necessary for bare existence--and the whole
remainder to the employer--this is the only real, non-visionary, just
improvement in the position of the working class.

But how? Look at the railroads, machine shops, ship yards, cotton and
woolen mills, etc., etc., and the millions required for these
establishments; then look into your own empty pockets and ask
yourself where you will ever get the enormous capital necessary for
these establishments, and how therefore you can ever make possible the
carrying on of wholesale production on your own account!

And surely there is no fact more true, more thoroughly established,
than that you would never accomplish this if you were reduced
exclusively and essentially to your own isolated efforts as
individuals alone.

Just for this reason it is the business and the duty of the State to
make it possible for you to take in hand the great cause of the free,
individual association of the working class in such a way as to help
its development, and make it its solemn duty to offer you the means
and the opportunity for this association.

Now, do not allow yourselves to be deceived and misled by the cry of
those who will tell you that any such intervention by the State
destroys social incentive. It is not true that I hinder anybody from
climbing a tower by his own strength if I hand him a ladder or a rope.
It is not true that the State prevents children from educating
themselves by their own powers if it provides them with teachers,
schools and libraries. It is not true that I hinder anybody from
plowing a field by his own strength if I give him a plow. It is not
true that I hinder anyone from defeating a hostile enemy by his own
strength if I put a weapon into his hand for the purpose.

Although it is true that now and then someone may have climbed a tower
without a rope or a ladder; that individuals have acquired an
education without teachers, schools, or public libraries; that the
peasants in the Vendée in the wars of the Revolution now and then
defeated an enemy even without weapons; yet all these exceptions do
not vitiate the rule--they only prove it; and therefore, although it
is true that under certain special conditions single groups of
workingmen in England have been able to improve their condition, to a
certain limited extent, in certain minor branches of wholesale
production, by an association based chiefly upon their own
exertions, nevertheless the law stands that the real improvement of
the situation of the workingman, which he has a just right to demand,
and to demand for the whole working class as such, can be accomplished
only by this aid of the State. No more should you allow yourselves to
be misled and deceived by the cry of those who talk about Socialism or
Communism and try to oppose this demand of yours by such cheap
phrases; but be firmly convinced regarding such people that they are
only trying to deceive you, or else they themselves do not know what
they are talking about. Nothing is further from so-called Socialism
and Communism than this demand according to which, if realized, the
working classes, just as they do today, would maintain their
individual liberty, individual manner of living, and individual
compensation for work, and would stand in no different relation to the
State, except that the necessary capital, or credit, for their
association would be provided for them by it. But that is exactly the
office and the destiny of the State--to make easy and provide means
for the great cultural progress of humanity. This is its ultimate
purpose. For this it exists. It has always served this purpose and
always must.

I will give you a single example among hundreds--the canals, highways,
postoffices, steamboat lines, telegraph lines, banking institutions,
agricultural improvements, the introduction of new branches of
industry, etc., in all of which the intervention of the State was
necessary--a single example, but one which is worth a hundred others,
and one which is especially near at hand. When railroads were to be
built, in all German as well as in all foreign states except in some
few isolated lines, the State had to intervene in one way or
another--chiefly by undertaking to guarantee at least the dividends on
the stock, in many countries going much further than this.

The guarantee of dividends constitutes a one-sided contract of the
rich stockholder with the State--namely, if the new enterprises are
unprofitable, then the loss falls upon the State, and consequently
upon all taxpayers, and, consequently again, especially upon you,
Gentlemen, upon the great class of the propertyless. If, on the other
hand, the new enterprises are profitable, then the profit, the large
dividends, come to us, the rich stockholders, and this is not obviated
by the fact that in many countries--for instance in Prussia--certain
very uncertain advantages for the State in a very distant future are
stipulated, advantages which would result much sooner and much more
abundantly from an association of the working class.

Without this intervention of the State, of which, as I have said, the
guarantee of dividends was the weakest form, we should perhaps have no
railroads on the whole continent today.

The fact is also unquestionable that the State was obliged to take
this step; that the guarantee of dividends was a most pronounced
intervention of the State, that, furthermore, this intervention took
place in favor of the rich and well-to-do class, which also controls
all capital and all credit, and which therefore could dispense with
the intervention of the State far more easily than you; and that this
intervention was called for by the whole capitalist class.

Why then did not a cry arise at that time against the guarantee of
dividends as an inadmissible intervention of the State? Why was it not
then discovered that by this guarantee the social incentive of the
rich managers of those stock companies was threatened? Why was this
guarantee of the State not decried as Socialism and Communism?

But forsooth, this intervention of the State was in the interests of
the rich and well-to-do classes of society, and in that case it is
entirely admissible and always has been! It is only when there is any
question of intervention in favor of the poverty-stricken classes, in
favor of the infinite majority, then it is "pure Socialism and
Communism."

Give this answer, therefore, to those who wish to raise a howl about
the inadmissibility of State intervention and the social
independence endangered by it, and the Socialism and Communism
concealed in a demand which does not give the slightest occasion for
such a howl; and add that since we have, after all, been living in a
state of Socialism and Communism, as those guarantees of dividends on
railroads and all the other above-mentioned examples show, we will
continue right on in that state.

A further consideration is that, however great was the advance in
civilization accomplished by the railroads, it drops to the vanishing
point in contrast with that mighty advance which would be accomplished
by the association of the working class. Of what avail are all the
hoarded wealth and all the fruits of civilization if they exist for
only a few, and if the majority of the human race always remains the
Tantalus who reaches in vain for these fruits! Worse than
Tantalus--for he at least had not produced the fruits for which his
parched lips were condemned to pant in vain! This, the mightiest
advance of culture which history could know, would justify the helpful
intervention of the State if anything would. The State furthermore can
furnish this possibility in the easiest manner through the banking
institutions (a matter into which I cannot go at length here) without
assuming any greater responsibility than it did by the guarantee of
dividends to the railroads.

Finally, Gentlemen, what, after all, is the State? (Quotes statistics
which may be summed up as follows: In 1851 the percentage of the
population of Prussia having more than 1,000 thalers ($750) annual
income for each family of five persons was less than 1/2 of 1 per cent.;
of those having less than 100 thalers ($75) for such a family was 72-1/4
per cent; those having 100 to 200 thalers, 16-1/4 per cent.; and 200 to
400, 7-1/4 per cent.) The two lowest classes form, therefore, 89 per
cent, of the population; and if you take also the 7% per cent, of the
third class, who must still be considered in oppressive poverty, you
have 96-1/4 per cent, of the population in a most needy, unfortunate
situation. The State, therefore, belongs to you, Gentlemen, to the
suffering classes--not to us, the upper classes; for it is you who
compose it. "What is the State?" I ask; and you see now from a few
figures, more vividly than from heavy volumes, the answer. The great
association of the poorer classes--yourselves--that is the State.

And why should not your great association have a helpful and fruitful
effect upon your smaller associated groups? This question you may also
put to those who talk to you about the inadmissibility of State
intervention and about Socialism and Communism in the demand for it.

If, finally, you desire a special instance of the impossibility of
producing an improvement in the condition of the working class in any
other way than by free association through this helpful intervention
of the State, you may look to England, that country which is most
frequently called in evidence to prove the possibility for an
association of individual workingmen established purely and
exclusively through their unassisted powers, to improve the condition
of the whole class--England, which in fact must appear best suited,
for various reasons based on its particular national conditions, to
carry out this experiment, without, nevertheless, demonstrating
thereby a similar possibility for other countries.

And this special instance comes directly from those English
workingmen's associations which up to this time have usually been
referred to as triumphant proof of such an assertion. I speak of the
Pioneers of Rochdale. This coöperative society, organized in 1844,
established in 1858 a spinning and weaving establishment with a
capital of £5,500 sterling. According to the statutes of this
association, the workmen employed in the factory, whether they were
stockholders in the association or not, drew a profit, in addition to
the usual wages, equal to that distributed as dividends to the
stockholders--the arrangement having been made that the annual
dividends should be reckoned and distributed both on wages and on
capital stock. Now the number of stockholders of this factory is one
thousand six hundred, while only five hundred workmen are employed
there. Accordingly, there exists a large number of stockholders who
are not also workmen in the factory; on the other hand, all the
workmen are not at the same time stockholders. In consequence of this
an agitation broke out in 1861 among the workingmen stockholders who
did not work in the factory, and also among those who were both
employees and stockholders, against the workmen who were not
stockholders receiving a share of the profits. On the part of the
workingmen stockholders the principle was laid down simply and frankly
that, according to the usual custom in the whole industrial world, the
claims of labor were satisfied with the wages and that wages were
determined by supply and demand (we have seen above by what law).
"This fact," relates Professor Huber in his report of this affair,
"was considered valid without further question, as the natural
condition, needing no further justification, in opposition to a quite
exceptional, arbitrary innovation, even though it were according to
the statutes." Bravely, but only with very dimly understood emotional
reasons, this proposition for the changing of the statutes was opposed
by the original founders and managers of the association. In fact, a
majority of five-eighths of the workingmen stockholders voted for the
change of the statutes, taking exactly the same position as the
capitalist employers, and the change was defeated for the time being
only because, according to the statutes, a majority of three-fourths
of the votes was required. "But nobody," states Professor Huber, "is
unaware that the matter is not thereby settled; it is more likely that
still further serious internal dissensions are to be looked for by
this association, the outcome of which, perhaps even next year, may
well be a successful repetition of this attempt--all the more so since
the opposition is determined to make its influence felt in the
election of the officials of the association, an election at which the
majority elects, and through which the controlling offices of the
management may soon be in their hands."

Huber reports further in this matter that most of the associations
producing on a factory scale have fallen in at the outset with the
general custom, evidently without any further consideration or any
consciousness of a principle. Only a few have adopted the coöperative
principle in favor of labor, and Huber must further admit, although
very unwillingly and with a heavy heart, for he is a partisan of
coöperation depending upon individual workingmen alone: "There is no
doubt that this question will very soon come to discussion and
decision in all the producing associations where the opposition of
capital and labor exists, and that the competition of the industrial
macrocosm (i.e., the world's industry as a whole) is reproduced in the
coöperative microcosm (the individual world represented by the
workingmen's associations)."

You see, Gentlemen, if you reflect about these facts that great
questions can be solved only in a large way, never in a small way. As
long as the universal wage is determined by the above-considered law,
the small associations will not be able to escape the prevailing
influence of it; and what does the working class as a whole gain, or
the workingman as such, whether he works for workingmen employers or
for capitalist employers? Nothing! You have only scattered the
employers to whose profit the result of your labor falls. But labor
and the working class are not set free. What does it gain by this! It
gains only depravation, only corruption, which now takes hold of it
and sets workingman as an exploiting employer against workingman. The
employers have changed in person; but labor, the only source of
production, remains, as before, dependent upon the so-called
wage--that is, the maintenance of existence. Under the influence of
this law the perversion of conceptions is so great that, in our
instance, even those workingmen stockholders not employed in the
factory, instead of recognizing that they owe their dividends to the
labor of the workmen who are employed, and accordingly that it is
they who draw the profit from the labor of the latter, will, in
defiance of this, not allow the latter even a share in the product of
their own work, not even a share of what labor has a just claim to.
Workingmen with workingmen's means and employers' hearts--that is the
repulsive caricature into which those workingmen have been changed.

And now finally one more clear and decisive proof based on these
facts. You have seen that in that factory of the Pioneers five hundred
workmen were employed and sixteen hundred workingmen held the stock.
This much must also be clear to you--that, unless we are willing to
imagine the workmen as rich people (in which case all questions are
solved--in imagination), the capital necessary for the establishment
of a factory can never be raised from the pockets of the workmen
employed in it. They will be obliged to take in a much greater number
of other workingmen stockholders, who are not employed in their
factory. In this respect the proportion in the case of that factory of
the Pioneers--sixteen hundred stockholders to five hundred workingmen
in the factory (say a proportion of only about three to one)--may be
called astonishingly favorable and unusual--as small as is in any way
possible, and to be accounted for partly by the especially fortunate
situation of the Pioneers, who represent a great exception in the
working class, partly by the fact that this branch of manufacturing is
far from being one of those which require the heaviest capitalization,
and partly because this factory is not large enough to count among the
really large enterprises, for in these the proportion, even in this
branch of industry, would be a very different one. And, finally, it
may be added that through the development of industrialism itself, and
through the progress of civilization, this proportion must increase
daily. For the progress of civilization consists in the very fact that
from day to day more natural mechanical power--more machinery--takes
the place of human labor, and that accordingly the proportion of the
amount of invested capital to the amount of human labor becomes
larger; so then, if in that factory of the Pioneers sixteen hundred
stockholders were necessary to raise the capital to employ five
hundred workmen, a proportion of one to three, the proportion among
other workmen in other branches and in larger establishments--and also
in consideration of the daily advance of civilization--will be one to
four, one to five, six, eight, ten, twenty, etc. However, let us keep
this proportion of one to three. To establish a factory in which five
hundred workmen find employment, I need sixteen hundred workingmen
stockholders in order to have the necessary capital. Very well: as
long as I try to establish one, two, three, etc., factories, there is
no difficulty in theory (always in theory, Gentlemen--in imagination),
I call to aid (always in theory) the three, four, etc., times the
number of workingmen stockholders. But if I extend this association to
the whole working class--and their cause, not that of individuals who
wish to improve their position, is in question here--if in course of
time I wish to establish factories enough to occupy the whole working
class, where shall I get the three, five, ten, twenty-fold number of
the whole working class who, as workingmen stockholders, must stand
behind the workmen occupied in the factories in order to establish
these factories?

You see then that it is a mathematical impossibility to free the
working class in this way--by the exertions of its members as merely
single individuals; that only very confused, uncritical imaginations
can lend themselves to these illusions, and that the only way to this
end, the only way for the abolition of that cruel law of wages to
which the working class is bound as to a martyr's stake, is the
encouragement and development of free, individual, coöperative
associations of workingmen through the helping hand of the State. The
movement for workingmen's associations founded upon the purely
atomistic, isolated power of individual workingmen had only the
value--and this, to be sure, is an enormous one--of showing
definitely the practical way in which this liberation can take place,
of giving brilliant, practical proofs for overcoming all real or
assumed doubt of its practical feasibility, and, in just that way, of
making it the urgent duty of the State to lend its supporting hand to
those highest cultural interests of humanity. At the same time I have
already proved that the State is essentially nothing else than the
great association of the working class, and that therefore the help
and fostering care through which the State made possible those smaller
associations would be nothing else than the legitimate social
initiative, absolutely natural and lawful, which the working classes
put forth for themselves as a great association, for their members as
single individuals. Once more then: free individual association of the
workingmen, but such association made possible by the supporting and
fostering hand of the State--that is the workingmen's only way out of
the wilderness.

But how shall the State be enabled to make this intervention? The
answer must be immediately evident to you all: it will be possible
only through universal and direct suffrage. When the legislative
bodies of Germany are based on universal and direct suffrage, then,
and only then, will you be able to prevail upon the State to undertake
this duty.

Then this demand will be brought forward in the legislative bodies;
then the limits and the forms and the means of this intervention will
be discussed by reason and science; and then--be assured of
this!--those men who understand your situation and are devoted to your
cause, armed with the glittering steel of science, will stand at your
side and protect your interests; then you, the propertyless class of
society, will have only yourselves and your own unwise choices to
blame if the representatives of your class remain in a minority.

The universal and direct franchise is, as now appears, not merely your
political principle--it is your social principle, the fundamental
principle of all social advancement. It is the only means for
improving the material condition of the working class. But how can
they accomplish the introduction of the universal and direct
franchise? For an answer, look to England! The great agitation of the
English people against the corn laws lasted for more than five years,
but then they had to go--abolished by the Tory ministry itself.

Organize yourselves as a general workingmen's union for the purpose
of a lawful and peaceable, but untiring, unceasing agitation for the
introduction of universal and direct suffrage in all German states.
From the moment when this union includes even one hundred thousand
German workingmen, it will be a force with which everybody must
reckon. Send abroad this call into every workshop, every village,
every cottage. Let the city workingmen pass on their higher standard
of judgment and education to the country workers. Debate, discuss,
everywhere, daily, untiringly, incessantly, as was done in that great
English agitation against the corn laws, in peaceable public assemblies
as well as in private meetings, the necessity of the universal and
direct franchise. The more the echo of your voice resounds in the ears
of millions, the more irresistible its force will be.

Establish financial committees, to which every member of the German
workingmen's union must contribute, and to which your plans for
organization can be submitted.

With these contributions establish funds which, in spite of the
smallness of the individual amounts, would form a tremendous financial
power for the purpose of agitation. A weekly contribution of only one
silver groschen each from one hundred thousand members of the union
would produce over one hundred and sixty thousand thalers yearly.
Establish newspapers which would daily bring forward this demand and
prove that it is founded upon social conditions; send out by the same
means pamphlets for the same purpose; employ with the resources of
this union agents to carry this same view into every corner of the
land, to arouse with the same call the heart of every workingman, of
every cotter and plowman; indemnify from the resources of this union
all those workingmen who suffer injury and persecution on account of
their activity in this cause.

Repeat daily, unceasingly, this same call. The more it is repeated,
the more it will spread and the mightier will become its power. The
whole art of practical success consists in concentrating all efforts
at all times upon one point, and that the most important one, looking
neither to the right nor to the left. Look you neither to the right
nor to the left; be deaf to everything which does not mean universal
and direct suffrage, to everything which is not connected with it, or
able to lead to it.

If you have really spread this call, as you can do within a few years,
through the 89 to 96 per cent. of the total population which, as I
have shown you, constitutes the poor and propertyless classes of
society, then your will can no longer be resisted--depend upon that!
Quarrels and feuds may exist about political rights between the
government and the capitalist. You may even be denied political powers
and therefore universal suffrage, because of the luke-warmness with
which political rights are regarded; but universal suffrage, which 89
to 96 per cent. of the population regard as a life question, and
therefore spread with the warmth of life through the whole national
body--depend upon it, Gentlemen, there is no power which can resist
it.

This is the banner which you must raise. This is the standard under
which you will conquer. There is no other for you.







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