Bismarck

At the beginning of June, 1877, I had completed my plans for the Gartenlaube article. These had, in the interval, undergone a considerable change, inasmuch as I now proposed to give reminiscences from my diary during the campaign, and then to add a description of the houses and estates belonging to the Prince. I wrote to Bucher in Berlin respecting the visits I proposed to pay to the latter, and on the 6th of July received from him the following answer: “At the beginning of August the Prince will go to a watering place for about six weeks. Your visit should therefore be arranged for the latter half of the month of September. It would not be advisable to mention the matter now. Report yourself about a week in advance, addressing yourself not to the amanuensis who may happen to be at Varzin, but to the Chief personally.”

Seeing from the newspapers in the early part of October that the Chancellor had returned from Gastein to Varzin, I wrote to him and begged to be informed whether and when my visit would be agreeable. By return of post I received the following, dated Varzin October 11th:—

I acted on these suggestions. Before my departure, however, I requested Bucher to make an appointment for me to see him in Berlin, so that he might explain to me the customs of the house at Varzin, and the proper way of behaving there. He replied on the 14th of October: “Owing to the absence of the Secretary of State I must spend practically the whole day at No. 76. A meeting there would, however, not be desirable. As you may perhaps bring back instructions from Varzin, it will be better that your journey thither should not be known. I will be at the confectioner’s at the corner of the Leipzigerstrasse and Wilhelmstrasse on Monday at 4 o’clock.” He had not arrived, however, when I went to meet him, having been detained by business; but I was able to obtain from him later on the necessary information.

On the 16th of October, shortly before 1 P.M., I started from Berlin, first to Stettin, and from there to the little town of Schlawe, in Further Pomerania, whence at that time one proceeded in the post cart or in a private conveyance, whereas later on a connection was established by railway viâ Stolp.

In the period of nine years from the autumn of 1867 to spring 1877 the Imperial Chancellor spent the greater part of his time at Varzin, from the budding of the leaves until their fall, and sometimes well into the winter. It was, therefore, a celebrated place to which the eyes of the whole nation were directed. It was also to be expected that later on the Prince would seldom, if ever, go there, as Friedrichsruh, his estate in the Sachsenwald, was more convenient as a summer resort.

Varzin may accordingly undergo considerable change, and it therefore seemed to me that it would be well to draw, for future generations, a picture of it as it then appeared.

On the way to Schlawe, which I reached at 10 o’clock at night, there was little to note, as I only proposed to occupy myself with the Chancellor and his immediate surroundings. All that I found worth recording were some pretty anecdotes. They belonged to Bismarck’s Storm and Stress period, myths that had gathered in Pomerania about the Kniephof estate and the “mad squire” who lived there from 1838 on. The young Fräuleins and their mothers and cousins at the neighbouring country seats shuddered, while their fathers and uncles shook their heads and prophesied a horrible end, as they heard of extravagant drinking bouts, of floods of champagne and porter mixed in “war bowls,” of furious rides as if the wild huntsman were tearing past, of the routing up of guests by pistol shots in the middle of the night, and of all kinds of mischief and wantonness perpetrated in audacious mockery of traditional usage. The old manor house of Kniephof, not inappropriately rechristened “Kneiphof” by the boon companions, as well as by the censors of the Junker (it has long ago been replaced by a more elegant structure), could doubtless bear witness that a great many of these stories were true, but also that many of them were largely the product of imaginative neighbours. The misfortunes predicted by staid folks have also remained mere fancy. As the world knows, in spite of all the froth and foam of that period of ferment, the young wine cleared itself in due time.

The old legends of the “wild Junker,” however, still wander up and down the country, and one of them took a seat by me in the railway carriage at a station between Koeslin and Schlawe, in the form of a sturdy peasant. Among various other stories he told me that Bismarck, on one occasion, instead of having a rickety old building at Kniephof removed in the ordinary way, brought it down with cannon shot. A reader of a critical turn will probably inquire where he could have obtained possession of this piece of ordnance. I reply with the counter-question: Whether my honest peasant had not merely heard the sound though he did not see the shot fired? and whether the popular legend which speaks through him had not, in the obscure impulses of its creative activity, confounded the Minister Bismarck with the Junker? We all dwelt with the latter in an old and rickety house known as the “Germanic Confederation,” and that, indeed, as it could not be removed otherwise, he was forced to bring down with the cannon of Königgrätz (Sadowa).

On the 17th of October, at 9.30 A.M., a cold, wet morning, which afterwards cleared up, I continued my journey to Varzin in a hired conveyance. We reached the village in about three hours, and another few hundred yards along the paved road brought us to the centre of a group of buildings which formed the principal courtyard of the Varzin country seat. The postilion wished to stop here. I told him, however, to drive further on to the inn, in order that I might change my clothes and send word of my arrival. I found quartered in this miserable hut some Berlin policemen, who kindly vacated their room for me, and reported my advent. After a while, their chief, a man with a long beard, whom I had met at Versailles, came back and said: “His Serene Highness begs you to come.” I had in the meantime pulled on a dress-coat which I had brought with me, and now drove back to the door of the house, where I was received by two servants, who took me and my travelling bag to a room on the first floor. It was a large and handsome chamber, divided into a sitting and bedroom by a curtain which reached to the ceiling.

In a quarter of an hour I was called to lunch, which was laid in a salon downstairs. Here I met, at first, only Count Herbert, General Erkert, Geheimer-Regierungsrath Tiedemann, and a Miss Jenny Fatio, a Frenchwoman from Orb, in West Switzerland, who had been for years in the Prince’s service, and who now managed the house in the absence of his wife, who was taking the waters at Toelz.

After a few minutes he himself came, having just returned from his morning walk. He wore plain clothes, in which I had not previously seen him—black coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and a white necktie with blue and red spots. He shook hands, and was very friendly. After he had sat down and eaten a few mouthfuls he observed: “As I was walking in the wood and heard your horn, doctor, I thought to myself, that is certainly some Croat or Magyar who wishes to discuss politics with me, and come to my assistance with his advice. I was just on the point of making myself scarce when I remembered that you had written from Leipzig that you were coming. Once a man came to see me who sent word that if I would not receive him he would hang himself. My reply was, that if he must needs do so, I would have the newest and strongest rope brought down from the garret for his use. He did not get to see me all the same, and went off again without, so far as I am aware, doing himself any harm.”

While he drank his milk and black coffee he read the letters, reports, and telegrams received that morning, and instructed his son as to the replies, at the same time discussing matters with Tiedemann, who, as I afterwards learned, acted as kind of second amanuensis, principally in administrative affairs. The Prince looked fresh and strong, and seemed also to be in good humour. In reply to my question how Gastein had agreed with him, he said that up to the present it was highly satisfactory, and in particular that he slept better than formerly. “It would have been still better,” he continued, “if a great deal had not happened between Gastein and here. The next time I have to go to Gastein, I shall let the King do what he likes afterwards, and come straight back here, where I have no need to worry myself over preconceived notions that cannot be altered.” As we stood up, observing that I was in evening dress, he smiled and said: “Dress clothes!” and then invited me to accompany him to the new wing that had been added to the house, and in which he had taken up his own residence. After he had shown me those rooms, I asked if he had received the “friction” articles in the Grenzboten, and if he was satisfied with them. He replied: “Yes; only they followed each other too rapidly, and in one of them you allowed it to be seen too clearly in what quarter you had received your information.” I expressed my regret, excusing myself by stating that Dietze’s communication in the Magdeburger Zeitung would have considerably weakened their effect upon the public if I had passed it over in silence.

In the afternoon Erkert started for St. Petersburg. After he had gone the Prince asked me, “Do you ride, doctor?” “I do not fall off, your Serene Highness,” I said, “and in the East I have repeatedly, for a fortnight at a time, spent eight to ten hours daily on horseback; but I am afraid I should not cut too good a figure, and I should not like to make an exhibition of myself before you.” He then gave orders that I should be taken over part of his estate in a carriage. He himself and Count Herbert proceeded on horseback in another direction, the Prince wearing a soft green-grey felt hat with a very broad brim, a grey jacket lined with fur, which made him look stouter than he really is, and a quilted silk vest.

We went to dinner between 5 and 6, and were afterwards joined by the Councillor of Embassy, von Holstein. The Chief was in high good humour and very talkative. He first spoke about Moritz von Blankenburg, whom he described as “my oldest and dearest friend” (I now forget how his name came up), asserting that he had “acted very imprudently in the affair with that shabby Diest.” “I had told him,” he said, “in the course of conversation on the Bodencredit shares, that possibly Bleichröder, who had the administration of my money, might have bought some such securities for me on one occasion. I could not really know, however, as all my surplus income went to Bleichröder, who made all large payments on my behalf, and acted on his own discretion in these matters. There would therefore be nothing wrong in it if he made some money for me without my knowledge in securities of this kind. Blankenburg had related what I had said as a fact, and Diest made use of this in Court. Bleichröder ultimately proved from his books that no such purchase was ever made. That was of course very satisfactory, but in the meantime Blankenburg’s clumsiness had thrown a temporary slur upon my good name, and that led to our falling out.”

This reminded him of an attempt that had been made by one Löwenstein to bribe him after he had been appointed Minister at St. Petersburg and was about to start for his post. The Prince said: “He was an agent who worked at the same time for Buol and Manteuffel, spying, carrying out commissions, &c. He came to me with a letter of introduction from Buol. On my asking what I could do for him, he said he had come to tell me how I could do a good business whereby I might make 20,000 thalers or even more. I replied that I did not speculate, and, moreover, had no money for that purpose. Oh! I did not need any, I could manage it in another way. I said I could not follow him—what was I to do? If I would use my influence in St. Petersburg to bring about good relations between Russia and Austria. I pretended that I wished to consider the proposal, but did not trust him. Löwenstein pointed to his letter of introduction. I considered that insufficient, and wished to have a promise in writing. The Jew, however, was too sharp for that, and said the letter was a sufficient guarantee. I then turned rough, and as he was leaving told him the truth, viz., that I never dreamt of accepting his offer, and threatened to pitch him down the stairs. He thereupon took himself off, but not before he had threatened me with the anger of Austria. His proposal was better appreciated by Manteuffel and Schleinitz, who doubtless may still be receiving subventions from Vienna.”

There was then some question of telegraphing to the Crown Prince, congratulating him on his birthday, the Chief being in favour of doing so “for form’s sake.” He then added, “I purposely omitted to do that in his mother’s case—from a feeling of what is due to my personal honour—(turning to me, who sat at his right) for Augusta’s intrigues against me still continue, and that is one of the reasons why I have no wish to return to Berlin.”

Afterwards, at tea, we were joined by the Prince, who spoke on a variety of subjects, and particularly of his estates and their relatively poor returns. Apart from the mills, Varzin brought him in nothing. It was hardly possible to dispose of the grain, as the railway tariffs for foreign corn were too low. It was just the same with timber, which realised very little, owing to competition, and even the neighbourhood of Hamburg to the Sachsenwald was of little use to him at present. He then spoke about the powder factory which a Würtemberger had established on a piece of ground belonging to him on the banks of the Elbe, describing it and the manner in which it was worked. He said that the Würtemberger paid him an annual rent of 12,000 marks, and that after a certain number of years the factory would become his, the Prince’s, property. The lessee was doing a very good business during the present war, as he was earning 150 per cent.

The time passed in this way up to 11 o’clock, when the Prince, looking at his watch said, “The gentlemen will excuse a sleepy man,” and went off to bed. Count Herbert, Holstein and I remained sitting for some time longer over a glass of grog; and I handed the Count, for his father, Nos. 1 and 2 of the “Reminiscences,” which had in the meantime appeared in the Gartenlaube, after the Chief had seen them in proof, made a few alterations, and struck out about a dozen lines.

On Thursday, the 18th of October, we had bright sunshine in the morning, then rain, and finally, towards 10 o’clock, a heavy fall of snow, which came down in thick flakes, covering the ground three inches deep in less than half an hour. I thus had an opportunity of seeing Varzin in its winter dress.

When the snow had stopped I inspected the exterior of the house and the buildings annexed to it, taking a walk round the whole premises.

Internally as well as externally, there is no pretension, no love of luxury about the residence of the Chancellor and his family, though it is at the same time pleasant and comfortable throughout. It is the house of a prosperous country gentleman, rather than the château of a Prince. The floors, it is true, are almost all inlaid, but the ceilings of the smaller rooms are simply whitewashed. There are no luxurious carpets, portières or curtains, or artistic carving, or clocks of great value. Gilt chairs covered with silk, marble tables and consoles are only to be found in the reception-rooms and in the apartment of the Princess. There are very few oil paintings, but on the other hand, there are numerous comfortable niches affording a pleasant prospect from the windows. Nearly all the sitting-rooms are well supplied with cushioned seats, rocking-chairs, divans and sofas, and all have earthenware stoves with chimney-pieces. These are heated on the first approach of even moderately cool weather, as the Prince—like all nervous people—is fond of warmth, which is probably necessary for his health. The autumn here is also considerably colder than in Central Germany.

Having returned to the ground floor, let us first visit the dining-room. This is of medium size. The wall-paper shows a design in brown and dark blue arabesques on a grey-blue ground. The furniture consists of a yellow table over which hangs a lamp with a shade and globe in opalescent glass; a carpet with a design in black and red; a leather armchair, in which the Prince presides at dinner; about a dozen plain yellow cane-bottom chairs; two ancient-looking cupboards in dark oak, and a buffet of the same material. An owl perched on the corner of one cupboard, and another bird of prey that occupies a similar position on the second, watch the guests at the table with their glassy eyes. On the wall opposite the two windows hang a number of framed lithographs of scenes in the North American prairies.

Dinner was served here at 5 to 6 o’clock in the evening, and during my stay at Varzin it usually lasted till after 7, the conversation being for the most part very lively, and sometimes of memorable interest. At the end of the dinner the Prince used to feed his dogs with his own hands, giving them cooked meat from a plate. If I confess that the tall figure in the armchair at the head of the table and the two big dogs on the right and left with their eyes fixed upon his face recalled to my mind pictures which I had seen of the god Odin and his two wolves, I shall possibly incur the censure of severe critics with “masculine souls” and hyper-serious (or hyper-comical) self-conceit, who are accustomed to fling about such polite terms as “flunkeyism” and so forth. Their disapproval will disturb or affect me as little as the chatter of our literary financiers in the less distinguished organs of the daily press about my views of the Chancellor. First plunder, and then abuse—such is their wont. Let them clap their hands or hiss, it will always remain a matter of complete indifference to me!

So far as possible nothing was consumed at table that was not bred, grown or shot on the property. The Prince himself said to me one evening: “Almost everything that is eaten here comes from my estates, including Schönhausen—meat, fowl, game and fish, the vegetables, the artichokes, which of course do not thrive so well here as in the south, the peaches, the walnuts and the hazel nuts. But I must occasionally buy a sheep from the farmers, and my household is not large enough for me to kill an ox. It is only Dietze who can do that, as he employs so many people in his distillery and sugar factory, and feeds them.” It is scarcely necessary to add that the cellar at Varzin is well stocked.

We now continue our stroll through the house. Passing through the folding doors in the wall with the pictures of prairie life we enter the drawing-room, which is about the same size as the dining-room. The wall-paper, which is surrounded by a narrow gold border, shows a flowered design of a conventional pattern, in reddish-brown and gold upon a fawn-coloured ground. The furniture consists of tables with marble tops and gilt legs, cushioned chairs and divans covered in bright red silk, a large mirror in a gold frame, and a marble console. On the latter stands a lamp with a bronze figure of one of the soldiers that stormed the Danish redoubts at Düppel in Schleswig, a present from the King, and two rose-coloured porcelain vases encircled by white serpents. In a corner stands a large vase in blue and gold porcelain, with a half-length picture of the Emperor William, who presented it to the Prince on the occasion of his silver wedding. In another corner there is a terra-cotta statue of the Emperor. On the walls are a few oil paintings, a woodland scene from the Varzin district, a view of Gastein, two types of female beauty, an incident of the battle of Mars la Tour, and near it a full-length figure of a soldier of the last century, in a yellowish-white uniform, cuirass, three-cornered hat and jack boots, holding a musket in his hand. If I rightly understood, this is a great grandfather of the Chancellor’s, who met his death at Czaslau as a colonel of dragoons. In the corner of the breakfast- and billiard-room, where the conservatory joins on to the verandah, there is a bronze statue, a copy of Rand’s goddess of victory, also presented by the old Emperor.

I do not know how it came to pass that on seeing this statue I thought less of its beauty than of an instance of the Prince’s graciousness. In the summer of 1871, when the triumphal procession of the German army passed the stand that had been erected in the Königgrätzer Strasse against the wall of the garden attached to the Foreign Office for the officials of the Ministry, the Imperial Chancellor looked up to us as he was riding by, and taking one of three laurel wreaths that were hanging on the pommel of his saddle, threw it across to us.

Another work of art in the room also evoked strange memories. On the wall opposite the windows in a niche between the two stoves, a bright-coloured porcelain vase on a pedestal draped in red attracts the eye. It is about four or five feet high. The front shows a seated female figure, a Germania, perhaps, and the back some trophies in gold. As the Prince himself explained, this figure has a history with a certain symbolic significance. It was presented to the Chancellor in 1870, having been at first intended for Hardenberg, for some reason or through some dispensation of fate to whom it was never given. Looked at more closely, the trophies turned out to be French arms captured in the war of liberation from 1813 to 1815. The female figure at that time represented Borussia.

Near the second stove against the wall by which this historic vase stands, and opposite one end of the billiard table, begins a large recess, three sides of which are occupied by a rather lengthy divan, while opposite to it stands a piano of the Princess, who has the reputation of being an excellent player. During my stay the Chancellor was accustomed to seat himself in a large easy chair when taking his coffee, which was served immediately after dinner, and lighting one of his long student’s pipes, while another was held ready in reserve, he smoked and conversed with his guests, making—as was almost always the case on such occasions—many memorable remarks and statements. I will here reproduce some of these which I noted down before going to bed on the evenings upon which they were made.

On the 18th of October, on my remarking that one of his first services had been to keep the King from attending the Congress of Princes at Frankfurt, the Chancellor’s reply agreed in all important particulars with the statement he made to us during the campaign in France. “Yes,” he said, “that was a difficult task. The Most Gracious insisted on going (to Frankfurt) at any cost; a crowned head, the King of Saxony, had come to him as a messenger, and there was now no help for it. I managed to talk him out of the idea, but with the greatest difficulty, and he was quite nervous about it. I said to Beust, however, ‘If you do not leave us in peace now, I will send to Rastatt for a detachment and post a sentry outside the King’s door, who will let no one in.’”

I then turned the conversation to the portraits in the Chief’s study in Berlin, and he related first how he came into possession of that of King Victor Emmanuel. When the later visited Berlin he brought as a present for him, the Chancellor, a snuff-box set with diamonds, but first made inquiry as to whether he would be prepared to accept it. “Of course I declined,” he continued, “as if it had become known it would have looked like bribery. The snuff-box, with the brilliants, was believed to be worth about fifty thousand francs. He then merely gave me a small picture, writing his name and a few friendly words under it. The King of Bavaria, however, is grateful to me for having saved him from a loss of territory in 1866. Our most gracious master would insist upon having Ansbach and Bayreuth, because they had been in the possession of his ancestors. I said to him that the people there had long since forgotten that, and had grown accustomed to the union with Bavaria. The King wished that each (of the defeated German Princes) should cede a slice of territory—as a punishment. He wanted to play the part of divine justice. I remarked to him that that would not do, it must be left to God, and that no more territory should be taken than was required. He then wanted to take Northern Bohemia—Reichenberg—Karlsbad—or Austrian Silesia from Austria, and, on military grounds, to take Lausitz from Saxony. I said, however, that either the whole country should be kept, or, if that was impossible, none of it. For a long time he was not at all disposed to agree to this. Saxony owes her preservation to the Austrians, who for once behaved in a decent way. The Ultramontane sentiments at Court, and the friendship between the Emperor Francis Joseph and the then Crown Prince Albert doubtless also contributed to this result. But I am not to blame for the terms of peace. At that time I lay dangerously ill at Putbus. Savigny is responsible, having, as an Ultramontane, spared the Ultramontane Dresden Court as much as he possibly could, and in particular allowed them more military independence than was desirable. When I heard roughly what had been agreed I offered him my congratulations, but when I read the paragraphs more closely I withdrew them.”

We then spoke of the Bohemian campaign, and in the course of the conversation the Chief, among other things, recalled the following characteristic episodes: “In the council of war at Nikolsburg, which was held in my room, the others wished to continue the campaign, proceeding right into Hungary. I was, however, against this. The cholera, the Hungarian steppes, the questionable change of front, as well as political and other considerations, gave me pause. But they held to their plan, and it was in vain that I spoke once more against it. I then left them and went into the bedroom, which was only divided from where they sat by a wooden partition, closed the door and threw myself on the bed, where I sobbed aloud from nervous excitement. After a while they became quite silent in the other room, and their plan was subsequently dropped. When it was feared that the French would intervene, Moltke wished to retire to the Elbe, let the Austrians be, and turn upon the French, who were then weak. I convinced him, however, that that would be a mistake, as 100,000 South Germans, with at least 25,000 red-breeches, might prove extremely inconvenient to us.”

The Imperial Chancellor is regarded as a man of iron character, whose self-confidence never fails. Many will think that he must look back upon his deeds and creations with something of the feeling with which God the Father on the seventh day regarded the world He had made. I am not disposed to question that. But he has also softer moments—moments of apparent or real dissatisfaction with his achievements and his fate—a vein of melancholy or, perhaps we should say, pensive sentiment, that finds expression as Weltschmerz. He sometimes recalls Achilles in his tent, sometimes Solomon, exclaiming: “Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.” Many of these expressions also recall the spirit in which Hamlet sadly meditates:—

Perhaps it is some mystic change in his spirit, or possibly it may be an affection of the nerves, arising from bodily conditions such as over-excitement and fatigue.

Thus on Sunday, the 21st of October, while seated in the position I have already described, and after gazing for a while into space, he complained to us that he had had little pleasure or satisfaction from his political life. He had made no one happy thereby, neither himself, nor his family, nor others. We protested, but he continued as follows:—

“There is no doubt, however, that I have caused unhappiness to great numbers. But for me three great wars would not have taken place, eighty thousand men would not have been killed and would not now be mourned by parents, brothers, sisters, and widows.” “And sweethearts,” I added, somewhat prosaically and inconsiderately. “And sweethearts,” he repeated. “I have settled that with God, however. But I have had little if any pleasure from all that I have done, while on the other hand I have had a great deal of worry, anxiety, and trouble,” a theme upon which he then dwelt at some length.

We kept silent, and I was greatly surprised. I afterwards heard from Holstein and Bucher that during the last few years he frequently expressed himself in a similar strain. But I would repeat that such utterances can surely be but symptoms of a temporary and sentimental estimate of his mission and success. He is nevertheless a man of deep feeling, as Fräulein Jenny told me on the morning after this outburst that the “tears ran down his cheeks” when he first spoke of his falling out with Moritz von Blankenburg.... The principal room in the new building is a large hexagonal chamber, used by the Chancellor when he is working by himself. Here also the prevailing characteristic of the arrangements is a refined simplicity. The most prominent object in the room is a huge fireplace, nearly four metres in width and about five in height. It consists of green glazed earthenware, and, according to the Prince, was manufactured at the Friedenthal Pottery Works at Gussmansdorf in Silesia. It is adorned on both sides with fluted columns, over which two small coats of arms have been placed. In the middle of the chimney piece appears the motto: “In trinitate robur”; and over this, in a yellow field, the eagle of the new German Empire; while the whole is surmounted by a white plaster bust of the Emperor William. The cornice upon which it rests is supported upon each side by eagles on laurel branches which form part of the chimney piece itself. The arms and motto have a history of their own. The former are the escutcheons of Alsace and Lorraine. When the Imperial Chancellor was raised to the rank of Prince, the Emperor thought of having these emblems embodied in his new arms. “But,” as the Prince informed me while standing before this chimney piece, “I considered the title of Duke of Lorraine too grand for me. His Majesty then wished to put the eagle in my escutcheon. But that too seemed to me a questionable measure. I feared that the eagle might devour my clover. A way out of the difficulty was then found by giving me supporters with the banners of Alsace and Lorraine.”

The motto, on the other hand, dates from an earlier period, though it is not that of the Bismarcks. When Bismarck was at Frankfurt as Minister to the Diet, the King of Denmark invested him with the Grand Cross of the Danebrog. Now, it is customary to have the names and arms of the holders of this decoration set up in the Cathedral at Copenhagen, with a device which each member is to select for himself. “I then pitched upon this one, ‘In trinitate robur,’”—said the Chancellor “the oak in the trefoil, the old blazon of our family.” “And ‘my trust is in the Triune God’” I suggested. “Quite right, I meant it so,” he added, thus confirming my suggestion in a friendly but serious tone.

Near the fire, in which huge beech logs splutter and blaze, stand a number of high cushioned chairs. In the next wall is a door which opens into the Chancellor’s bedroom. Between this and the window there is a glass case with arms and antiquities, its most noteworthy contents being, to my mind, a collection of prehistoric lance heads and a heavy gold arm ring of spiral form with a green patina, which had been found in a barrow; a rifled pistol with which the Prince, while he was still a Junker, performed all sorts of miracles of marksmanship; a hunting knife which used to accompany him when out bear hunting in Russia, and two large Japanese Daimio swords of the finest steel, with which the Chancellor was invested by the Mikado in the year 1872—invested, inasmuch as these took the place of the decorations bestowed by other potentates upon those whom they desire to honour. Near the swords lay a scimitar in a violet velvet sheath. The Prince took it out and drew it from its cover. It was a genuine Damascus blade. “This was presented to me by the Bey of Tunis,” he said. “It is believed to be a fine old weapon of the time of the Crusades. I have also received an Order from him, but not the right one. He sent two, one for the Emperor and the other for me. The one was set with brilliants as large as hazel nuts, the other was common tinsel. Curiously enough he had not said to whom they should be given. I mentioned it to my gracious master, and asked what he thought. He said that of course the one with the brilliants was for him. It was doubtless worth some 50,000 thalers.”

The large window that now follows has double curtains—white on the outside, and lined with the same flowered chintz with which the furniture in the room is covered. In this bay window stand a walnut writing-table, inlaid with designs in ivory, and a small sofa and easy chair; while on the wall hangs a plan of Varzin and of the estates attached thereto. This is said to be one of the Chief’s favourite haunts. It is easy to believe it, as it offers a pleasant prospect—a pond in the foreground, on one side a corner of the park with two fine trees, an oak and a beech, standing alone, and under them a bench which invites to rest, while in the background a stretch of rising arable land, which in summer delights the eye with waving fields of corn, leads to dark wooded heights beyond.

Opposite the bay window, and with its back turned towards it, there is a large sofa with a number of cushions. Among them is one of light blue velvet, on which the following is embroidered in silver thread: “Exodus xxxiii. 12; Psalms xviii. 28.” Beneath this inscription is a crown, and a monogram formed of the letters O, B and E, with the date “28 July, 1847–1872.” It is a gift presented to the Chancellor on his silver wedding. As I can hardly expect all my gentle readers to have a Bible at hand, I quote the passages referred to: “And Moses said unto the Lord, See, thou sayest unto me, Bring up this people: and thou hast not let me know whom thou wilt send with me. Yet thou hast said, I know thee by name, and thou hast found grace in my sight.” “For thou wilt light my candle: the Lord my God will enlighten my darkness.”

A narrow dark passage leads from the Chancellor’s bedroom, which also opens on to the park, down a few steps on the right to the bathroom. On the same side, through a mysterious little doorway at the head of a narrow winding staircase, the eye loses itself in the darkness of what seems to be a bottomless abyss. Inspired by the spirit of George Louis Hesekiel, I suggested “The dungeon keep?” The Prince smiled as he replied, “Only a postern gate.” And he then explained it enables him to retreat unobserved when he is threatened with tiresome visits. The prospect of such visits suggested the idea of providing an escape when the house was being built. “When unwelcome acquaintances make their appearance,” he said, “I slip out here, and bring myself in safety to a certain bench in the park, where I wait till I am told that the danger is over. We have named this door after Senfft-Pilsach, a loquacious bore; but you must not publish that, as he is still living.” The length of this subterranean passage, the exit from it, and the place of safety to which the pursued makes his escape, must remain untold so long as the Prince spends part of his time at Varzin, as otherwise the object of the contrivance would be frustrated. The particulars now given are intended to warn those who may consider this contrivance to be directed against them.

I now continue the notes of my stay at Varzin....

Friday, October 19th.—At lunch while the Chief was reading his letters and despatches, he mentioned to us among other things that his wife had written to him from Toelz that King Lewis had recently sent her a magnificent bouquet, at least three-quarters of a metre in diameter. We learnt at the same time that the Ruler of all the Bavarias still sends the Chancellor letters, expressing his anxiety about the continued existence of his country by the side of or incorporated with the German Empire. Hermann von Arnim was then mentioned, and the Chief said: “Yes, the Commercial Court at Leipzig (sitting as a Disciplinary Court) has had the case before it for an age without coming to any decision, although he does not deny the authorship (of the insulting pamphlet against the Prince, which he published whilst holding an appointment at the Foreign Office). That, however, is conceivable. Pape (the President of the Court at Leipzig), now that he feels himself safe in harbour, displays his Westphalian Ultramontanism. Formerly he affected great loyalty to the Empire, and was a stout radical.” The Prince’s remarks on the Russian campaign against Turkey were also deserving of notice. On mention being made of the unfavourable turn which things had taken for Russia, he said: “If I were the Emperor Alexander I should now withdraw my troops to the left bank of the Danube and remain there for the winter, at the same time announcing in a manifesto to the Powers that if necessary I should continue the war for seven years, even if I were obliged in the end to carry it on with peasants armed with pitchforks and flails. I could depend upon my Russians. Next spring I should seize a few of the large fortifications on the Danube and then gradually push forward.”

In the evening the Prince had four other guests in addition to Holstein and myself, Tiedemann having departed in the meantime. These were Regierungspräsident von Auerswald, a landed proprietor, a high Post Office official from Köslin, and the Post and Telegraph clerk from Wussow. Among other things we drank some Rhine wine of the year 1811, which came from Borchard’s in Berlin. In conversation with the Köslin gentlemen the Chief spoke chiefly of a redistribution of districts in Pomerania—a subject which I did not understand, with the result that I failed to remember what was said. He then mentioned that in a short time he would probably make similar arrangements in the Sachsenwald to those which now existed at Varzin, as Friedrichsruh was nearer Berlin and the climate there was milder than that of Further Pomerania, while his private interests and business there were also of more importance. He then again complained of the small returns he received from Varzin. In the course of the subsequent conversation he remarked: “I have a mind to get the King to appoint me Aide-de-Camp General. That would be quite constitutional, and I should exercise more influence in that position than as Minister. How was it under Frederick William IV.? At that time Manteuffel could do nothing against the will of Gerlach, who was Aide-de-Camp General.”

While taking our coffee after the Köslin gentlemen had left, the Chief gave a somewhat different version to that which he related at Ferrières of the cigar incident at Frankfurt. He said: “It was in the Military Commission. At first only Buol smoked. Then one day I pulled a cigar out of my case, and asked him to give me a light. With a look of surprise at my audacity he gave it to me, to the profound astonishment of the other Powers. The incident was reported to the various Courts and also to Berlin. Then followed an inquiry from the late King, who did not smoke himself, and probably did not appreciate the thing. Thereupon the two Great Powers alone smoked for perhaps six months. Then suddenly Bavaria also appeared with a cigar, and after a time Saxony followed suit. Finally, Würtemberg also felt it necessary not to remain behind, but this was obviously compulsory sacrifice to dignity, for he puffed his yellow weed with an air of surly determination, and afterwards laid it down half smoked. It was only Hesse-Darmstadt that abstained altogether, probably not feeling equal to such competition.”

At tea, which was served in the Princess’s room, the Prince suddenly stood up, went to his wife’s writing-table, and began to scribble away on a large sheet of paper. He then came to me, handed me the writing, and said, “There, but take care, it is still wet.” It was the letter of introduction to Schönhausen and Friedrichsruh which I had asked for on the previous afternoon, as I wished to start next morning. I was very pleased, and thanked him. “I find it very difficult to write with a pen,” he said; “but then you wished to have it in my own hand.” “All the more honour for me, your Serene Highness,” I replied. “Now I have the souvenir I desire.” “But why do you wish to leave so soon?” he said. “Stay a little longer. You are not at all in the way, and you should see a little more of Varzin.” I thanked him and said I should be delighted to remain a day or two longer, as I was only too happy to be near him. He said: “But you must allow me sometimes to go out walking or riding alone.”

Saturday, October 20th.—The snow still lies to a considerable depth about the house and grounds, but it is thawing. In the morning I took another turn through the park, going farther and in a different direction. Back to lunch early, and finding only Fräulein Fatio, had a chat with her. She said the Prince was very pleased at my visit. She related part of her own biography, and gave me some particulars of the Princess, who is very simple in her habits, dresses herself, and is a diligent housekeeper, &c. Her mother was greatly opposed to her marriage with Bismarck, and said one day she would rather see her daughter married to a swineherd than to him. She then spoke of the Countess Marie, who, according to her account, was very musical, but did not play as well as her mother. She had also other accomplishments, but was somewhat phlegmatic, and neglected many things, as, for instance, languages. But she could be extremely energetic when she took anything into her head. For example, once when they refused to let her have the carriage in which she was accustomed to drive to the future mother-in-law’s, she immediately jumped into a cab.

After lunch another run through the park as far as the large pond on the edge of the big clearing. After that an excursion with Holstein beyond the clearing and into the beechwood on the Schwarzenberg. The Baron told me that at present the Chief was not on good terms with the King, but that, on the other hand, he was on an excellent footing with the Crown Prince and also with the Princess. It was desirable that this should continue, as the Prince intended to resign on the death of the Emperor. He did not believe the Chancellor’s statement that he would then return as the Leader of the Opposition was meant seriously. If he ever saw one stone after another of the structure he had raised crumbling away he would soon die of grief—quod Deus bene vertat!

On our return we learnt that the Chief had intended to take a drive with us. At dinner we mentioned where we had been, and I praised the park for its great extent and variety. The Prince said: “It is certainly beautiful, and formerly it was even larger than it is now. My predecessor could wander for seven or eight miles through his own forests, mostly deciduous trees. He had those great clearings made and turned into arable land, as it was believed that where beeches had grown the soil would prove good. But the wind dried up the thin layer of mould and blew it away, and I am now replanting it.”

He then spoke of the Chorow farm, which Count Blumenthal had bought “out of the heart of the estate,” and which had now been repurchased by him. “I afterwards let it,” he said, “to the woman who had previously farmed it. She is also one of those by whose death I should benefit, as I am receiving a thousand thalers less rent from her than I could get if she died and I were no longer bound to her, as I have been for fourteen years.”

Of his further remarks during dinner the following are of special interest. We were talking of the result of the war with France, and the Chief said: “When I was made Prince, the King wished to put Alsace and Lorraine into my armorial bearings. I should have preferred Schleswig-Holstein, as that is the diplomatic campaign of which I am most proud.” Holstein asked: “You wished that from the beginning?” “Yes, certainly,” replied the Prince, “immediately after the death of the King of Denmark. But it was difficult. Everything was against me—the Crown Prince and Princess on account of the relationship, the King himself at first and, indeed, for a long time, Austria, the small German States, and the English, who grudged us such an acquisition. It would have been possible to arrange matters with Napoleon,—he thought he could place us under an obligation to him in that way. And finally at home the Liberals were opposed to it, suddenly discovering the legitimacy of princely rights—but that was only their hatred and envy of me—and the Schleswig-Holsteiners themselves would not hear of it either. All these, and I know not who else besides. At that time we had a sitting of the Council of State, at which I made one of the longest speeches of which I ever delivered myself, and said a great deal that to my audience must have seemed unheard of and impossible. I pointed out to the King, for instance, that all his predecessors, with the exception of his late brother, had added to their territories, and asked him whether he wished to follow that brother’s example. To judge from the amazement depicted on their faces they evidently thought I had made too free with the bottle that morning. Costenoble drew up the protocol, and when I looked through it afterwards I found that the passages in which I had expressed myself most clearly and forcibly were omitted. They contained precisely my best arguments. I called his attention to this and protested. Yes, he said, that was so, but he thought I should be glad if he left it out. I replied, ‘Not at all. You must have thought, I suppose, that I had taken a little too much. But I insist upon all that I said appearing exactly as I said it.’”

It is true, the Minister observed, as we were afterwards talking of our adventures in France, that he has no longer a good memory, except for matters of business. (“If I have read anything in a despatch or elsewhere in the course of business, I remember it,” he said, “but in other things I am not sure of myself.”) The foregoing statement, however, agrees in all important particulars with what he told me at Reims on the 11th of September, 1870, about those events.

Including the time spent over our coffee in the billiard-room, this sitting was an exceptionally long one. We sat together for nearly two and a half hours, and the Prince spoke on a great number of interesting topics, especially political movements, events, and personages. He described exhaustively the way in which Manteuffel (the Minister, not the general) tried to make money on the Stock Exchange, utilising his official position for that purpose. “The Embassies had to send him the Bourse quotations or something of that kind, extracts, reports on special securities, which he received from the telegraph office with the despatches earlier than the bankers. He then got his agent—Löwenstein, who tried to bribe me on behalf of Buol—to make use of this information without delay. He also wished to employ me in these manœuvres when I was at Frankfurt, but I took no part in them.” He then repeated his former statement that Manteuffel was bribed by foreign Governments, and asserted the same of Schleinitz, whom he had always regarded with disgust, as an individual who was physically unclean, with dirty linen, a face that was never properly washed, “the grease oozing out of his pores.” Speaking of the corruptibility of mankind, he suspected that there were also some rotten fish of that description on the press. He said: “I have never had any doubt so far as Brass is concerned. He took whatever was offered to him by friend and foe. And doubtless the Kölnische Zeitung was not much better. It was in favour of the Danes because the English were on their side; and Kruse, who was formerly a private tutor at Palmerston’s, was drawing a pension from Broadlands. Now it was in favour of the Turks, because Oppenheim had Turkish securities which he wished to unload on to other people.”

At tea he spoke again of the “conflict” and his conversation with the King at that time, which he had related to me on my last visit to him in Berlin. He now said: “During the ‘conflict’ they thought out a variety of measures which they intended to take against me—the scaffold, or at least the confiscation of my property. I consequently raised as much money as I possibly could upon my estates. I was then called the Prussian Strafford—you remember Parliament condemned him to the block in the Revolution of 1641. The King was also afraid of being beheaded—the women had talked him into it at Baden. He wished to abdicate if he could not find any one who would govern with him. When I went to meet him on the railway he was quite discouraged and depressed. At length he asked me: ‘But what if they were to send us both to the scaffold?’ At first I merely said, ‘What then?’ but I afterwards added, ‘You are thinking of Louis XVI., but I would remind you of Charles I. He died with honour, at all events.’ That produced a very sobering effect upon him. I had touched his conscience as an officer.”

From this incident he came to speak of the behaviour of the King at Ems in presence of the attacks of Benedetti, and said: “I soon noticed that he was beginning to take fright and was ready to pocket another Olmütz. I was at that time in Varzin, and as I drove through Wussow, on the way to Berlin, the Pastor stood outside his house and saluted me as I passed. I described a sabre cut in the air to show that we meant business. But the news in Berlin was by no means good. I accordingly telegraphed to him (the King) that I requested my dismissal from office if he received Benedetti again. No answer came, and I telegraphed once more that if he had now received Benedetti I should regard it as an acceptance of my resignation and return to Varzin. Then came a telegram of two hundred lines (doubtless words) from Abeken. I thereupon invited Moltke and Roon to a dinner of three, and told them how the matter stood. Roon was beside himself, and so was Moltke. I asked if we were quite prepared for such a war. He replied that so far as it was humanly possible to foresee we might hope for victory. I then took the two hundred lines, and, without altering a word of the King’s, reduced them to twenty, which I read over to them. They said it would do in that form. I then had it sent to all our Embassies, with the exception of Paris, of course, and got it inserted in the Berlin papers. And it really did do. The French took it excessively ill.”

Sunday, October 21st.—A beautiful bright day. The snow has disappeared. At lunch the Chief, while reading through despatches and telegrams as usual, said to Holstein: “Write that it would be desirable for the press to let it be understood that it is intended, in case of a French coup d’état, to recommend the Emperor to convoke the Reichstag for the consideration of such eventualities as may then arise.”

Towards 12 o’clock there appeared before the door a carriage for Holstein and myself, and two saddle horses for the Chancellor and his son. We were to make an excursion to the south-eastern part of the estate towards the long chain of hills which I noticed on the horizon as I drove here from Schlawe. We first drove through a beech wood, then through fields and meadows, afterwards through more beeches with some marshy ground, and finally, after crossing old and new fir plantations, we reached a bare height in the neighbourhood of Annenhof, the ranger’s house. From this point it is possible to see the château of Crangen with its four towers and blue lake nestling in the valley beneath: while on turning to the other side one has a view of the entire estate of Varzin. On my saying that this was quite a magnificent little realm, the Prince replied: “Why, yes. If I had bought Varzin merely for riding and driving it would have been a good acquisition; but as it is—potato land!”

It was 4 o’clock when we got back from Annenhof to Varzin. The proofs of No. 3 of the “Reminiscences” had in the meantime been received from Kiel. After a while the Chief called me to his room and explained some of the corrections he had made. Among other things he had struck out some of the opinions he had expressed with regard to Radowitz, and the passage about the six shots and the six cartridges in reserve of which he had spoken in his account of the battle of Gravelotte. “I certainly said that,” he observed, “and the remarks about Radowitz are also quite accurate. But please omit them all the same. His son is now serving under me.”

As I wished to leave next morning I took this opportunity of thanking him for having allowed me to spend some days with him, which had been a source of great happiness to me. He reached me his hand and said: “I hope we have not seen each other for the last time. I have a great regard for honourable men.” “You have placed a great deal of confidence in me,” I replied, “and I beg of you to continue to do so, and to remember me should there be anything to do in the press that ought not to be generally known.” I also added: “Your Serene Highness has imparted to me a great number of important facts. These must all be kept secret for the present, but nevertheless will not be lost for the future. You make history, but do not write any, perhaps not even memoirs.[18] Bucher also seems to have made no notes.” He was silent. Then he spoke of the power of the press, which had done a great deal of harm. “It was the cause of the last three wars,” he said, “the Danish press forced the King and the Government to annex Schleswig; the Austrian and South German press agitated against us; and the French press contributed to the prolongation of the campaign in France.”

I broached another subject. “Your Serene Highness believed once at Versailles that you knew how long you would live. You mentioned various figures, seven and nine, but I cannot now remember the year. I fancy it was seventy-six—the year of your life, I mean.” “Seventy-one,” he replied; “but God alone knows that.”

When dinner was announced he let me go in front of him, and as he walked behind patted me a couple of times on the back, caressingly, evidently in the humour in which he was at Ferrières, when he called me “Büschlein,” his little Busch.

Of what he said this evening at dinner and afterwards over our coffee I have only retained one delightful anecdote. Once upon a time the Junker of Kniephof had a visit from a lieutenant of hussars who was about to call upon an uncle in the neighbourhood. The uncle was particularly punctilious in the matter of etiquette and good manners, and he was next day to give an entertainment that would be attended by a number of guests of similar character and opinions. Overnight Bismarck induced the lieutenant to drink freely, and primed him so well with good liquor (if I remember rightly it was “Kriegsbohle”—war-bowl—composed of champagne and porter) that in the end he had considerably more than he could carry. Next morning Bismarck drove his guest to his uncle’s country-house in a car without springs. The roads were not good, the rain having transformed them into seas of mud, so that the two young gentlemen were badly bespattered when they arrived, while in addition to this the lieutenant was decidedly sea-sick. As they entered the drawing-room, the company of some forty persons (the ladies en grande toilette, the gentlemen in evening dress) regarded them with mixed amazement and disgust. The hussar presently disappeared. Bismarck, however, sat down to table with an air of careless gaiety, in spite of the evident disgust which the good people manifested, and acted as if there were nothing in his appearance that anybody could object to. People wondered at the time how it was he failed to have any idea of the unpleasant impression he had made.

I left Varzin on Monday morning at 11 o’clock, again taking the post to Schlawe, proceeding thence by rail to Berlin and to Schönhausen.

Before I ask the reader to accompany me further, I wish to make a few more remarks on the Varzin estate which I noted down on various occasions from statements made by the Imperial Chancellor. First, a few words as to its history, and then as to the manner in which it is administered and governed by its owner, and as to the life he led there in other respects, in 1877, and shortly before and after that year.

In former times Varzin formed part of a much larger and more valuable group of estates, some of which were originally held by the Zitzewitz family, the greater portion, however, being in the possession of the Counts Podewils, who, up to the year 1805, were large landed proprietors here. Tradition has it that this old family of Pomeranian nobles obtained the nucleus of their possessions through an act of bravery. According to an account given to us by the Chancellor, a Duke of Pomerania was attacked by Saracen pirates during a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. They had boarded his ship, and one of them was on the point of making an end of the Duke, when the faithful Ritter von Podewils rushed from the kitchen, spit in hand, and transfixed the heathen with the weapon in question. He was then told that he might ask a favour, and he begged to be invested with the land surrounding Crangen Castle (about four kilometres from Varzin as the crow flies), in the vicinity of which, at that time, there was a great deal of forest and game. Subsequently this estate was considerably enlarged, per fas et nefas, by the Counts Podewils, who repeatedly held the helm of State, and were consequently powerful and influential. At the commencement of the present century, however, the estate, which had dwindled away again, passed into the possession of Herr von Blumenthal, who, in 1814, received the title of Count. The estate, further reduced in the interval by the sale of Chorow, was purchased from a member of this family by the Imperial Chancellor in the spring of 1867, out of the national grant bestowed upon him by the Prussian Diet for his services in the reorganisation of German affairs.

At that time the property, the area of which had been reduced from over 100,000 acres to something more than a fifth of that extent, included, in addition to Varzin, the estates of Wussow, Pudiger, and Misdow, together with the farm manor of Charlottenthal. Since then the Prince has been at pains to gradually extend it by purchase. In 1868 he acquired the Selitz estate, and in 1874 he bought back Chorow, which had been sold by his predecessor, so that the total extent of his landed property here, at the present time, is some 30,000 acres.

But the Prince has not only added to his little realm, but he has also been an active and circumspect reformer. He always was and still is a capable landlord, displaying in agricultural pursuits the same qualities which have marked his creative work in politics. As his early management of Kniephof showed, in spite of youthful excesses, Bismarck always understood how to make a neglected estate prosper, and his administration of Varzin is a fresh proof. Whoever can do that will in favourable circumstances, that is to say, given the necessary political education, knowledge, and position, generally be found equally capable of restoring the prosperity and dignity of nations.

In what follows, many analogies may possibly be traced between his work as a landowner and his last two campaigns in the Reichstag, as well as earlier indications of his bent without expressly directing attention to them in each instance. Before his time, for example, the beautiful woods were cut down and transformed into bad arable land, which, in spite of all the theory upon which these proceedings were based, yielded no returns or only very poor ones.

The present owner of Varzin, who has been careful to remedy this mistake, has also in other places planted fir trees in light sandy soil, which previously grew nothing but bushes and heather. If Nature be not disposed to assist his work, he compels her to do so, a thing which, by the way, as Imperial Chancellor, he has repeatedly done in other fields, viz., in those of political and economic reform. He forces Nature’s will to bend before his own by skilful strategy and stubborn perseverance. In several places I saw fir plantations in which the young trees were of different heights, nearly three-fourths of the plants having failed in the first year, owing to the sand and wind, while scarcely half of those planted in the second year ever throve. Perseverance, however, and persistent replanting got over the difficulty, and now the third and fourth years’ seedlings gave every promise of as healthy and fine a plantation as any of those in the neighbourhood occupying a more sheltered situation and better soil.

The forest is at present rather a plantation than a game preserve. There has, however, been a considerable improvement in the latter respect also during the decade 1866–77. Formerly deer were very scarce here, indeed had almost disappeared. But the new owner of the Varzin forest, in co-operation with his neighbours on all sides, succeeded in maintaining a close season, and now there is a fair number along the course of the Wipper and the Grabow and on the wooded heights, where a stag is also met with occasionally, as well as wild boar. The herons, large numbers of which formerly decimated the fish in the ponds, have been mostly destroyed or have left a district no longer safe for them. It would appear that efforts to check the devastation caused by the otter have not yet met with the desired success.

The Chancellor has also devoted a great deal of attention to the arable land which he acquired. Whole tracts that hitherto lay fallow have now been cultivated and made tolerably productive. Thanks to the system of drainage he has introduced, marshy ground has been turned into good meadow land; and irrigation has also been provided where it was necessary and possible. Nevertheless, the agricultural returns from the estate remain small compared with its extent, and the surplus left after the indispensable outlay is probably not very considerable. The Prince’s territory with its hills and uplands (rising, in one instance, over 500 feet above the level of the Baltic), with its dells and valleys, its beech groves, forest glades, and clear streams, is, on the whole, more picturesque than profitable.

Up to 1878 it was hardly possible to dispose of such corn as was grown, the railways conveying the crops raised in South Poland and in Hungary with cheaper labour to our markets for less than it costs our farmers to grow their own.

Timber is also very low in price—the Varzin forest consisting of not more than one-quarter beech to three-quarters fir trees. This timber was formerly floated down the Wipper to the Baltic, where it was cut into railway sleepers and shipped to England. This trade, however, did not yield much to the landlord. The same may be said of the glass works at Chomitz and Misdow, which are now closed. They turned out excellent window-glass, but swallowed up huge quantities of wood, so that the profit realised was very small.

The owner of Varzin has found a better use for his timber and at the same time more profitable employment for his water-power in the three paper mills on the Wipper. The railway between Stolp and Rummelsburg, which was in course of construction in 1877, now sends its goods trains through the Varzin district, and it is intended to form a connection between Further Pomerania and Posen. This has, of course, somewhat increased the value of a portion of the agricultural and industrial products of this district. At a not very distant date the paper mills, in connection with which the Prince already draws a considerable rent from his water-power and to which he sells a not inconsiderable proportion of his timber, will, under the contract with the present holder, come into his possession, together with all their appurtenances. It is this rent, I was told, which alone forms the annual surplus income of the whole estate. This, doubtless, means that the other profits, which are indeed comparatively slight, are swallowed up by the cost of improvements, drainage, irrigation, plantations, &c. The present owner, therefore, as a matter of fact, derives probably little or no direct profit from the estate, though he is making it more productive and valuable for his successors.

The village of Varzin lies for the most part to the north and east of the Prince’s residence. It consists merely of a double row of houses along the highway, and, if I rightly understood, there are only five farmers among the inhabitants. The rest of the population consists of “small people,” as they are usually called—tenants of a house and garden, day labourers and village artisans. The policemen, who live in the village inn, are there for the protection of the Prince, and only remain while he is at Varzin. Of course Varzin is connected by telegraph with the capital of the Empire, and there is a Post Office official in the place or in the neighbouring village of Wussow. I was told that recently, in the course of one year, no less than some 6,500 letters and packets, and over 10,000 telegrams passed through this man’s hands, and it should be remembered that, with very few exceptions, these were all received during the five or six months which the Chancellor spent here in that year.

There is no church in the village. Whoever wants to hear the sermon must go to Wussow, which is at a distance of about three-quarters of an hour. Although the Prince, as I have already indicated, is a God-fearing man, whose strength and sense of duty are based on religion, and who regards death as the janua vitæ, he seldom attends divine service—possibly out of consideration for his health.

The Chancellor’s life, during his retirement at Varzin, is very simple. It is devoted largely to recuperating in a good climate, amid green woods and fields, from overwork, Parliamentary speeches, and the strain of notorious and deplorable friction; also to the active pursuit of his favourite occupation of farming, and finally to the enjoyment of Nature, by which he has also felt himself strongly attracted. It is generally known that he has for years past suffered from insomnia. His Gastein cure in the summer of 1877 produced a great improvement in this and other respects. Consequently the Chancellor rose earlier than he had been accustomed to do, and went for a walk about 9 o’clock in the morning, a habit which a little wind and rain did not appear to interrupt. On these occasions he was accompanied by his two Ulmar dogs, Sultel and Floerchen, the former a present from Count Holnstein, Master of the Horse to the King of Bavaria. Shortly after my visit to Varzin, the newspapers reported that some ill-disposed fellow, who remained undiscovered, injured the dog, to which the Prince was very much attached, in such a way that it died soon afterwards. Since then, however, it has been replaced by another of the same breed, only less good-natured, or perhaps one should say, more suspicious. Many of our members of Parliament will have met it (I only speak from hearsay) at the Saturday receptions in the Wilhelmstrasse.

The order of the day at Varzin is somewhat as follows: Between 10 and 11 A.M. the Prince sits down to an English breakfast with his family and any guest who may be staying with him. I have, however, only seen him take milk, one or two cups of black coffee, a little dry toast, and a couple of soft boiled eggs. He takes this opportunity of reading the letters and important communications that reach him by post or wire, respecting which, as a rule, he immediately gives the necessary instructions. Shortly before or after this meal personal affairs are discussed with officials of the estate, farmers and peasants of Varzin, and any workpeople engaged on the premises, important political questions being subsequently considered and disposed of. Between 1 and 2 P.M., if the weather is favourable, he usually takes a drive in an open carriage or a long ride sometimes to inspect a new building or plantation, to see the progress made by the labourers, to watch the fishing in one of the ponds in the wood, or to look in at the paper mills, and frequently also for the mere sake of exercise and fresh air. Visits to or from the neighbours seem to occur very rarely, perhaps because of political differences.

Before his stay at Varzin in the summer and autumn of 1877 the Chancellor found it difficult to ride far, and galloping in particular affected him very much. The Gastein waters brought about an improvement in this respect. In the expedition to Annenhof on Sunday, the two horsemen galloped for a considerable distance both at the beginning and end of the ride. With the exception of a few short breaks they were nearly four hours in the saddle.

Dinner begins between 5 and 6 in the evening, and during my stay at Varzin it usually continued up to 7 o’clock, the conversation being as a rule very bright and sometimes most memorable. When dinner was over the Prince would join his hands together as if he were offering up a short prayer. After dinner nearly an hour is spent in the billiard-room over a cup of coffee. Here the Chancellor, as already mentioned, generally sits by the stove, smokes a couple of pipes of tobacco, and occasionally feeds the fire with some fir cones from the basket, which stands ready at his side. At about 10 o’clock tea is served in the Princess’s boudoir. The Prince himself, however, did not partake of it while I was at Varzin, but took a glass of milk instead. Generally at about half-past 11 every one retires for the night.

The Chancellor has given up shooting for some time past, leaving it to his sons. On the other hand, he still enjoys taking long strolls through his park, which indeed fully deserves his affection. It is as extensive as it is beautiful, full of secrecy, variety and forest music. Stately beeches and oaks, and in some places red-stemmed firs raise their crowns high over the underwood on the hills and the grass and moss of the open glades. All the heights and hollows are connected by winding bridle paths, in addition to the narrower footpaths that pierce the woods. On the edge of that part of the park which adjoins the large clearing made by the Chancellor’s predecessor—with its dark green furrows and its ditches overgrown with heather—is a broad still fish-pond which reflects the tree-tops and the clouds above them, the reeds and the water-lilies. Here and there a bench under a beech tree, adorned with mementoes, initials, &c., invites the wanderer to rest and meditate. The Prince knows every beautiful tree in his park, which he seems to have studied thoroughly. The moon and stars have seen him wandering here, and doubtless during these solitary walks many pregnant ideas have arisen and many a plan ripened which have afterwards borne fruit for us, his people. He unconsciously takes his favourite haunts with him wherever he goes—even during the campaign in France, when they appeared to him in dreams with the glint of the sunshine on the trees. At Varzin he spoke repeatedly of what he had noticed in the park, and could tell many pleasant stories about the rooks in the tree-tops, how they “taught their children to fly,” and how they afterwards “took them to the sea-side in order to give them a diet of worms,” and how, “like people of position, they take a town residence during the winter in the church towers of Stolp and Schlawe.”