Bismarck

The “Reminiscences” in the Gartenlaube were in great part fragments from the first half of the diary which I kept in France in 1870 and 1871. During their preparation I bethought myself that at the audience in which I took leave of the Prince in March 1873 he had said it would be useful and desirable if the whole of the diary were published with the exception of those passages which tact and prudence rendered it advisable to suppress. Therefore when I set about carrying his desire into effect the only question was whether he was still of the same opinion and would assist me in the work by looking through the proofs sheet by sheet, striking out what he considered questionable, correcting and possibly making additions. In order to be certain on this point I proceeded to Berlin in the first week of April 1878, and, giving a short account of my plan, I requested an audience for the purpose of talking over the matter. On the same day, the 6th of April, I received the following letter:—

I accepted this invitation, dined with the family, and afterwards negotiated with the Prince respecting my proposal. He immediately gave his consent, only pointing out with regard to the co-operation which I requested, that if he were to read through and make alterations and occasional additions in the proofs he would be regarded by the public as one of the authors of the book. I overcame his scruples on this head by assuring him that, during his lifetime, no one except the publisher, a friend upon whose discretion I could rely, would know that he had permitted and assisted the publication within the limits laid down—not even the printing office, as I would have two proofs sent me, one for him and one for myself, and would reproduce in my own copy any excisions, corrections, and additions which he might make in his, and only send the former to the printer. On these conditions he also agreed to this part of my request. As the manuscript was so far complete that it could be sent to press, the work was taken in hand in accordance with the terms arranged.

On the 5th of July, 1878, the proofs of the first two sheets were sent by the publisher to the Prince in Berlin, and the subsequent ones to Kissingen, where the Chancellor—who was undergoing a cure—remained till the third week in August; then to Gastein, where he again took the waters up to the 16th of September; afterwards to Varzin, and finally once more to Berlin, where I had once more taken up my residence. The proofs were returned to me with the Chancellor’s corrections, for the most part in a few days after they had been despatched by the publisher, in order that I should reproduce the alterations in the copy intended for the printer. No arrangement having been made for their destruction I considered myself at liberty to retain them as a memento of my intercourse with the Prince, and I still preserve them. In some sheets there were no corrections, in others a few, while considerable excisions were made in a number of them—the portions struck out, however, not exceeding in all more than one-fiftieth of the whole. At the same time it was evident that the Prince had read the whole very carefully, as he had corrected even unimportant printer’s errors. My princely censor had justified some of the larger excisions by marginal explanations, and also in the letters sent through the Imperial Chancellerie with which the proofs were accompanied. These refer for the most part to statements made by the Prince respecting personages still living whom he was anxious not to offend. My princely “collaborator” also made occasional short additions to my text. It is hardly necessary to say that all alterations were conscientiously reproduced by me and included in the work.

So far everything seemed to be in proper order. Up to his return to Varzin the Prince had apparently no objection to my undertaking beyond those to which he gave expression in the excisions and marginal notes, as well as in the accompanying letters already mentioned, written by his secretary, Sachse, and which might be regarded as disposed of by myself and the printing office. Now, however, some further objections must have occurred to him. On the 27th of September I received the following letter:—

Having at that time again taken up my residence in Berlin, I called upon the Prince at his new palace, No. 77 Wilhelmstrasse, on the 4th of October, and had an interview with him in his study looking out upon the garden, which lasted from 4.15 to 5.15 P.M. He received me in a very friendly way, gave me his hand, and, after inviting me to sit down opposite him at the other side of his large writing-table, said:—

“Well, then, you have once more become a Berliner?”

“Yes, Serene Highness; I found Leipzig too dull in the long run, and, besides, I wished to be near you in order to offer you my services as occasion arose.”

He: “And you have broken with the Gartenlaube?”

I: “Keil (the publisher) died six or seven months ago, and the new editors considered many things to be trivial, and wished to have them struck out. I was of a different opinion, however, and, as the gentlemen held to their own view, I took back my manuscript. I shall, however, in future have the Grenzboten entirely at my disposal, or at least the whole political part of it, which, at present, is not what it ought to be. The article in question was that on Varzin, which, it is true, I treated in great detail. But I look on these things with the eyes of the next century, and I therefore find nothing which concerns you trivial and insignificant; and I feel sure that posterity will be of the same opinion.”

He: “But not the present day. That also applies to the book, which has grown too bulky owing to the numerous details, and you will not make any profit on it. Besides, there are passages that could be turned into ridicule, and the comic papers will not fail to take advantage of that opportunity. And I, too, should come in for my share. I do not mind that, however, but you?”

I: “It is also a matter of indifference to me. I have no fear, either of them or of the other critics, if I only know that I have not lost your good will thereby.”

He: “Oh! certainly; but you have given the remarks made by others at my table—what was said over the wine, and should not be made public. You will make yourself many enemies in that way. I have not struck out much, and have left in a great deal that really ought to have gone out. Other things, however, had to go.”

He took up two of the proof-sheets and looked them over. “For instance, that my poor father ate bad oysters. And here, where Lehndorf tells the story about Princess Pless and the Crown Prince. What will Lehndorf think when he sees what he said at my table published by some one?”

I replied that I was not aware he had meant the Princess Pless, and that she had not been named by me.

He: “Yes, but that would be inferred from what preceded. And here again, that I drink freely in order to mitigate the weariness of tiresome company. The Germania and the Socialist papers will seize on that and make me out to be a drunkard. And that story about Rechberg. What would he say? Besides, the affair was quite different to the account you give in the first eight or ten lines. It was not he who had given the provocation, but I, and it was he who first spoke of a challenge.”[19]

The Prince then came to speak of other matters in the sheets before him which he considered unsuitable for publication, as for instance a passage in the second volume, page 262, of which he remarked: “H’m, ‘That is boiling thought to rags—mere flatulence,’ I know I said that, but everybody must recognise that that applies to the King. And Augusta will read the book—carefully—underline it for him, and comment upon it. Of course I know I had a hard time of it with him at Versailles for whole weeks. I wished to retire, and there was nothing to be done with him. Even now I have often a great deal of trouble with him. One writes an important note or despatch, revises it, rewrites it six or even seven times, and then when he comes to see it he adds things that are entirely unsuitable—the very opposite of what one means and wishes to attain—and what is more, it is not even grammatical. Indeed, one might almost say that the Nobiling affair was a piece of good luck—on account of the Congress. If that had not happened I should not have secured anything at the Congress; for he is always in favour of schemes that will not work, and is wilful and opinionated in maintaining them. Others too in his most intimate entourage have to suffer from this aggravating peculiarity of his which he calls conscientiousness. You should see them when they no longer have to deal with him—they look quite changed, just as if they had returned from a holiday. But the Crown Prince is entirely different.”

In reply to my question he then expressed himself favourably respecting the Crown Prince and his Consort. On my leading the conversation on to the Duke of Coburg, the Chief observed: “I have also been obliged to strike out some passages here, as that would cause great offence, seeing that he is the ‘dear uncle.’” He chiefly referred to one or two passages respecting the efforts of his Highness to represent himself as resolute and fearless. In this connection he mentioned the Eckernförde picture, and I related to him the true story of the affair according to Tims’s account. On my observing that the exalted gentleman had no courage whatever he said: “He cannot help that, it’s his nature—but that he should have had himself painted as a hero—a stage hero!”

I inquired how he now stood with the Empress. He replied: “Just as before. She does what she can against me, and she is not always unsuccessful with the Emperor. She will ultimately drive Falk from office. The Court Chaplain? Christianity by all means, but no sectarianism! It just occurs to me,” he went on to say, “that in the Horsitz affair you write that Prince Charles sent Perponcher to offer me a bed. It was not he who did that, but the Duke of Mecklenburg. Such an idea would never occur to the Prince. He hates me and has already caused me plenty of heartburning.”

I then expressed the hope that he would not attribute the passages that had been struck out to any bad will on my part but rather to thoughtlessness, as I had intended the whole work to serve and not to injure him. He replied: “A great deal of it is good and quite satisfactory, as for instance the portion dealing with the Pope and the Catholics. I only wish you had made it fuller. But that perhaps can be done later, when a good many things might be added. But could you not now abbreviate some parts of it?”

I replied in the negative, as thousands of the forty or forty-one pages which we had read through were now printed, and any alteration would occasion great expense. When a second edition was being issued I would beg him to let me know what he wished to add. I could also be of service to him in the Grenzboten, which, it was true, was a small newspaper, but still enjoyed a certain prestige. Besides, we could get its more important articles reproduced in the daily papers, as has been done with success during the previous year. He seemed disposed to consider this suggestion.

On my asking after his health, and whether Kissingen and Gastein had done him good, he replied: “Gastein, yes—but the waters are dangerous. They oblige one to be very careful afterwards, particularly with regard to worry and excitement. Otherwise they make one quite dull and heavy. I have now found that out. I suppose you know about my last illness?”

“Yes, it was another attack of shingles.”

“No, it was something else. The shorthand writers turned against me in connection with my last speech. So long as I was popular that was not the case. They garbled what I said so that there was no sense in it. When murmurs were heard from the Left or Centre they omitted the word ‘Left,’ and when there was applause they forgot to mention it. The whole Bureau acts in the same way. But I have complained to the President. It was that which made me ill. It was like the illness produced by over-smoking, a stuffiness in the head, giddiness, a disposition to vomit, &c.” He then gave a full description of this ailment, as also of the shingles.

I inquired whether he was returning to Varzin or would go to Friedrichsruh, adding “or perhaps to the new Bavarian estate which is mentioned in the newspapers.”

He smiled and said: “Bavarian estate! I have not the least idea of buying one. I lose enough on the one I bought in Lauenburg, where the purchase money eats up the income of the whole property. How can an estate yield anything when the bushel of corn is sold at the present low price?” He explained this point fully, and then continued: “I told them that long ago and tried to find a remedy. It is ruining our entire agriculture.”

I mentioned that I had heard the farmers at Wurzen and farther up in Muldenthal complain of the intolerable competition of the Polish and Hungarian corn, in view of the high wages they have to pay, and that people looked to him for assistance. “Yes,” he said, “there will be no improvement until there is an increase in the railway rates or a duty on corn.”

I then turned the conversation once more on the Grenzboten, remarking that the publisher put it at his disposal unconditionally, and that I should be able to say whatever I liked in it. I should not, however, be in a position to do this before January or the beginning of February. If he would permit, I then proposed to come from time to time and ascertain his wishes.

“That will be a very good arrangement,” he said, “but I do not know whether I shall be back in February. We must first marry our daughter.” I congratulated him. “It is time,” he replied. “She has already had several good offers, but she is an obstinate, capricious creature. You know there was formerly Count Eulenburg, who had absolutely nothing but his salary, and the present one also does not draw more than a thousand thalers a year from his property, which after all is not exactly a large income.” I interjected: “But the Rantzaus were formerly very rich! I believe I read somewhere that they had about seventy estates and houses.” “Formerly,” he replied, “but not now—and moreover he is not the eldest son. But I fancy they can live very well on what they now have and will receive later on.”

As we did not appear to have quite settled about the Grenzboten scheme, I returned to it once more, pointing out that my idea was to report myself and request his instructions on occasions of particular importance, domestic crises, foreign complications, &c. I must draw my information from the fountain head, as, although I was on friendly terms with Bucher, I understood that he had no longer much intercourse with the Prince. “Bucher!” he said, “yes; but it is the same with the others since I have got a representative—and Bülow. Altogether I am, in fact, no longer anything more than a Ziska drum.” I suggested: “But I can come at night, like Nicodemus.” “Certainly come. I shall be very glad. But why like Nicodemus? You can also come in the day time.”

He then repeated that the comic papers would turn the book into ridicule, that the Ultramontanes and Socialists would make capital out of it against him, and that I, too, would make myself many enemies by it. It was a matter of indifference to him, but I ought to be on my guard. I repeated that I was not in the least anxious on the subject, as his opinion was the only thing I cared about. He then stood up, came with me as far as the door of the antechamber, and shook hands with me on parting.

About a fortnight later I read in the papers an account of the death of Bismarck-Bohlen, our comrade during the French campaign. The news was doubly sad. The merry Count had become a melancholy man and had taken his own life. Italian papers gave the following particulars of his last days. In consequence of a distressing complaint he had for the past five years spent the winter in Venice, where he occupied a handsomely furnished flat in the Zattere. This year he had arrived on the 7th of October, accompanied by his valet. He seemed to be utterly prostrate in health, and had not gone out for several days previous to the catastrophe, nor seen any one except his servant and the doctor. The report proceeds as follows: “On the evening of the 15th he retired to his bedroom. As, up to 10 o’clock next morning, he had not rung the bell the servant came to his door, listened, and then knocked. Receiving no answer he opened the door, when he saw his master lying on the bed, covered with blood, and holding a revolver in his hand. The doctor and the German Consul were sent for. The former certified that the Count was dead, and that his death took place under peculiarly ghastly circumstances. The track of blood showed that he had, in his dressing-room, opened the veins of both arms and both legs, at the same time giving himself two gashes in the throat. All this was not sufficient to kill him, and so he had dragged himself, streaming with blood, from the dressing-room into the bedroom, seized a revolver and fired a bullet into his head between the ear and eye.”

The book, Count Bismarck and his People (Graf Bismarck und seine Leute) was published at the beginning of November. It immediately attracted universal attention, and was reviewed in the German, and soon afterwards in the foreign press from the most varied points of view, forming for several weeks a general subject of conversation. All the opinions agreed in one particular, namely, that the author was in a position to tell the truth, and had desired to do so. For the rest, there was a wide divergency of views, both as to the intention and justification of the author in making his revelations, and as to the literary value of his work. A remarkable circumstance was that there seemed to be a certain fixed relation between the favour shown by the critics, and the distance between Berlin and the place where the reviews appeared, these growing more favourable as the distance increased. It was amusing to note that many formed their opinion of the book without having read anything beyond a number of sensational extracts from it; and several papers showed questionable taste in treating it in an unfriendly fashion after having filled column after column with what struck them as its most interesting passages.

The views expressed by most of the large newspapers in Germany were depreciatory, and, with a few exceptions, the smaller journals copied the others in the usual way. The author met with a kindly and appreciative treatment from only a few organs of the press, which also, to a certain extent, recognised the real meaning and object of his work. The Weser Zeitung recommended it as “a collection, a real treasury of impressive and pregnant details.” The Hamburger Correspondent wrote: “The figure of the famous Chancellor rises before our eyes in Busch’s pages with a life-like vigour and colour which surpasses that of all the biographies that have hitherto appeared; while the surroundings and the historical background are drawn with equal skill.” The Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung described the book as being “readable and in a high degree instructive,” and observed: “Notwithstanding the numerous publications on the events of 1870–71 that have already appeared, none of them is equal in interest to the book now before us. It gives not only an insight into the private and, we may say, family life of the then Chancellor of the Confederation and his entourage, but it abounds in passages dealing with political matters, some of which are of great importance.” A critic in the Berliner Boersen Zeitung said: “Every one is talking of Moritz Busch’s collection of episodes and memorable utterances from the life of the Imperial Chancellor.... These will be read throughout the whole world. In itself the book would constitute a literary achievement of first rank, even if its hero were a purely fictitious character, and not the most powerful personality among the great politicians of our century. Readers who have no appreciation for what is characteristic, hold that the experiences and utterances of Prince Bismarck which have been selected by Moritz Busch with great discrimination, include many passages that are trivial and frivolous. Among these they often reckon those strong characteristics which most strikingly reveal the Chancellor’s nature, with its spontaneity, sober-mindedness, and impartiality, and its almost plebeian unpretentiousness and simplicity. Whoever admires the typical featureless hero of the German novelist, a concoction of undiluted magnanimity and sentiment, will turn from the portrait drawn by Moritz Busch with a feeling of embarrassment and repulsion; but those who have educated their taste by a study of the realistic authors will be enchanted with a picture the minutest details of which are vivid and characteristic, even if their views do not agree with those of the Imperial Chancellor.” The Scientific Supplement to the Leipziger Zeitung, which was otherwise by no means well disposed towards me, and had indeed taken a variety of exceptions to the book and to its author, honestly and impartially recognised the true tendency and significance of the work, saying that it contained “records which may prove of the highest value to future historians, indeed a great deal for which it will one day be the only trustworthy source.” “As evidence of its value as a mine of historical materials which is in some respects unique,” the critic then gave a number of well-chosen extracts.

A few other organs of the German daily press expressed themselves in a similar sense. As already mentioned, however, the great majority of the newspapers were more or less decidedly unfavourable. This was partly through a lack of political and general education, then because the critics in question were incapable of appreciating the historical significance of the work and lacked moral seriousness, while obviously it was also due in part to low motives, hatred of the principal subject of the work, wounded vanity, resentment against the author for having published expressions of the Chancellor which referred slightingly to party catchwords and party heroes, gave evidence of little sympathy with the Jews, and—in the opinion of the critics—did less than justice to certain belletristic products of recent decades. Finally, it was evident that envy of the prospective success of the book was also one of the influences at work. The author was indiscreet, and his gift was a mere collection of trivialities, spicy stories, gossip, and scandal. He was tedious, he had the soul of a flunkey, he had neither taste nor literary ability, &c.

Quite comical was the position taken up by the Post, an otherwise sensible, well-meaning, and sometimes well-informed paper. In an article entitled “Indiscreet Books,” which appeared on the 10th of November, it established, “by means of sound logic,” the genesis of the work. Referring to the remarks made by the Prince at Versailles when he ascertained the existence of my diary, the Post (or its contributor, Professor Constantine Rössler?) came to the following conclusions: “Whoever is acquainted with the character of the Chancellor will agree with us that he must have said to himself on that occasion, ‘If this diary be in existence it must be published at the first opportunity.’ That is the method which the Chancellor has followed in the case of diplomatic documents which have come into improper hands. Owing to the difference between the position of the persons concerned, what called for legal compulsion in the one case only required a mere hint in the other. What is the characteristic feature of this method? We believe it lies in the consciousness that there can be nothing more absurd than secrets which have leaked out and which have passed, whether in the shape of documents or as mere matters of memory, into the possession of other men. The seal will be broken sooner or later, with greater or less ease and skill, if the secret be worth the trouble, and it is not in our power to dictate the time of disclosure, which may happen at a very inconvenient moment. Therefore, break the seal, or rather, never attempt to keep secrets that have once reached the outer world in any form.... Prince Bismarck does not and cannot desire that there should be any such secrets respecting himself. This is our explanation of the reason why the present diary has been published, an explanation which is as soundly established as any logical conclusion can be.” This explanation (the author of which seemed to know nothing of secret documents and archives, and to have overlooked the circumstance that the diary had remained unpublished for nearly eight years) did not hold water very long. Two days later it gave place to the following correction: “Our attention is called to the fact that in the efforts made to prevent the publication of these diary entries, Prince Bismarck had no legal remedy to hand. Remonstrance, which was the only course open to him, having failed, the Prince is obliged to count upon the good sense of the reader of these utterances, which have been divorced from their natural setting.” This correction probably came from the Imperial Chancellerie. An idea can be formed of its value from what has been related previously. The circumstance that I let it pass unanswered and did not state the true facts of the case, will perhaps not be regarded as a mere matter of course by all persons, but the Prince knew that it was so considered by me.

Let us now turn to the opinions of the foreign press. As was to be expected, the book did not meet with approval in France, where its hero as well as the author were made the subjects of embittered attacks. But so far as my knowledge goes, it occurred to no one even in France to question the truth of the work. The Mémorial Diplomatique, among others, wrote that “the book is thoroughly imbued with a spirit of uncouth frankness, and the conversations and opinions which it contains are expressed in a form of crude simplicity which does not belong to the domain of the creative imagination.”

The work excited the greatest interest in the English press. The Times wrote a leading article upon it, and then devoted no less than six of its huge columns in small print to extracts from it. It was received with exceptional favour by most of the chief organs of American criticism.

We have seen that the great majority of the German papers expressed an unfavourable opinion on the Bismarck book, and that the action of our press in many other ways was calculated to restrict its circulation. Bismarck’s name, however, was too strong for them. The public practically declared that their verdict was unfounded and did not follow their leading, and for once the newspapers were not the great power which they imagine themselves to be. Two editions, amounting together to seven thousand copies, were exhausted within two months. A third and fourth followed rapidly, and before the end of the first year it was necessary to issue a fifth edition of the novelty which had made so many enemies. There were at this time fourteen thousand copies of the book in circulation, certainly a very considerable success in view of the fact that times were not particularly good and the price of the two volumes by no means moderate. Even then the run continued. A sixth edition appeared after a certain interval, and subsequently a seventh, a popular issue of ten thousand copies in another and cheaper form.

That was not all. In a few months after the first publication of the book in German there were nine translations on the market. That was nine translations in as many months, and an entire circulation at home and abroad of about 50,000 copies. Moreover, the German literary hacks who occupied themselves with Bismarck lived upon fragments of my work and drew their supplies from it for years, frequently without mentioning their authority. As to the domestic circulation of the book, I may mention that about a thousand copies were sold in Berlin, where the Vossische Zeitung, and the National Zeitung had spoken so slightingly of it and warned so strongly against it; and that of all our cities Cologne was the largest purchaser in proportion to its population.

Towards the end of November, 1878, I informed the Chief that if he desired to see any additions made to portions of the book an opportunity would be afforded by the preparation of the third edition which the publisher had in view. I concluded this letter with the words: “If I have left unanswered the gross falsehoods that have been circulated respecting the book and its author by a portion of the German press, and do not intend in future to make any reply, however sharply I may be attacked, I trust I may flatter myself that I am acting in accordance with your wishes. If I have not deceived myself in this respect, all these insinuations and insults are a matter of indifference to me, particularly as I see from the better German newspapers, as well as from The Times and the Perseveranza, that my intention that the book should be of service to you has in the main been realised.”

If it were no longer intended to extend certain portions of the work, this letter required no answer, and as none came I took it for granted that the intention referred to had been renounced. We now proceeded to reorganise the Grenzboten, and I wrote several articles for it, strongly supporting the Customs policy of the Imperial Chancellor, and opposing equally strongly the champions of unqualified free-trade; being actively assisted by Bucher with verbal and written advice. On the 15th of January, 1879, however, I applied directly to the Chief himself for further information, and received the following letter, dated the 15th, from his younger son:—

On the 23rd of February the Prince sent me word to call upon him next day, when I had an interview with him extending from 2.45 to 3.45 P.M., which was in many respects very remarkable.

Theiss announced my arrival and Mantey showed me out. The Chancellor looked very well and was friendly, as he always is. He came a few steps to meet me, gave me his hand and asked, smiling: “Well, are you still of opinion that you have done me a service with the book?” “Yes, Serene Highness,” I replied, “with all right minded and sensible people.”

We then sat down at the writing-table, and he said: “Yes, but they are not numerous. It must give others the impression that I am a bitter, censorious, envious creature, who cannot bear the vicinity of any greatness. Humboldt—well, I give him up, he was really an envious creature—Heise, Gagern. It’s well I struck out what I said about Moltke. That would have been still worse, for when effrontery succeeds it is all right. You have also come off badly—just as I told you.”

I: “Oh! certainly. They have made me out to be a fearful cur: narrow-minded, indiscreet, tactless, tedious, and what’s more, a flunkey and an Epicurean. All that is wanting is that they should say I am accustomed to devour a couple of babies for breakfast. The Jewish press in particular. But I despise this stuff too much to pay any attention to it.”

He: “The Jews were angry at your letting me say they are not painters. Meyerheim let me know that he is not a Jew, not even his grandfather. All the same, I do appear in the book to be bitter and envious, and I think I am not that. I know very well that you did not intend it. We both knew the reasons why I was often angry and bitter, and I knew still more about it. Such shameful things had happened that I wished to retire—at Versailles.”

I: “Dupanloup?”

He: “Still worse.... Then in the diary form the whole thing was bound to be fragmentary, and many connecting links had to be omitted.”

I: “I regret that it gives many persons that impression, but my intention was only to show how Count Bismarck felt, thought and lived at a certain period—during the war with France. It was not to be a delineation of character, but only a photograph of an important period in your life, so far as I could see it—a contribution to history. I have not merely reproduced the scoffing remarks, but also the appreciative opinions, and have communicated traits which, if I may so express myself, show that you are good-natured and humane, and, in particular, that you sympathise with the feelings of the common people.”

He: “H’m, and pray what might those traits be?”

I: “The sentinel at Bar le Duc, for example, and the Bavarian stragglers after the battle of Beaumont, together with the first sentence of the remarks you made at Ferrières, which began with reference to the spot of grease on the table-cloth. Also your opinion of Dietze, when the politesse de cœur was discussed. You praised him very highly.”

He: “Yes: but after all he is of no importance, not a politician. A good deal that would have been useful to me ought to have been given more fully, and other things should have been omitted. It was not possible to do that, however, owing to the fragmentary form.”

“But that can be remedied in the fifth edition,” I replied. “You were thinking of doing so the last time I had the honour of speaking to you on the subject. You can give me additions, for instance what you have said on various occasions respecting the Pope and the Catholics.” “I would not recommend that now,” he replied, “in your interest and in mine. The indignation aroused by the book has now subsided, and anything of the kind would revive the discussion of the whole subject in the entire press.”

I observed: “The book has also been praised by papers of high standing in Germany, and more particularly in England and America. The Times published three long articles on it, and it has been described as a eulogy, but one which is based solely upon truth.”

“Yes, in England,” he said; “but here at home, that is the main point.”

I continued: “And then I have not given merely conversations, but also newspaper articles which contained not my ideas but yours. I am heartily sorry that it has injured you. I was pleased with everything you said. I am quite indifferent to what people say about myself. Every word of abuse was an advertisement. I do not care for the esteem of our journalists or of those who accept their views. I have no fear, because I have no hope.”

“No hope?” he asked, as if he had not quite understood me.

“Yes, Serene Highness,” I replied; “no hope—that is to say, I am not ambitious and have no personal aspirations. I do my duty as I understand it. For the rest, I hold to the principle which has been described as the ninth beatitude: Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed. I know too that I am not what they, in their envy and wounded vanity, describe me to be. And finally, in issuing this book I have not depended at all upon my own judgment, but submitted it to you before it was printed.”

“That is true,” he replied; “but out of consideration for you I did not strike out as much as I ought to have done. Arrangements had already been made, and a good deal of it was printed. It would have lost in interest if much had been omitted, and I did not wish to diminish your success.”

“I thank your Serene Highness for that,” I said. “But I have myself also left out a great deal of what appeared to me to be questionable matter respecting princely personages, the Emperor and others. One passage which some people think refers to the Emperor was overlooked. I myself had not thought of him in giving the passage.”

He asked: “Why, what was that?”

I replied: “That in which the flags are referred to which were not mentioned in the treaty and which they afterward desired to have delivered up—the Parisian flags, Serene Highness.”

“Ah, that was less the King than Podbielski. Well, you must omit that passage in future editions. For the rest, once I am dead you can say whatever you like, everything you know.” I replied: “May that day be far distant! and in the meantime the book shall remain as it is, unless you wish to make any additions yourself. I have no idea whatever of taking any independent action in the matter.” “How old are you, doctor?” he asked. “Fifty-eight, Serene Highness.” “Well then, I am six years older than you.”

He then spoke of the opposition of the free-traders in the Reichstag who denounced his schemes of Customs reform. “It is remarkable,” he said, “how they, Richter and Bamberger, in their speeches always attack me personally instead of dealing with the question under discussion. The personality is of course a matter of indifference. My former ideas? How I have come to hold such views? Whether I have been consistent? I formerly consented to that which I now oppose; I have been playing a part; I am an amateur of genius, full of contradictions and always disposed to experiment at random. That is the main point for them. It is only incidentally that they refer to the matter itself. Whether I have a system? Richter at length said the only sensible and correct thing, that I doubtless had no system whatever. That statement is quite true, if it be limited to economic affairs—people are eventually forced to admit that I have one in politics. When I entered office my task was mainly a political one: the unification of Germany under Prussia. I was obliged to subordinate economic considerations, in so far as they were in any way affected, to that end. Otherwise I should have had no time. I had Delbrück for economic affairs, with which he was thoroughly acquainted, having administered them for years and being the first authority in his department. I reposed confidence in him, and when I was of a different opinion I sacrificed my opinions for political reasons, and also because I still wanted him for the founding of the Empire, after 1866 and 1870. If I was of a different opinion I did not enforce it officially. He has therefore acted for years by my side with perfect independence. It is true that afterwards my attention was called to the fact that we were not on the right track, at first through the complaints and admonitions of the public. But it was only when political questions no longer occupied the first place that I was able to consider the matter on its merits and not in connection with those questions. And it was not until Delbrück had retired in consequence of ill health—perhaps he had himself recognised that things could no longer go on as they had been doing—that I was obliged to form my own opinion, since I had no one to replace him. His two councillors were unsuitable. Michaelis is quite insignificant, and the other is only useful for certain things. In that way I was actually forced to take the matter in hand myself, and then I found that it must be managed differently. Moreover the entire current of affairs had changed, the other Powers being about to adopt a different policy or having already done so: Austria and Russia had suddenly taken the plunge by providing that in future the Customs dues must be paid in gold, while France, in spite of the payment of the milliards to us, was continuing to prosper, but not under a free-trade system. Then the Americans, who, by an increase of the tariff, had been enabled to drive others out of the market! Only two countries were constantly losing ground: Rich, burly, full-blooded England, with its old industry favoured in so many different ways; and poor, weakly Germany, which was still engaged in making a beginning—the latter being the worse off of the two. It was therefore necessary to follow suit and speedily.”

I said that the Opposition did not appear to feel any confidence in their cause. A National Liberal member of Parliament, Roemer of Hildesheim, had agreed with me when I told him the day before that the Prince would certainly be victorious, and had added: “Why, in his speech he threatened us with a dissolution, and if that were to take place many of us would not come back after the elections.” The Chief replied: “I have not exactly done that, but it may come to it. If only the manufacturers would not isolate themselves, split up into fractions, and cut themselves off from the agricultural classes! They would like to negotiate respecting individual items, the iron tariff, and so forth,—every one for himself. But that will not work. They must hold together. If you can remember that as well as you did the bitter remarks at Versailles I shall be very pleased.”

I suggested that it might perhaps be well for me to get some materials for articles out of the documents that had already been drawn up on the question in order to prepare the public mind. He replied: “Yes, but these are not yet ready. There is great procrastination. I do not mean that the officials are badly disposed, but they do not make any progress, and the Commission is waiting for the necessary data. I have taken this load upon my shoulders in addition to the others, and should like to do it all myself. And then one has all sorts of vexation and worry, which does not tend to improve the health, any more than the enormous quantities of work I have been doing recently. I have been busier at Friedrichsruh than in Berlin.”

I asked how his health in general now was. “Not what it should be,” he replied. “I am weak in the legs and cannot stand for any length of time. Leyden said to me: ‘If this weakness in the legs is to be remedied, the head must do no work for three months.’ I ought to have resigned, and I had intended doing so two years ago. But what is a man to do when he cannot resist tears? Still I should have gone; but the National Liberals began their attacks, and I was obliged to remain. And then there was the outrage in addition: the old man with his bandaged arm lying there, and hardly able to say ‘Yes’ at the Council respecting the Regency—I thought to myself that it would be a sin against God if I left him. And then the National Liberals were no politicians in the autumn of 1877. Bamberger has recently declared, in an elegiac tone, that they were justified in expecting consideration, or even gratitude, from me. As if they had co-operated with me for sentimental reasons, and not because of their Nationalist principles! I am represented as having disowned them, while it was they who turned from me because I could not be as liberal as they were. If their leaders had been real politicians, they might have secured a great deal from me then, and more still in the course of time. But the maintenance of the party was of greater importance to them than the prospect of practical benefit. When Bennigsen returned from Varzin they said: ‘He cannot work with this Minister, but after him.’ It would be well if the fifteen or eighteen members of the party, who by rights belong to the Progressists, were to withdraw—but they remain. And now I am attacked by their newspapers, the Kölnische, the National Zeitung, the Hannoverscher Courier, quite in the style of the Progressist press. I am opposed in the Reichstag on all questions—obviously to prove that I require the support of these gentlemen—in connection with the tobacco monopoly, the tobacco tax as I intended it, and the Anti-Socialist laws.”

I remarked that doubtless this was also, to some extent, due to their juridical turn of mind and their idea of a legal state, which, in reality, would be nothing but a state of lawyers and County Court judges, where they would rule and arrange everything according to their own theories—a state which would have no more claim to exist than a theologians’ or traders’ state.

“Yes,” he replied, “that is true; but the chief cause is their enmity to me. And how ungrateful they were to the King about the Anti-Socialist laws! The old man who had boldly risked his crown for Prussia and Germany in 1866 and 1870 struck down by the hand of an assassin—and even in 1864, when a coalition of the Powers on behalf of Denmark (Schleswig-Holstein affair) was by no means impossible, they did not wish to protect him because I proposed it.”

The conversation then turned on the condition of the Emperor. The Prince observed: “He has lost in energy and intellectual power, and has thus become more open to improper influences.”

I inquired about the Successor, and how the Chancellor now stood with him.

“Well,” he said, “quite well. He is more human, so to speak, more upright and modest—his character resembling that of his grandfather and of Frederick William I. He does not say: ‘I have won the battle, I have conducted the campaign,’ but ‘I know that I am not capable of doing it; the Chief of my General Staff has done it, and he therefore deserves his rewards.’ The Most Gracious thinks quite differently. He also cannot tell exactly an untruth, but he will have it that he has done everything himself; he likes to be in the foreground; he loves posing and the appearance of authority. The Crown Princess also is unaffected and sincere, which her mother-in-law is not. It is only family considerations that make her troublesome, formerly more than at present.”

“The uncle in Hanover?” I suggested.

“No, not so much as the Coburger and the Augustenburger; but she is honourable, and has no great pretensions.”

On leaving I said: “If your Serene Highness should want me at any time, and should require anything in which I could be useful, I would beg to be remembered.”

He replied: “Well, what I said to you just now about the Free-traders, the National Liberals and Delbrück was intended in that way. Make it public, and I should be glad if you would send me a copy.”

I accordingly wrote an article “On the Genesis of the Imperial Chancellor’s Customs Reform,” which was intended to appear in No. 10 of the Grenzboten, and sent him a proof for revision on the 28th. It was returned to me in three hours. The Chief had struck out nothing except the following. After the words “when Delbrück retired at this time, owing to the condition of his health,” he crossed out the passage: “and none of his fellow-workers in the department of political economy was capable of replacing him;” as also the word “absolutely” in the phrase: “The Chancellor was absolutely compelled to prepare himself by a thorough study of the facts to take the matter into his own hands.” It would therefore appear that I had actually retained what he had communicated to me, nearly as well as the bitter remarks he had let fall at Versailles.

In the meantime I had a further interview with the Chief. On the forenoon of the 27th of February I received a letter from his Secretary, Sachse, saying that the Prince requested me to call upon him, if possible, some time before 5 o’clock. At 3 P.M. I went to his palace. After waiting in the antechamber for a quarter of an hour, a slight, thin elderly gentleman came out, being accompanied by the Prince as far as the antechamber. This was Lord Dufferin, the English Ambassador at St. Petersburg. I then went with the Prince into his study, where we sat down facing each other across his writing-table as usual.

“You recently told me,” he began, “that when I had anything to say you could get it into the Grenzboten.” I replied: “Certainly, Serene Highness; it shall be done without delay.”

“Well, then, I would beg of you to write something on the policy which Gortschakoff is promoting in the Russian press, and particularly in the Golos, and to draw a comparison between what we have done for the Russians and what they have done for us. It must, however, be written with tact, in a diplomatic way.”

“I will try to do so,” I replied. “I am acquainted with the articles in the Golos through the German Petersburger Zeitung. It shall be done at once, as was the article on the subject of our last conversation. With your permission, I will send you a proof of it to-morrow, in case you should wish to add or strike out anything.”

“Please do so,” he said. “And now as to Gortschakoff. You know how the Golos incessantly attacks our policy and me personally, asserts that we were ungrateful at the Berlin Congress, and recommends joint action with France. That is the work of Gortschakoff and Jomini, and this fact must be got into our press. Gortschakoff must be shown what we have owed or have not owed to Russia during the past fifty or sixty years, and what we have done for her in this period. Russia helped us in 1813, but in her own interest. In 1815, the Russian’s policy was in a general way a good one, but at the same time it injured us by frustrating any organisation of Germany which might not have fitted in with the Emperor Alexander’s plans for rearranging the world; our demand for compensation also received but very lukewarm support from the Russians. Finally, their gains were greater than ours, although we had risked and achieved more, and made greater sacrifices than they had done. You know that in 1828 we did them good service during the Turkish war by Muffling’s mission for example, which helped them out of a great embarrassment. In 1830, they wanted to attack us in co-operation with France, for whom we were anxious to secure the left bank of the Rhine. The execution of this plan was only prevented by the outbreak of the July Revolution. Shortly before the February Revolution a similar plan was being developed. In 1847 we suppressed the rising in Posen in the interest of Russia. During the first war with Denmark they ran counter to us. Of course, you know what took place at Warsaw, in 1850, when the Union was under consideration. We have in great part to thank the Emperor Nicholas for our pilgrimage to Olmütz. During the Crimean war in 1854, we, who had been badly treated shortly before, remained neutral, while Austria, who had been well treated, joined the Western Powers; and in 1863, when the insurrection broke out in Poland, and was supported by Austria and the Western Powers in their Notes, we took the part of Russia, and the diplomatic intervention failed.—It should only be a short balance sheet, giving the debit and credit sides—you will have to read the subject up.—In 1866 and 1870 Russia did not attack us—on the contrary. But that, after all, was in Russia’s interest too. In 1866, Prussia was an instrument for venting the anger of Russia upon Austria; and in 1870 also it was only sound policy on her part to side with us, as it was undesirable for the Russians that Austria should join against us, and that a victorious Franco-Austrian force should approach the frontiers of Poland, it being a traditional policy in Paris to support Poland at the expense of Russia, a policy which was also followed in Vienna, at least of recent years. And then, if we had reason to be thankful to them, we returned the compliment in London in 1870. We secured for them the freedom of the Black Sea. But for us they would not have obtained it from England and France.”

After a short pause he continued, while I, with one of his big pencils, noted down what he said: “Gortschakoff is not carrying on a Russian policy, which takes us into account as friends, but a personal policy. He always wants to cut a figure, and to be praised by the foreign press, and in particular by the Parisian newspapers. He sympathises with France, which cannot be said of the Emperor. He would like to posture as the friend and supporter of that country. The Dreikaiserbund only satisfied him for a short time. As far back as 1874 the threads of the Gortschakoff-Jomini policy are to be found in the foreign press—oglings and advances towards an intimacy between Russia and France of ‘la revanche.’ The rejection of these addresses is due rather to France than to Russia. This policy does not appear to have originated with the Emperor Alexander. It culminated in the period 1875–77, when the rumour was circulated that Gortschakoff had saved France from us, and when he began one of his circular despatches with the words: ‘Maintenant la paix est assurée.’ You remember Blowitz’s report in The Times. Read it again, and mention the matter. His account was correct, except where he spoke of an anti-French military party in Prussia. No such party existed. The same policy, which must be distinguished from that of the Emperor, is now being carried on in the Golos, which was formerly Gortschakoff’s official organ. Whether, in spite of all signs of disfavour this is not still the case, and whether Jomini does not still inspire it, is doubtful. At any rate it is Gortschakoff’s policy which it represents. People are now talking of his retirement, and that Lobanoff, the Ambassador at Constantinople, is selected to be his successor. Those who are well informed, however, do not believe this, nor do they think he will retire from office as long as he lives.”

I said: “Lobánoff? How are these Russian names really pronounced? Górtschakoff and Lobánoff?”

“He is called, Górtschakoff, but otherwise the position of the accent is quite uncertain—sometimes before, sometimes after, and sometimes on the middle syllable. He is now old, feeble, and decrepit; yet, notwithstanding his failing powers, the anti-German publications are placed to his credit—and not without reason. They also account in part for his popularity in Russia—and his vanity has not decreased. After 1874 it seemed as if his thirst for fame would give him no peace. At the time of the Reichstadt Convention he is understood to have said: ‘Je ne veux pas filer comme une lampe qui s’éteint; il faut que je me couche comme un astre.’”

I had not rightly understood him, and asked: “How did you say that, Serene Highness?”

He then repeated the French phrase more slowly, and said afterwards: “Please show it to me. You will have written it correctly, I suppose?”

I handed him the paper, and he observed: “The ‘e’ is missing in ‘comme,’ and the accent in ‘éteint.’” He then continued: “You might bring in, at the same time, that he has really been stupid as a politician. He has only acted for himself during the last four years—that was in the preparations for the Turkish war, and no one can say that he displayed any particular skill in bringing it about. The relations with Austria—or, indeed, even with Rumania—were not skilfully managed. What did he do during the six months which he spent at Bucharest? The old fop was more occupied with the fair sex than with business. The relations with Austria and Germany were also not properly cleared up, although it ought to have been his chief task to assure himself definitely of the position of Austria towards the aims of Russia.” In the further course of conversation, Schuvaloff’s name came up, and I said he was regarded by many persons as Gortschakoff’s successor. The Chancellor replied: “Schuvaloff is a clever man, but he has no chance. There is too much Court intrigue against him, and the Emperor Alexander will not have about him a man of real weight. Otherwise Schuvaloff would be excellent from the point of view of peace.”

The interview had lasted over half an hour. The Prince went out for a drive immediately after—probably to return Lord Dufferin’s visit. I went to the Foreign Office, where Bucher enabled me to take a copy of the documents, and of Blowitz’s article in The Times. Three days later the article desired by the Chief, to which I gave the title, “The Gortschakoff Policy,” was ready. On the 6th of March I sent a proof of it to the Prince, and was pleased to find that he only struck out some seventeen lines from the nine pages of which it consisted. It then appeared in No. 11 of the Grenzboten, and extracts were reproduced in the entire European press. It gave rise to a particularly lively controversy in the English and Russian newspapers, and some of them discussed it in long leading articles as an event of the first magnitude; so that it may be assumed that the object the Chief had in view was satisfactorily attained.

After the first volume of the fifth edition of Count Bismarck and His People had been printed, Captain Derosne’s French translation appeared in May, 1879. The translator made some additions to the passages respecting Madame Jesse, which began with the words: “We are in a position to add to Dr. Busch’s diary some particulars which were noted down at the time by Madame Jesse, who owned the house occupied by M. de Bismarck and his suite from the 6th of October, 1870, to the 5th of March, 1871.” I showed these to the Prince, who, after reading them over, declared them to be mostly fables, and very poor fables. He observed, in conclusion:—

“And as to this clock: ‘Je ne veux pas—je ne cède pas.’ On the contrary, she let me know that if I would give her 5,000 francs in compensation for the damage done to her house and property, she would let me have the clock.”

I now informed him that the book had been translated by Derosne, a captain attached to the general staff in Paris; that, on the whole, his version read very well; and that, from his letters, the translator appeared to be an ardent Bonapartist, who placed the Republic on a level with cholera and the plague. I then mentioned, as I had already informed him by letter, that Derosne also proposed to translate Letters to Malwine, and that I had promised him an introduction and explanatory notes, in case he (the Chief) gave his permission. He said: “Yes, with pleasure.” I replied: “I had hoped as much; as it is evident that, although the French do not love your Serene Highness, they take an interest in you, and, indeed, a deep interest. The translation, which was published on the 8th instant, was sold out in five or six days, although the edition consisted of 3,000 copies; and an advance collection of quotations from it (of which 10,000 copies are said to have been issued) is also understood to have been very speedily disposed of. Dentu is now printing the book itself. Six translations have already been published—in England and America, as well as in the Dutch and Russian languages. There has also been some talk of a Swedish translation. The Dutch sounds very queer in some parts.”

“I can easily believe that,” he said. “Have you ever read a Dutch play?”

“No,” I replied, “but I have seen some passages from the Dutch Bible.” “It sounds very strange to our ears; but,” he added, “one must not tell them so, as they would feel greatly offended.”

He then said: “But tell me what you think of the last debates in the Reichstag, and the position of the Customs Reform.”

I replied: “Well, I think one may congratulate you on the commencement of victory in the matter. The manner in which you disposed of Delbrück, in the debate on the corn tariff was simply delightful. Why, that was a refutation, point by point.”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling, “but we cannot yet say how things will go at the third reading. If it is not passed, I shall make a Cabinet question of it; and, as the King will not let me go, we shall dissolve. They, however, would seem inclined to procrastinate; and, in that case, I am not yet certain whether we ought to dissolve. Another year can, perhaps, do no harm, and the elections may in the meantime turn out better. The Ultramontanes, with whom it is altogether impossible to come to any permanent understanding, will hardly support the revenue taxes. Then we must have a dissolution, as we regard the reform as a whole, from which no part can be dissevered.”

I asked if I might say that in the press. He said: “I think not. Emphasise in detail the position of the Eighty-eight (the Opposition) in their private and business capacities, to the iron tariff. How most of these gentlemen—lawyers, journalists, holders of funded property—are people who live upon fees, salaries, pensions, dividends; and, having no immediate connection with agriculture, are not personally affected, and have no experience, yet have most to say in the matter.”

“Who neither sow, nor reap, nor spin, as you said to Lasker,” I observed, “and who are nevertheless fed and clad. Of course, you did not refer to them alone, but to the whole class.”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Write that, and hunt up the necessary personal information. That may prove useful as a means of clearing up the situation for the elections. It must be shown that the majority of our legislators are the people who have nothing to do with practical affairs, and have no eye, no ear, no sympathy for the interests which the Government, in this case, defends. Learned men, particularly the leaders and principal speakers. Men of theory, who have no proper feeling for realities, and who have acquired their knowledge, not from experience, but from books, must no longer have the sole power and chief influence in the Legislature.”

He then made a move, as though the interview were at an end. I rose, and he gave me his hand, and then asked: “How are things in general going with you? You look rather poorly!”

I replied: “Much obliged to your Serene Highness, but thank God I have nothing to complain of. There is only one thing I want, viz., that you should make more use of my willingness to serve you. The article on Gortschakoff, for example, did its work in the press fairly well.” “I know that,” he said, “but I have so much to do just now. Even as it is I want five or six more hours in the day to get through my work,” “And how is your Serene Highness’s health?” “Not good. It was better, but the overwork and worry! I must shortly get out of harness again.”

I then went across to Bucher to get materials for the article which the Chief desired me to write. On this occasion, Bucher told me that “the stout fellow” (von Bülow, the Secretary of State) proposed to the Prince that “Press-Hahn” should be taken into the Foreign Office as First Councillor. Bucher added: “Bülow, who is a Mecklenburger, has no thorough knowledge of Prussian affairs, and so Hahn would assist him. The Chief also wished it, but Hahn had been gossiping, and so it got into the newspapers. This was reported to the Chief, who then said: ‘A man who cannot keep his own counsel cannot be employed by me here,’ and so the appointment was not made. Bülow, however, declares that it has only been postponed.”

On my calling upon Bucher again in the afternoon, he said: “I would beg one favour of you. There has been talk of somebody being again appointed here in connection with the press. I was to take over the work in the meantime, as he wrote me from Friedrichsruh. I said to Bülow, however, that that would not do, as it would first be necessary for me to arrange for the necessary information, and prepare the files, and that that would take some weeks. Probably Bülow has thereupon simply written to the Chief that I declined. Now, I would request you, when you are next called to the Prince, to take an opportunity of mentioning that you got part of the material for your last article from me, and that I have also been of assistance to you occasionally in other ways.” I promised to do this.

The article which the Chief had ordered appeared in No. 22 of the Grenzboten, under the title of “Some Characteristics of the Minority in the Question of Tariff Reform.”

During the next few months I was actively engaged in the Grenzboten in supporting the Chief’s policy and attacking his Free Trade and Progressist opponents. I almost always took counsel with Bucher, who sometimes suggested the articles, and between us the Prince’s opponents came to hear many a bitter truth.

On the 9th of June I met von Thile at the corner of the Flottwellstrasse and Lutzowstrasse. He stopped as he returned my greeting, and we dropped into conversation, in the course of which I also mentioned his retirement, and pointed to Keudell as the immediate cause of it. “He wished to be Secretary of State,” I said, “and then Minister.” “Your Excellency knows better than I do how incapable he was of filling such a post. He had an excellent eye for his own advantage, but he had no political ability.”

“He was a maid of all work,” replied Thile, who then related to me the story of his resignation. “I sent a request to the Minister to let me know whether I should tender my resignation to him, which was the usual course, or to the Emperor. Keudell took this message to him. He then came to tell me, under instructions from the Minister, that I should apply to the Emperor in order to spare him, the Chief, the sight of my hateful countenance. The story then got abroad, and Bancroft repeated it to me, adding that it was ‘a message which no gentleman would have carried to another gentleman,’—and you know what a high regard he has for the Minister otherwise.” In conclusion, I begged Thile to permit me to call upon him at some future time. He said it would afford him great pleasure, and he gave me his address, No. 3, Flottwellstrasse.

Next day I sent him a copy of the French translation of the Bismarck book, for which he thanked me in a very amiable letter. After careful consideration, I postponed my visit for a time. It would not have looked well had the Prince heard of it, as he is suspicious, and certainly not without reason, even of his friends.

It was not until the 6th of October that I again saw the Prince, having on the previous day received a letter from Sachse inviting me to call upon him. When I entered the antechamber Philippsborn was with the Chief. At six minutes past one he sent Theiss to call me in to him. I remained for about three-quarters of an hour. He was in plain clothes and in evident good humour. On reaching me his hand he said: “Well, doctor, how are you? How are the patients getting on?”

I: “The patients? Whom do you mean, Serene Highness?”

He: “Why, the newspapers.”

I: “They are as ill as ever, or I should rather say, as stupid.”

He: “Well, just at present we could also find use for a doctor in the Foreign Office. Things are getting very dull there. Bülow is seriously ill, and is hardly likely to recover. I shall not see him again after his holiday. And Gastein has not done me any good either. I was obliged to work too much there, and yet to no purpose. I felt very well at Kissingen, but now—my health was better when I left Berlin on the closing of the Reichstag than it is at present. It was just the same as long ago as 1877. I then took a longer holiday than usual, but business followed me like my shadow. Radowitz is also not well. He, too, complains, and requires some rest. There is now some talk of looking for assistance to one of our Ministers abroad, Alvensleben and Stirum being mentioned, as well as Schlözer, who is in favour with the Crown Prince. With us the trade of a Minister is exhausting, and they sometimes even die of it, as Brandenburg did after the Warsaw-Olmütz events. A vast amount of nerve power is used up, particularly in the Foreign Office among the elderly gentlemen. Fresh friction continually arises. It was the same in former times, when three Ministers went out of their minds.” He named them, Kernitz was one, and then continued: “He (the King) has been wearing out others besides, for instance, Falk, who retired solely on account of exhaustion and worry. He (Falk) has no reason to complain of me, I took his part in all questions. The King was always against him whenever he wanted to carry something through. I advised him not to take it so much to heart. When the Most Gracious, who is entirely under the influence of the Queen and the Court Chaplains, sent him an order which he had to execute, he should have pointed out that it must have his counter-signature if the King wanted to keep up constitutional appearances, but that his own convictions made it impossible for him to sign it, and he should then have waited to see what would happen. But he is too easily offended, and so he tendered his resignation—really on account of a mere trifle, because a Herr von Hagen (so I understood him to say), an utterly insignificant creature, a blockhead, a coarse, stupid Junker, who had collected signatures to an address against him, had been elected on to the Managing Committee of the General Synod. (?) But the real reason was exhaustion, and vexation at not being able to make any headway with the King. It was somewhat different in Friedenthal’s case. He was an intriguer whom I was glad to see the last of. They would have been pleased to retain him—at Court, where his wife was very thick with the Empress, and the Emperor interfered very little in his affairs. Hobrecht’s case was again different. He retired, doubtless because he himself recognised his inefficiency. He was not at all equal to his position, and was, besides, of too weak a character to deal with the numerous obstructive forces in his Ministry. With us, however, the Foreign Ministry is the worst of all. There the friction never ceases. My nature is such that I have been able to stand it for seventeen years; but Bülow, who conducted affairs during my absence, and who, when he thought he was through with something, constantly met with fresh hindrances and senseless and obstinate objections—he is suffering from spinal disease and will die of it.”