Bismarck

On the 31st of July, 1870, at 5.30 P.M., the Chancellor, accompanied by his wife and his daughter, the Countess Marie, left his residence in the Wilhelmstrasse to take the train for Mainz, on his way to join King William at the seat of war. He was to be followed by some Councillors of the Foreign Office, a Secretary of the Central Bureau, two deciphering clerks and three or four Chancery attendants. The remainder of us only accompanied him with our good wishes, as, with his helmet on his head, he passed out between the two sphinxes that guard the door steps, and entered his carriage. I also had resigned myself to the idea of following the course of the army on the map and in the newspapers. A few days after the declaration of war, on my begging the Minister to take me with him in case I could be of use, he replied that that depended on the arrangements at headquarters. At the moment there was no room for me. My luck, however, soon improved.

On the evening of the 6th of August a telegram was received at the Ministry giving news of the victory at Wörth. Half an hour later I took the good tidings still fresh and warm to a group of acquaintances who waited in a restaurant to hear how things were going. Everybody knows how willingly Germans celebrate the receipt of good news. My tidings were very good indeed, and many (perhaps most) of my friends celebrated them too long. The result was that next morning I was still in bed when the Foreign Office messenger Lorenz brought me a copy of a telegraphic despatch, according to which I was to start for headquarters immediately. Privy Councillor Hepke wrote: “Dear Doctor,—Get ready to leave for headquarters in the course of the day.” The telegram ran as follows: “Mainz, 6th of August, 7.36 P.M. Let Dr. Busch come here and bring with him a Correspondent for the National Zeitung and one for the Kreuzzeitung. Bismarck.” Hepke allowed me to select these correspondents.

I had therefore after all attained to the very height of good fortune. In a short time I had provided for all essentials, and by midday I had received my pass legitimation, and free ticket for all military trains. That evening a little after 8 o’clock I left Berlin together with the two correspondents whom the Minister wished to accompany me, namely, Herr von Ungarn-Sternberg, for the Kreuzzeitung, and Professor Constantine Roeszler for the National Zeitung. In the beginning we travelled first class, afterwards third, and finally in a freight car. There were numerous long halts, which in our impatience seemed still longer. It was only at 6 o’clock on the morning of the 9th of August that we reached Frankfurt. As we had to wait here for some hours we had time to inquire where the headquarters were now established. The local Commandant was unable to inform us, nor could the Telegraph Director say anything positive on the subject. He thought they might be still in Homburg, but more probably they had moved on to Saarbrücken.

It was midday before we again started, in a goods train, by way of Darmstadt, past the Odenwald, whose peaks were covered with heavy white fog, by Mannheim and towards Neustadt. As we proceeded our pace became gradually slower, and the stoppages, which were occasioned by seemingly endless lines of carriages transporting troops, became more and more frequent. Wherever a pause occurred in the rush of this onward wave of modern national migration, crowds hurried to the train, cheering and flourishing their hats and handkerchiefs. Food and drink were brought to the soldiers by people of all sorts and conditions, including poor old women—needy but good-hearted creatures whose poverty only allowed them to offer coffee and dry black bread.

We crossed the Rhine during the night. As day began to break we noticed a well-dressed gentleman lying near us on the floor who was speaking English to a man whom we took to be his servant. We discovered that he was a London banker named Deichmann. He also was anxious to get to headquarters in order to beg Roon’s permission to serve as a volunteer in a cavalry regiment, for which purpose he had brought his horses with him. The line being blocked near Hosbach, on Deichmann’s advice we took a country cart to Neustadt, a little town which was swarming with soldiers—Bavarian riflemen, Prussian Red Hussars, Saxon and other troops.

It was here that we took our first warm meal since our departure from Berlin. Hitherto we had had to content ourselves with cold meat, while at night our attempts to sleep on the bare wooden benches with a portmanteau for a pillow were not particularly successful. However, we were proceeding to the seat of war, and I had experienced still greater discomforts on a tour of far less importance.

After a halt of one hour at Neustadt, the train crossed the Hardt through narrow valleys and a number of tunnels, passing the defile in which Kaiserslautern lies. From this point until we reached Homburg it poured in torrents almost without cessation, so that when we arrived at that station at 10 o’clock the little place seemed to be merely a picture of night and water. As we stepped out of the train and waded through swamp and pool with our luggage on our shoulders, we stumbled over the rails and rather felt than saw our way to the inn “Zur Post.” There we found every bed occupied and not a mouthful left to eat. We ascertained however, that had even the conditions been more favourable we could not have availed ourselves of them, as we were informed that the Count had gone on with the King, and was at that moment probably in Saarbrücken. There was no time to be lost if we were to overtake him before he left Germany.

It was far from pleasant to have to turn out once more into the deluge, but we were encouraged to take our fate philosophically by considering the still worse fate of others. In the tap-room of the “Post” the guests slept on chairs enveloped in a thick steam redolent of tobacco, beer, and smoking lamps and the still more pungent odour of damp clothes and leather. In a hollow near the station we saw the watchfire of a large camp half quenched by the rain—Saxon countrymen of ours, if we were rightly informed. While wading our way back to the train we caught the gleam of the helmets and arms of a Prussian battalion which stood in the pouring rain opposite the railway hotel. Thoroughly drenched and not a little tired, we at length found shelter in a waggon, where Deichmann cleared a corner of the floor on which we too could lie, and found a few handfuls of straw to serve us as a pillow. My other two companions were not so fortunate. They had to manage as best they could on the top of boxes and packages with the postmen and transport soldiers. It was evident that the poor Professor, who had grown very quiet, was considerably affected by these hardships.

About 1 o’clock the train set itself slowly in motion. By daybreak, after several stoppages, we reached the outskirts of a small town with a beautiful old church. A mill lay in the valley through which we could also see the windings of the road that led to Saarbrücken. We were told that this town was only two or three miles off, so that we were near our journey’s end. Our locomotive, however, seemed to be quite out of breath, and as the headquarters might at any moment leave Saarbrücken and cross the frontier, where we could get no railway transport and in all probability no other means of conveyance, our impatience and anxiety increased, and our tempers were not improved by a clouded sky and drizzling rain. Having waited in vain nearly two hours for the train to start, Deichmann again came to our rescue. After a short disappearance he returned with a miller who had arranged to carry us to the town in his own trap. The prudent fellow, however, made Deichmann promise that the soldiers should not take his horses from him.

During the drive the miller told us that the Prussians were understood to have already pushed on their outposts as far as the neighbourhood of Metz. Between 9 and 10 o’clock we reached Sanct Johann, a suburb of Saarbrücken, where we noticed very few signs of the French cannonade a few days ago, although it otherwise presented a lively and varied picture of war times. A huddled and confused mass of canteen carts, baggage waggons, soldiers on horse and foot, and ambulance attendants with their red crosses, &c., filled the streets. Some Hessian dragoon and artillery regiments marched through, the cavalrymen singing, “Morgenroth leuchtest mir zum fruehen Tod!” (Dawn, thou lightest me to an early grave).

At the hotel where we put up I heard that the Chancellor was still in the town, and lodged at the house of a merchant and manufacturer named Haldy. I had therefore missed nothing by all our delays, and had fortunately at length reached harbour. Not a minute too soon, however, as on going to report my arrival I was informed by Count Bismarck-Bohlen, the Minister’s cousin, that they intended to move on shortly after midday. I bade good-bye to my companions from Berlin, as there was no room for them in the Chancellor’s suite, and also to our London friend, whose patriotic offer General Roon was regretfully obliged to decline. After providing for the safety of my luggage, I presented myself to the Count, who was just leaving to call upon the King. I then went to the Bureau to ascertain if I could be of any assistance. There was plenty to do. Every one had his hands full, and I was immediately told off to make a translation for the King of Queen Victoria’s Speech from the Throne, which had just arrived. I was highly interested by a declaration contained in a despatch to St. Petersburg, which I had to dictate to one of our deciphering clerks, although at the time I could not quite understand it. It was to the effect that we should not be satisfied with the mere fall of Napoleon.

That looked like a foreshadowing of some miracle.

Strassburg! and perhaps the Vosges as our frontier! Who could have dreamed of it three weeks before?

In the meantime the weather had cleared up. Shortly before one o’clock, under a broiling sun, three four-horse carriages drew up before our door, with soldiers riding as postilions. One was for the Chancellor, another for the Councillors and Count Bismarck-Bohlen, and the third for the Secretaries and Decipherers. The two Councillors and the Count having decided to ride, I took a place in their carriage, as I also did subsequently whenever they went on horseback. Five minutes later we crossed the stream and entered the Saarbrücken high road, which led past the battle-field of the 6th of August. Within half an hour of our departure from Sanct Johann we were on French soil. There were still many traces of the sanguinary struggle that had raged there five days ago—branches torn from the trees by artillery fire, fragments of accoutrements and uniforms, the crops trampled into the earth, broken wheels, pits dug in the ground by exploding shells, and small wooden crosses roughly tied together, probably marking the graves of officers and others. So far as one could observe all the dead had been already buried.

Here at the commencement of our journey through France I will break off my narrative for a while in order to say a few words about the Foreign Office Field Bureau and the way in which the Chancellor and his people travelled, lodged, worked and lived. The Minister had selected to accompany him Herr Abeken and Herr von Keudell, Count Hatzfeldt, who had previously spent several years at the Embassy in Paris, and Count Bismarck-Bohlen, all four Privy Councillors of Legation. After these came the Geheim-Sekretär, Bölsing, of the Centralbureau, the two deciphering clerks, Willisch and St. Blanquart, and finally myself. At Ferrières our list of Councillors was completed by Lothar Bucher, and a new deciphering clerk, Herr Wiehr, also joined us. At Versailles the number was further increased by Herr von Holstein, subsequently Councillor of Embassy, the young Count Wartensleben, and Privy Councillor Wagner, the latter, however, not being employed on Foreign Office work. Herr Bölsing who had fallen ill, was replaced by Geheim-Sekretär Wollmann, and the accumulation of work afterwards required a fourth deciphering clerk. Our “Chief,” as the Chancellor was usually called by the staff, had kindly arranged that all his fellow-workers, Secretaries as well as Councillors, should in a certain sense be members of his household. When circumstances permitted we lodged in the same house, and had the honour of dining at his table.

Throughout the whole war the Chancellor wore uniform. It was generally the well-known undress of the yellow regiment of heavy Landwehr cavalry. During the early months of the campaign he as a rule only wore the Commander’s Cross of the Order of the Red Eagle, to which he afterwards added the Iron Cross. I only saw him a couple of times in a dressing gown. That was at Versailles, when he was unwell, the only time, as far as I know, that anything ailed him throughout the whole war. When travelling he was usually accompanied in the carriage by Herr Abeken, but on some occasions he took me with him for several days in succession. He was very easy to please in the matter of his quarters, and was willing to put up with the most modest shelter when better was not to be had. Indeed, it once happened that there was no bedstead and that his bed had to be made upon the floor.

Our carriages usually followed immediately after those of the King’s suite. We started generally about 10 o’clock in the morning, and sometimes covered as much as sixty kilometres in the day. On reaching our quarters for the night our first duty was to set about preparing an office, in which there was seldom any lack of work, especially when we had the Field Telegraph at our disposal. When communications were thus established, the Chancellor again became what, with short intervals, he had been throughout this entire period, namely, the central figure of the whole civilised European world. Even in those places where we only stayed for one night he, incessantly active himself, kept his assistants almost continuously engaged until a late hour. Messengers were constantly going and coming with telegrams and letters. Councillors were drawing up notes, orders and directions under instructions from their chief, and these were being copied, registered, ciphered and deciphered in the Chancellerie. Reports, questions, newspaper articles, &c., streamed in from every direction, most of them requiring instant attention.

Never, perhaps, was the well nigh superhuman power of work shown by the Chancellor, his creative, receptive and critical activity, his ability to deal with the most difficult problems, always finding the right and the only solution, more strikingly evident than during this period. The inexhaustible nature of his powers was all the more astounding, as he took but little sleep. Except when a battle was expected and he rose at daybreak to join the King and the army, the Chancellor rose rather late, as had been his custom at home, usually about 10 o’clock. On the other hand, he spent the night at work, and only fell asleep as daylight began to appear. He was often hardly out of bed and dressed before he commenced work again, reading despatches and making notes upon them, looking through newspapers, giving instructions to his Councillors and others, and setting them their various tasks, or even writing or dictating. Later on there were visits to be received, audiences to be granted, explanations to be given to the King. Then followed a further study of despatches and maps, the correction of articles, drafts hurriedly prepared with his well-known big pencil, letters to be written, information to be telegraphed, or published in the newspapers, and in the midst of it all the reception of visitors who could not be refused a hearing yet must occasionally have been unwelcome. It was only after 2, or even 3 o’clock, in places where we made a longer stay, that the Chancellor allowed himself a little recreation by taking a ride in the neighbourhood. On his return he set to work again, continuing until dinner time, between 5.30 and 6 P.M. In an hour and a half at latest, he went back to his writing-desk, where he frequently remained till midnight.

In his manner of taking his meals, as in his sleep, the Count differed from the general run of mankind. Early in the day he took a cup of tea and one or two eggs, and from that time until evening he, as a rule, tasted nothing more. He seldom took any luncheon and rarely came to tea, which was usually served between 10 and 11 at night. With some exceptions, he therefore had practically but one meal in the twenty-four hours, but, like Frederick the Great, he then ate with appetite. Diplomats are proverbially fond of a good table, being scarcely surpassed in this respect by the clergy. It is part of their business, as they often have important guests who, for one reason or another, must be put in good humour, and it is universally recognised that nothing is better calculated to that end than a well-filled cellar and a dinner which shows the skill of a highly trained chef. Count Bismarck also kept a good table, which, when circumstances permitted, became quite excellent. That was the case for instance at Reims, Meaux, Ferrières and Versailles, where the genius of our cook in the Commissariat uniform created breakfasts and dinners that made any one accustomed to a homely fare feel, as he did justice to them, that he was at length resting in Abraham’s bosom, particularly when some specially fine brand of champagne was added to the other gracious gifts of Providence. During the last five months our table was also enriched by presents from home where, as was only right and proper, our people showed how fondly they remembered the Chancellor, by sending him plentiful supplies of good things, both fluid and solid, geese, venison, fish, pheasants, monumental pastry, excellent beer, rare wines, and other acceptable delicacies.

At first only the Councillors wore uniform, Herr von Keudell that of the Cuirassiers, and Count Bismarck-Bohlen that of the Dragoon Guards, while Count Hatzfeldt and Herr Abeken wore the undress uniform of the Foreign Office. It was afterwards suggested that the whole of the Minister’s personnel, with the exception of the two gentlemen first mentioned, who were also officers, should be allowed the same privilege. The Chief gave his consent, so the people of Versailles had an opportunity of seeing our Chancery attendants in a dark blue tunic with two rows of buttons, black collar trimmed with velvet, and a cap of the same colour, while our Councillors, Secretaries and Decipherers carried swords with a gold sword-knot. The elderly Privy Councillor Abeken, who could make his horse prance as proudly as any cavalry officer, looked wonderfully warlike in this costume, in which, I fancy, he delighted not a little. It was to him just as great a pleasure to show off in all this military bravery as it had been to travel through the Holy Land dressed up as an Oriental, although he did not understand a word of Turkish or Arabic.