Bismarck

Sunday, August 28th.—At tea we receive an important piece of news. We ourselves and the whole army (with the exception of that portion which remains behind for the investment of Metz) are to alter our line of march, and instead of going westwards in the direction of Châlons, we are to turn northwards, following the edge of the Argonne forest towards the Ardennes and the Meuse district. Our next halt will, it is believed, be at Grand Pré. This move is made for the purpose of intercepting Marshal MacMahon, who has collected a large force and is marching towards Metz for the relief of Bazaine.

We start at 10 o’clock on the 29th, passing through several villages and occasionally by handsome châteaux and parks, a camp of Bavarian soldiers, some line regiments, rifles, light horse and cuirassiers. In driving through the small town of Varennes we notice the house where Louis XVI. was arrested by the postman of Saint Ménehould. It is now occupied by a firm of scythe manufacturers. The whole place is full of soldiers, horse and foot, with waggons and artillery. After extricating ourselves from this crowd of vehicles and men, we push rapidly forward through villages and past other camps, until we reach Grand Pré. Here the Chancellor takes up his quarters in the Grande Rue, a little way from the market, the King lodging at an apothecary’s not far off. The second section of the King’s suite, including Prince Charles, Prince Luitpold of Bavaria, and the Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, was quartered in the neighbouring village of Juvin. I am billeted at a milliner’s opposite the Chief’s quarters. I have a nice clean room, but my landlady is invisible. We saw a number of French prisoners in the market-place on our arrival. I am informed that an encounter with MacMahon’s army is expected to-morrow morning.

At Grande Pré the Chief again showed that he never thought of the possibility of an attempt being made to assassinate him. He walked about in the twilight alone and without any constraint, going even through narrow and lonely streets that offered special opportunities for attack. I say this from personal experience, because I followed him with my revolver at a little distance. It seemed to me possible that an occasion might arise when I might be of assistance to him.

On my hearing next morning that the King and the Chancellor were going off together in order to be present at the great battue of the second French army I thought of a favourite proverb of the Chief’s which he repeated to me on his return from Rezonville:—“Wer sich grün macht, den fressen die Ziegen,” and plucking up heart I begged him to take me with him. He answered, “But if we remain there for the night what will you do?” I replied, “That doesn’t matter, Excellency; I shall know how to take care of myself.” “Well, then, come along!” said he, laughing. The Minister took a walk in the market-place while I, in high good humour, fetched my travelling bag, waterproof and faithful diary. On his return he entered his carriage and motioned to me to join him, when I took my place at his side. One must have luck to secure such a piece of good fortune, and one must also follow it up.

We started shortly after 9 o’clock. At first we retraced our steps along yesterday’s road. Then to the left through vineyards and past several villages in a hilly district. We met some parks of artillery and troops on the march or resting by the way. About 11 o’clock we reached the little town of Busancy, where we stopped in the market-place to wait for the King.

The Chief was very communicative. He complained that he was frequently disturbed at his work by persons talking outside his door, “particularly as some of the gentlemen have such loud voices. An ordinary inarticulate noise does not annoy me. I am not put out by music or the rattle of waggons, but what irritates me is a conversation in which I can distinguish the words. I then want to know what it is about, and so I lose the thread of my own ideas.”

He then pointed out to me that when officers saluted our carriage, it was not for me to return the salute. He himself was not saluted as Minister or Chancellor, but solely as a general officer, and soldiers might feel offended if a civilian seemed to think that the salute was also intended for him.

He was afraid that nothing in particular would occur that day, an opinion which was shared by some Prussian artillery officers who were standing by their guns immediately opposite Busancy, and with whom he spoke. “It will be just as it was occasionally when I was out wolf shooting in the Ardennes. After wandering about for days in the snow, we used to hear that a track had been discovered, but when we followed it up the wolf had disappeared. It will be the same with the French to-day.”

After expressing a hope that he might meet his second son, respecting whom he repeatedly inquired of officers along the route, the Minister added:—“You can see from his case how little nepotism there is in our army. He has already served twelve months and has obtained no promotion, while others are recommended for the rank of ensign in little more than a month.” I took the liberty to ask how that was possible. “I do not know,” he answered. “I have made close inquiries as to whether he had been guilty of any slight breaches of discipline; but no, his conduct has been quite satisfactory, and in the engagement at Mars la Tour he charged as gallantly on the French square as any of his comrades. On the return ride he dragged with him out of the fight two dragoons who had been unhorsed, grasping one of them in each hand.[5] It is certainly well to avoid favouritism, but it is bitter to be slighted.”

A few weeks later both his sons were promoted to the rank of officers.

Subsequently, amongst many other things, the Chief once more gave me an account of his experiences on the evening of the 18th of August. They had sent their horses to water, and were standing near a battery which had opened fire. This was not returned by the French, but, he continued, “while we thought their cannon had been dismounted, they were for the last hour concentrating their guns and mitrailleuses for a last great effort. Suddenly they began a fearful fire with shells and smaller projectiles, filling the whole air with an incessant crashing and roaring, howling and whistling. We were cut off from the King, whom Roon had sent to the rear. I remained by the battery, and thought that if we had to retire I could jump on to the next ammunition cart. We expected that this attack would be supported by French infantry, who might take me prisoner, even if I were to treat them to a steady revolver fire. I had six bullets ready for them, and another half-dozen in reserve. At length our horses returned, and I started off to join the King. That, however, was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. The shells that passed over our heads fell exactly in the space across which we had to ride. Next morning we saw the pits which they dug in the ground. It was therefore necessary for the King to retire still further to the rear. I told him this after the officers had mentioned it to me. It was now night. The King said he was hungry, and wished to have something to eat. Drink was to be had from one of the sutlers, wine and bad rum, but there was nothing to eat except dry bread. At last they managed to hunt up a couple of cutlets in the village, just enough for the King, but nothing for his companions, so that I was obliged to look out for something else. His Majesty wished to sleep in the carriage between dead horses and severely wounded soldiers. Later on he found shelter in a miserable hut. The Chancellor of the Confederation was obliged to seek cover elsewhere. Leaving the heir of one of our mighty German potentates (the young Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg) to keep watch over the carriage and see that nothing was stolen, I went with Sheridan on a reconnoitring tour in search of a sleeping place. We came to a house which was still burning, but that was too hot for us. I inquired at another, it was full of wounded; at a third, and got the same answer, and still a fourth was also full of wounded. Here, however, I refused to budge. I saw a top window in which there was no light, and asked who was there. ‘Only wounded soldiers,’ was the reply. ‘Well, we are just going up to see,’ I said, and marched upstairs. There we found three beds with good and tolerably clean straw mattresses, where we took up our quarters and slept capitally.”

When the Minister first told this story at Pont à Mousson, with less detail, his cousin, Count Bismarck-Bohlen, added: “Yes, you fell asleep immediately, as also did Sheridan, who rolled himself up in a white linen sheet—where he found it I cannot imagine—and seemed to dream of you all night, as I heard him murmur to himself several times, ‘O dear Count!’” “Yes,” said the Minister, “and the Hereditary Grand Duke, who took the affair in very good part, and was altogether a very pleasant and amiable young gentleman.” “Moreover,” continued Bohlen, “the best of it was that there really was no such scarcity of shelter. In the meantime a fine country house had been discovered that had been prepared for the reception of Bazaine, with good beds, excellent wine, and I know not what besides, all first rate. The Minister of War quartered himself there, and had a luxurious supper with his staff.”

On the way to Busancy the Chancellor further said: “The whole day I had nothing to eat but army bread and bacon fat. In the evening we got five or six eggs. The others wanted them cooked, but I like them raw, and so I stole a couple, and cracking the shells on the hilt of my sword, I swallowed them, and felt much refreshed. Early next morning I had the first warm food for thirty-six hours. It was only some pea-soup with bacon, which I got from General Goeben, but I enjoyed it immensely.”

The market-place at Busancy, a small country town, was crowded with officers, hussars, uhlans, couriers, and all sorts of conveyances. After a while Sheridan and Forsythe also arrived. At 11.30 the King appeared, and immediately afterwards we heard the unexpected news that the French were standing their ground. At about four kilometres from Busancy we came to a height beneath which to the left and right a small open valley lay between us and another height. Suddenly we heard the muffled sound of a discharge in the distance. “Artillery fire,” said the Minister. A little further on I saw two columns of infantry stationed on the other side of a hollow to the left on a piece of rising ground bare of trees. They had two guns which were being fired. It was so far off however that one could hardly hear the report. The Chief was surprised at the sharpness of my sight and put on his glasses, which I for the first time learned were necessary to him when he wished to see at a distance. Small white clouds like balloons at a great height floated for three or four seconds above the hollow and then disappeared in a flash. These were shrapnel shells. The guns must have been German, and seemed to throw their shot from a declivity on the other side of the hollow. Over this hollow was a wood, in front of which I could observe several dark lines, perhaps French troops. Still further off was the spur of a hill, with three or four large trees. This, according to my map, was the village of Stonn, from which, as I afterwards heard, the Emperor Napoleon watched the fight.

The firing to the left soon ceased. Bavarian artillery, blue cuirassiers, and green light horse, passed us on the road, going at a trot. A little further on, just as we drove by a small thicket, we heard a rattle, as of a slow and badly delivered volley. “A mitrailleuse,” said Engel, turning round on the box. Not far off, at a place where the Bavarian rifles were resting in the ditch by the road, the Minister got on horseback in order to ride with the King, who was ahead of us. We ourselves, after following the road for a time, turned towards the right across a stubble field. The ground gradually rose to a low height on which the King stood with the Chief and a number of Princes, generals and other officers of high rank. I followed them across the ploughed fields, and standing a little to one side I watched the battle of Beaumont till nearly sunset.

It began to grow dark. The King sat on a chair near which a straw fire had been lit, as there was a strong wind. He was following the course of the battle through a field-glass. The Chancellor, who was similarly occupied, stood on a ridge, from which Sheridan also watched the spectacle. It was now possible to catch the flash of the bursting shells and the flames that were rising from the burning houses at Beaumont. The French continued to retire rapidly, and the combatants disappeared over the crest of the treeless height that closed the horizon to the left behind the wood over the burning village. The battle was won.

It was growing dark when we returned towards Busancy, and when we reached it it was surrounded by hundreds of small fires that threw the silhouettes of men, horses, and baggage waggons into high relief. We got down at the house of a doctor who lived at the end of the main street, in which the King had also taken up his quarters. Those of our party who had been left behind at Grand Pré had arrived before us. I slept here on a straw mattress on the floor of an almost empty room, under a coverlet which had been brought from the hospital in the town by one of our soldiers. That, however, did not in the least prevent my sleeping the sleep of the just.

On Wednesday, August the 31st, between 9 and 10 A.M., the King and the Chancellor drove out to visit the battle-field of the previous day. I was again permitted to accompany the Minister. At first we followed the road taken the day before through Bar de Busancy and Sommauthe. Between these two villages we passed some squadrons of Bavarian uhlans, who heartily cheered the King. Behind Sommauthe, which was full of wounded, we drove through a beautiful wood that lay between that village and Beaumont, where we arrived after 11 o’clock. King William and our Chancellor then got on horseback and rode to the right over the fields. I followed in the same direction on foot. The carriages went on to the town, where they were to wait for us.

The Chancellor remarked that the French had not offered a particularly steady resistance yesterday, or shown much prudence in their arrangements. “At Beaumont a battery of heavy artillery surprised them in their camp in broad daylight. Horses were shot tethered, many of the dead are in their shirt-sleeves, and plates are still lying about with boiled potatoes, pots with half-cooked meat, and so forth.”

During the drive the Chief came to speak of “people who have the King’s ear and abuse his good nature,” thinking in the first place of the “fat Borck, the holder of the King’s Privy Purse;” and afterwards referring to Count Bernstorff, our then Ambassador in London, who, when he gave up the Foreign Office in Berlin, “knew very well how to take care of himself.” In fact, “he was so long weighing the respective advantages of the two Embassies—London and Paris—that he delayed entering upon his duties much longer than was decent or proper.”

I ventured to ask what sort of a person Von der Goltz was, as one heard such different opinions about him, and whether he really was a man of importance and intellect as was maintained. “Intelligent? yes, in a certain sense,” replied the Minister; “a quick worker, well informed, but changeable in his views of men and things,—to-day in favour of this man or this project, to-morrow for another and sometimes for the very opposite. Then he was always in love with the Princesses to whose Courts he was accredited, first with Amelia of Greece and then with Eugénie. He believed that what I had the good fortune to carry through, he, with his exceptional intelligence, could have also done and even better. Therefore he was constantly intriguing against me, although we had been good friends in our youth. He wrote letters to the King complaining of me and warning his Majesty against me. That did not help him much, as the King handed over the letters to me, and I replied to them by reprimanding him. But in this respect he was persevering, and continued to write indefatigably. He was very little liked by his subordinates, indeed they actually detested him. On my visit to Paris in 1862 I called upon him to report myself just as he had settled down to a siesta. I did not wish to have him disturbed, but his secretaries were evidently delighted that he should be obliged to get up, and one of them immediately went in to announce me. It would have been so easy for him to secure the good will and attachment of his people. It is not difficult for an Ambassador, and I too would do it gladly. But as a Minister one has no time, one has too many other things to think of and to do. So I have had to adopt a more military style.” It will be seen from this description that Von der Goltz was Arnim’s forerunner and kindred spirit.

The Minister went on to speak of Radowitz, saying he did not feel quite certain whether it was dulness or treachery on Radowitz’s part that was to blame for the diplomatic defeat at Olmütz. The army ought to have been brought into line before Olmütz, but Radowitz had intrigued against it. “I would leave it an open question whether he did so as an Austrian ultramontane Jesuit, or as an impracticable dreamer who thought he knew everything. Instead of looking to our armaments he occupied the King with constitutional trifles, of mediæval follies, questions of etiquette and such like. On one occasion we heard that Austria had collected 80,000 men in Bohemia, and was buying great numbers of horses. This was mentioned before the King in Radowitz’s presence. He suddenly stepped forward, looking as if he knew much more about it than anybody else, and said, ‘Austria has 22,493 men and 2,005 horses in Bohemia,’ and then turned away, conscious that he had once more impressed the King with a sense of his importance.”

The King and the Chancellor first rode to the field where the heavy artillery had been at work. I followed them after I had jotted down my notes. This field lies about 800 to 1000 paces to the right of the road that brought us here. In front of it towards the wood at the bottom of the valley were some fields surrounded by hedges in which lay about a thousand German dead, Thuringians of the 31st Regiment. The camp itself presented a horrible appearance, all blue and red from the French dead, most of them being killed by the shells of the 4th Corps, and fearfully disfigured.

The Chancellor, as he afterwards told me, noticed among some prisoners in a quarry a priest who was believed to have fired at our men. “On my charging him with having done so he denied it. ‘Take care,’ I said to him, ‘for if it is proved against you, you will certainly be hanged.’ In the meantime I gave instructions to remove his cassock.” Near the church the King saw a wounded musketeer, with whom he shook hands, although the man was rather tattered and dirty from the work of the previous day, doubtless to the surprise of the French officers who were present. The King asked him what his business was. He replied that he was a Doctor of Philosophy. “Well, then, you will have learnt to bear your wounds in a philosophical spirit,” said the King. “Yes,” answered the musketeer, “I have already made up my mind to do so.”

Near the second village we overtook some common soldiers, Bavarians, who had broken down on the march, and were dragging themselves slowly along in the burning sun. “Hullo, countryman!” called out the Minister to one of these, “will you have some brandy?” “Why, certainly;” and so would a second and a third, to judge from their looks. All three, and a few more, after they had had a pull at the Minister’s flask and at mine, received a decent cigar in addition. At the village of Crehanges, where the princely personages of the second section of the King’s suite were quartered, together with some gentlemen of the Crown Prince’s retinue, the King ordered a lunch, to which Bismarck was also invited. In the meantime I sat on a stone by the roadside and wrote up my diary, and afterwards assisted the Dutch Ambulance corps, who had erected a bright green tent for the wounded in the vicinity of the village. When the Minister returned he asked me what I had been doing, which I told him. “I would rather have been there than in the company I was in,” he said, breathing deeply, and then quoted the line from Schiller’s Diver, “Unter Larven die einzige fühlende Brust” (the only feeling heart amongst all those masks).

During the rest of the drive the conversation moved for a considerable time in exalted regions, and the Chief readily gave me full information in answer to my inquiries. I regret, however, that I cannot for various reasons publish all I heard.

A certain Thuringian Serene Highness appeared to be particularly objectionable to him. He spoke of his “stupid self-importance as a Prince, regarding me as his Chancellor also;” of his empty head, and his trivial conventional style of talk. “To some extent, however, that is due to his education, which trained him to the use of such empty phrases. Goethe is also partly to blame for that. The Queen has been brought up much in the same style. One of the chairs in the Palace would be taken to represent the Burgomaster of Apolda, who was coming to present his homage. ‘Ah!’ she was taught to say, ‘very pleased to see you, Herr Burgomaster!’ (Here the Chancellor leant his head a little to one side, pouted his lips, and assumed a most condescending smile.) ‘How are things going on in the good town of Apolda? In Apolda you make socks and tobacco and such things, which do not require much thinking or feeling.’”

I ventured to ask how he now stood with the Crown Prince? “Excellently,” he answered. “We are quite good friends since he has come to recognise that I am not on the side of the French, as he had previously fancied—I do not know on what grounds.” I remarked that the day before the Crown Prince had looked very pleased. “Why should he not be pleased?” replied the Count. “The Heir Apparent of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world, and with the best prospects. He will be reasonable later on and allow his Ministers to govern more, and not put himself too much forward, and in general he will get rid of many bad habits that render old gentlemen of his trade sometimes rather troublesome. For the rest, he is unaffected and straightforward; but he does not care to work much, and is quite happy if he has plenty of money and amusements, and if the newspapers praise him.”

I took the liberty to ask further what sort of woman the Crown Princess was, and whether she had much influence over her husband. “I think not,” the Count said; “and as to her intelligence, she is a clever woman; clever in a womanly way. She is not able to disguise her feelings, or at least not always. I have cost her many tears, and she could not conceal how angry she was with me after the annexations (that is to say of Schleswig and Hanover). She could hardly bear the sight of me, but that feeling has now somewhat subsided. She once asked me to bring her a glass of water, and as I handed it to her she said to a lady-in-waiting who sat near and whose name I forget, ‘He has cost me as many tears as there is water in this glass.’ But that is all over now.”

Finally we descended from the sphere of the gods to that of ordinary humanity. After I had referred to the Coburg-Belgian-English clique, the conversation turned on the Augustenburger in his Bavarian uniform. “He’s an idiot,” said the Chancellor. “He might have secured much better terms. At first I did not want from him more than the smaller Princes were obliged to concede in 1866. Thanks, however, to Divine Providence and the pettifogging wisdom of Samwer, he would agree to nothing. I remember an interview I had with him in 1864, in the billiard-room near my study, which lasted until late in the night. I called him ‘Highness’ for the first time, and was altogether specially polite. When, however, I mentioned Kiel Harbour, which we wanted, he remarked that that might mean something like a square mile, or perhaps even several square miles, a remark to which I was of course obliged to assent; and when he also refused to listen to our demands with regard to the army, I assumed a different tone, and addressed him merely as ‘Prince.’ Finally, I told him quite coolly in Low German that we could wring the necks of the chickens we had hatched. At Ligny he basely tricked me the other day into shaking hands with him. I did not know who the Bavarian general was who held out his hand to me, or I should have gone out of his way.”

After an unusually long drive up hill and down dale, we arrived at 7 o’clock at the small town or market-place of Vendresse, there the Chancellor put up at the house of a Widow Baudelot, with the rest of his party, who had already taken possession of their quarters.