The decade from 1861 to 1871 was marked by two great events which might be called epochs in the history of civilized mankind. One was the great civil war in this country, the other the war between Germany and France in Europe. From these wars issued the two controlling powers of the two hemispheres. This Republic was indeed the greatest power on this continent before; but to demonstrate its cohesiveness and durability it was necessary that it should first pass through the crucible of an internal conflict. Since the Government has shown itself strong enough to endure the shock of rebellion and civil war, we may rest assured that as a great power it stands upon a solid pedestal.
As to Europe, when Prussia had gained the victory in her great struggle with Austria and succeeded in gathering the North German States under her control, it was evident that the great leading power of Europe was being formed in the very heart of the European continent. But as long as that power had not measured itself with its traditional and most formidable competitor, France, people shook their heads and said that its most serious trial was still to come. That is now over. What was regarded as the test question is now decided, and the political centre of gravity in Europe seems for an indefinite period fixed in Germany.
The victory of Germany over France was the astonishment of the world. While many expected that it would come, hardly anybody expected it to come with such quick decision. It is not my intention to lay before you a narrative of marches and battles and sieges, although the temptation is great. I will rather review the causes and the already accomplished and still probable consequences of the results achieved. To understand the nature of the conflict we must look at the combatants, and first at the people of Germany.
The campaigns of Alexander, Caesar and Napoleon, the sieges of Troy, Babylon and Sebastapol, have been far outdone in grandeur and brilliancy in these prosy days of ours. Future generations will stand before these tremendous achievements with ever reviving surprise and admiration. I will not recount the story which is still fresh in our memories.
Most of those who have never travelled in Europe, know the Germans only from what they see of them on the streets of the cities, on the farms, in the workshops, in the busy places of commerce in this country, and perhaps from that part of their literature which has become more or less familiar to the reading public all over the world. You see in them a people of quiet, laborious, thrifty, frugal and somewhat parsimonious workers and of theoretical thinkers and dreamers. The American has long been accustomed to look on the German with a sort of benevolent condescension, in many cases believing that a civilization which does not entirely correspond with the current ways of thinking and doing in this country, is only a half civilization after all. Americans who have travelled in Germany and have studied the peculiarities of that people without prejudice, have in that respect very materially corrected their impressions. There the German moves in his own atmosphere; here he labors under the disadvantage of a foreign language, in which in most cases the expression of his thoughts and ideas appears clumsy and imperfect, and of social and political relations in which he does not move with the assurance of habit.
The German, generally speaking, has never been a great favorite in the family of nations. Students of all countries will find uncommon enjoyment in the literature of Germany. Men of science know well how to appreciate her scientific discoveries. Thinkers admire the boldness and thoroughness of German philosophical thought. But the German never possessed that vivacity of disposition, that lightness of motion, that art to please, which makes others the fashionable leaders or the pets of society. It has been said that a German savant can define a chair in a dozen languages, but he cannot sit upon one with gracefulness and freedom. The Germans have hardly ever been borne along by a sympathetic public opinion in the world. Whatever success, position or praise they achieved, they had to win by hard work, by persistent effort, by solid merit. They have had to force themselves into the respect and even into the notice of the world, which always was inclined to look over their heads as long as it was possible. Their situation among the nations of the earth produced in them a habit of self-criticism, which at times degenerated into a depreciation of their own superior qualities, and a propensity to respect and admire rather anybody else than themselves. But this tendency, which has led them rather to distrust than to overestimate their own strength and abilities, has also given them a solidity and thoroughness of character and purpose, which makes them abhor shams and humbugs and become thorough devotees of truth and reality. The Germans are very unlike the fancy man who wears all his valuables upon his shirt front. They prefer a solid pair of boots and a good coat to a flashing breastpin. You will find these characteristics among all classes of German society: among the peasants, who prefer to have what little land they possess in a high state of profitable cultivation, rather than indulge in a vain boast of a large number of acres; among the students who strive to penetrate to the bottom of things rather than to astonish the world with a showy display of hastily picked up knowledge, and who sincerely mean it when they say that the more they learn the better they know that they know nothing; among the merchants who are rather intent upon building up a solid business than indulging in hazardous speculations and enterprises to achieve sudden wealth; among the officers of the State whose predominant thought is duty and public service, even to the sacrifice of their individuality. You find it among the women also, whose highest ambition it is, even in the upper classes of society, to be good housewives and mothers rather than to shine in the world. And it is perhaps of peculiar significance, that among the women of Germany the tendency to what we here call strong-mindedness is less developed than anywhere else in the civilized world, although in point of education, mental ability and culture, they are certainly not backward. The sanctity and elevating influence of family life is therefore in Germany less invaded by demoralization and disturbing ambitions than elsewhere, — and whatever our views on the subject of social organization may be, we are always thrown back upon the great truth, that the virtue and the moral health and strength of a people must spring from the inspirations of family life.
You have perhaps frequently heard stories about the degraded position of woman in the lower classes of German society: how women are seen working on the field, carrying heavy burdens on their heads, and devoting themselves to the menial drudgeries of life. The truth is that there is prevalent there an idea of active and responsible cooperation between husband and wife; and although among the laboring people under the necessities of their situation this may be carried to an extreme disagreeable to look at, yet even in the upper classes of society, where no such necessities exist, the idea of reciprocal duty is kept alive by instinctive understanding and voluntary choice.
Let us look at that branch of the German nation whose influence and power has of late become preponderant, the Prussians. The original and normal Prussian is by no means what may be called a very amiable person. He is self-conscious and self-asserting, a merciless critic and somewhat regardless of other peoples feelings. He has not that easy going air and fondness of enjoyment which you find in other members of the German family. His wit is of the caustic nature. He is more serious in his thoughts than his language will always betray. He has even a way of making himself heartily disliked by those with whom he is occasionally thrown into contact. But these shortcomings arise to a great extent from the best qualities he possesses. He gives himself to the business of life with that earnestness of purpose, that intense energy and that sturdy perseverance which command success; and he is withal guided by an overruling notion of duty in the selection as well as the execution of the tasks he undertakes.
It seems as if the military institutions of the country had affected the character of the people, or as if the original character of the people had produced their military institutions. In Prussia everybody, high or low, is liable to military service, and you will find but very few men there who have not been in the army. The strict discipline and the habit to command and obey which are bred and developed there, seem to impress their stamp not only upon their outward bearing, but even upon their inner life. There is a certain straightness and stiffness about them which reminds one of the educated corporal, and, as the poet Heine satirically expressed it, they seem to have swallowed the stick with which their ancestors were flogged.
The Prussian is proud of his country and affects a certain pretentious air of superiority which makes him by no means popular with the rest of the German people. He is very much like the Yankee in this respect as well as in others, for with the characteristic meddlesomeness he possesses in a high degree that same sturdiness of character which is necessary for the arduous execution of far reaching designs, and also some of that go-ahead spirit which stimulates industry as well as education, and makes a country thrifty, prosperous and strong.
The rulers of Prussia had espoused Protestantism early in the 16th century, and in the course of time Prussia became the leading Protestant power in Germany. As Protestantism in the first stages of its development was an insurrectionary movement against existing abuses and the principle of stagnant conservatism as embodied in the Church of Rome, it naturally attracted and enlisted in its cause the boldest and most active minds of the age, and every government which adopted it was forced to become in a certain sense liberal and progressive, for Protestantism was the cradle of popular education. Such governments provided at once for the promotion of industry, good morale and general instruction among their people, and it is a significant fact that the development of the greatest prosperity in some European countries dates perceptibly from their early connection with the Protestant movement.
It is true, Prussia never was what we would call a free country. The reigning dynasty, the Hohenzollern, maintained for a very long period the principles and practice of absolute government without disguise. But Prussian absolutism had some elements of progress and enlightenment in its composition. Religious toleration was more strictly observed there than in any other European state, somewhat according to the saying of Frederick the Great, that everybody in his Kingdom might go to Heaven in his own way; and the government gradually established and developed a system of popular instruction more complete and efficient than any other country can boast of, a few cantons in Switzerland and a few States of this Union alone excepted. Instruction in the elementary branches of knowledge was made compulsory. The parent who fails to send his children to school is punishable by law, and thus is not only the acquisition of a certain degree of knowledge placed within the reach of every child of the people, but nobody is permitted by the police to remain entirely ignorant. The consequence is that it is as difficult there to find a person who cannot write and read as it is in Massachusetts, and probably more so. The teachers employed in the 30,000 common schools in Prussia are all educated in seminaries instituted for that purpose, and even private teachers must submit to a thorough examination before they are permitted to open schools. The number of higher institutions of learning is immense, and the thoroughness of the training students receive there would deserve imitation in our colleges. The Prussian universities are the best in the world, and they have always been more or less under the control of the Government.
Thus, although the Government remained for a long time despotic, the elements of progress were deeply planted and strongly developed in the people, and as we frequently hear the defenders of aristocracy say that “blood will tell”, we, as the friends of popular liberty, may say with equal confidence that “popular education will tell.”
The practical machinery through which the Government is carried on, bears the same characteristic features which distinguish the people. There is no public service in the world that is more thoroughly organized, more strictly regulated, better disciplined and more honest and economical. Salaries are notoriously low, in a great many cases meanly, even ridiculously so, — and yet attempts to make up for it by illegitimate practices, by an illicit use of official opportunities or direct malversation are exceedingly rare. Officers there will literally rather starve than steal. Defalcations and embezzlements are scarcely known there. When they do occur, they are almost always ludicrously small in amount, and in many cases the poor wretches who attempt them feel upon discovery the degradation of their condition so keenly that they forthwith proceed to hang themselves or to cut their throats in order not to survive their official dishonor. In this respect they differ very much from similar criminals here, for whom death seems to have double terrors and life new charms when they have filled their pockets with money, and who think that they can increase their respectability by simply stealing themselves rich.
There is no civil service in the world that is conducted in as economical a manner as the Prussian. It has been wittily said that Prussia has starved herself into greatness, — and it is certain that many of those who helped to make her great, had to do it upon empty stomachs. But such things are rendered possible only by an exalted sense of official honor, when duty is the first word in the official's dictionary, even if duty means self-sacrifice.
The military organization of the country is animated by the same spirit. No young man capable of bearing arms, to whatever class of society he may belong, is exempt from military service. The nobleman steps into the ranks by the side of the peasant boy. The student is drilled by the same corporal with the laborer, and there were many private soldiers in the ranks during the late war, who took a volume of Greek classics or a philosophic disquisition out of their knapsacks, to sweeten the hours of rest by the campfire after a weary day's march. The best educated classes being on the same footing in the army with the rest, their superior intelligence leavens the whole, and the vast machinery is animated by a common consciousness of patriotic. It may be said in truth that the Prussian army is the people in arms, and that the schoolmaster was its first organizer and drill officer. There is an importance attached to the training part of the military service which sometimes finds a ludicrous though characteristic expression. After the great war in France the German army returned to its garrison, a sergeant said to his men: “Now, boys, the time of fun is over. We return again to the serious business of life.”
It might be said that the general obligation of military duty, absorbing two or three or more years from the life of every man for what may be called non-productive pursuits, would be a heavy burden upon the people, not only entailing vast expense, but seriously impairing the laboring force of the country. This is true in a certain sense. But it is also true that army life there has become a part of popular education. Look at the peasant boy as he appears at the mustering place of recruits, an awkward and slouchy clown, with stooping shoulders and dragging gait and stupid face, hardly knowing what to do with his hands. And then look at him again after he has passed through his term of service, straight as a bolt, firm and elastic in his movements, with head proudly lifted up and eyes beaming with self-reliance, a changed being whose laboring power has been at least doubled by the training. Moreover, army life is sometimes taken advantage of to remedy what neglects there may have been in early education. Those whose school training was defective are taught in the elementary branches of knowledge in the company school, and thus care is taken to fit the youth for the business of the man.
It might appear strange that a people so highly endowed, with such unbounded mental resources, boasting of such tremendous achievements in the realm of science, literature, philosophy and art, and with an administration so handily organized for the vigorous use of power, should for centuries have counted for so little in the political world. In fact, since the days of the Reformation, and more especially since the Thirty Years' War, Germany as a political power existed only in name. The nation was disrupted by a large number of territorial and political divisions, cut up into dozens of small kingdoms, duchies and principalities, some large enough to make a respectable figure, some so small that, as Heine said, when you walked across them on a rainy day, a whole principality would stick to your boots, — and all these ruled by petty monarchs, whose pride of separate sovereignty and little jealousies not unfrequently drove them to conspire with foreign enemies to serve their own small selfishness. Thus Germany, once the great leading power of the Middle Ages, became for centuries the theatre of internal strife and bickering; the victim of small selfish ambitions ready to sacrifice the common good and honor to personal advantage.
Bismarck, first a simple nobleman, then a Count, and now a Prince, is at the present moment the most popular man in Germany; not popular in the ordinary sense as if the people were fond of him as one of their own, but popular because he is thought to possess those qualities which the people lacked in order to become powerful and great. Bismarck is not, and never was, strictly speaking, a man of the people. His ancestors belonged to the class called “Junkers”, country squires, neither distinguished by superior culture, nor superior wealth, but aristocratic more in their pretensions than in their position; looking down upon common people as far beneath them in the order of the universe, and looking up to Kings and Princes as far above them by divine right. Bismarck, unlike most of the young men of his class, was educated not for the military but for the civil service.
As a University student he was among the gayest behind the cup, among the loudest in a frolic, among the readiest on the duelling ground. When he entered public life as a member of the Prussian Diet, shortly before the revolution of 1848, he took rank as an extreme advocate of absolutism in Government, and as a violent representative of the pretensions and prejudices of the aristocracy. Nobody understood better the art of making himself thoroughly detested by his opponents. The answering and provoking tone of his speeches in defense of the very extremest doctrines of the nobility, made him appear as a man who had been born two or three centuries too late. If he could have had his way at that period, he would have imposed upon the 19th century the organization of society of the Middle Ages. I remember well the time when among the Liberals he was the best hated man in Germany, and, to do him justice, he deserved to be.
But no sooner was he removed from the parliamentary stage, where he acted as a mere debater, to other fields, where he took practical part in the great affairs of the world, than his views of policy, if not his principles, commenced to undergo a very important change. An extreme and daring reactionist, he had attracted the favorable notice of the Prussian Court. He was taken into the service of the Crown and sent first as Secretary of Legation and then as Minister to the German Diet at Frankfort, a sort of federal council, representing not the people but the Princes of Germany. In that council, Austria presided and possessed the preponderance of influence. Bismarck, who had formerly seen in the Austrian Government the beau ideal of his political principles, found himself now as a representative of Prussian interests arrayed against the pretensions of that rival power. His first objective point was, according to the spirit of his mission, to establish the leadership of Prussia in German affairs, and he pursued that object with the whole impetuous earnestness of his nature. His first meeting with the Austrian Ambassador is said to have been a characteristic demonstration of his temper as well as his political aims. The Austrian, perhaps intending to make Bismarck feel the superiority of his rank, received him in his shirt sleeves and with a cigar in his mouth. Bismarck seeing this, at once pulled off his coat, lighted a cigar and said: “You are right, my dear colleague, it is very warm. Let us make ourselves comfortable.” The Austrian opened his eyes wide.
From that time on the relations of Governments and Nations seemed to appear in a new light to Bismarck's mind. To fight Austria was to fight those reactionary and mediaeval ideas of which until then he had been so strenuous an advocate. The power of Prussia could be raised only upon the ideas of the modern age, and Bismarck threw at once a large portion of his prejudices overboard, as superfluous baggage. An anecdote is told of him well calculated to illustrate the manner in which the change in his political views progressed.
While he was Prussian Minister at Frankfort, an engraving dropped one day from the wall of his room. The frame and the glass were broken, and where the nail had been there was an ugly hole in the wall. Bismarck wanted to have it repaired immediately and sent for a workman to do the job. But he became suddenly aware that in the ancient city of Frankfort some of those mediaeval institutions still existed which he had been so passionately fond of, namely: the Trade Guilds, by the regulations of which a workman belonging to one guild was strictly forbidden to do work properly belonging to another. Thus Bismarck found that he could get a joiner to repair the picture frame, but not to put in a new glass, for that belonged to the glazier. He could get a glazier to furnish a new glass, but not to repair the frame, for that belonged to the joiner, and neither of them would have ventured to fill the hole in the wall with putty, for that belonged to the mason or the plasterer. Nor could the mason or plasterer put some paint over the hole so filled, for that would have encroached upon the time-honored rights of the house painter — so that a little job which one man might have performed in half an hour, required the cooperation of four distinct trades and caused endless trouble and annoyance. When Bismarck had at last his engraving hung up again, he exclaimed: “Hurrah for the freedom of the trades.” — And one of the mediaeval institutions he had been so earnestly contending for, had dropped out of his mind, — and a great many others dropped out in a like manner.
From Frankfort he was transferred as Ambassador to Russia, and from there to Paris, where he made Louis Napoleon's acquaintance, all the while working out in his mind, down to minute details, the ideal of Prussian leadership as he had conceived it. Finally he was called by the King of Prussia into the cabinet as Prime Minister of the Crown. And he at once commenced the gigantic task of working up to the great enterprise of striking down Austrian power, the somewhat sluggish and timid mind of the old King, and of maintaining himself on the other hand against the violent demonstrations of popular hatred which pursued him. The difficulties seemed immense. He had to break through the constitution and laws of the land, and the crisis grew at times so violent that the King became fainthearted and the Government was on the point of breaking down. But he prepared for action with an undaunted heart, and when popular dissatisfaction rose so high that a young enthusiast could fire a pistol at him without exciting much indignation in the country, he calmly told his friends: “Wait, within a few months I shall be the most popular man in Germany.” And he calculated correctly, for he based his calculation upon the longing of the German heart for national unity.
No war could possibly have been more unpopular than the one which was commenced by Prussia against Austria in 1866. It looked once as if the soldiers would refuse to march. But when by a short and most brilliant campaign, successes then scarcely ever surpassed in history had been won, and the germ of a new organization of United Germany appeared as the result of the struggle, Bismarck, as he returned from the field, was almost smothered by the enthusiasm of the same people who but recently had covered him with their curses. Prussia was then the leading power in Germany; the Northern States of Germany were then united under her shield, with the Southern offensive and defensive alliance was concluded, and Bismarck stood there as the leading genius of the Nation. This happened in 1866.
But there was an instinctive feeling among the German people, that the new edifice could not be considered as resting on a safe foundation until it had stood the test of a struggle with that hereditary enemy, France, whose traditional policy it was to oppose German Union and to foment German division for the purpose of maintaining her own preponderance in Europe. At the commencement of the Austrian war, Louis Napoleon, completely outwitted by Bismarck and not anticipating the tremendous results which followed, had contented himself with the passive role of a neutral. In fact, he was in no condition to fight, for he had undertaken the task of founding by force a monarchy on American soil — a task which no European power can take with impunity — and the disastrous Mexican expedition had seriously disorganized the French army. And then events in Germany developed so rapidly that Prussia had reaped her harvest, before Louis Napoleon could prepare for interference. The assumed preponderance of French power in Europe was thus seriously threatened, and everybody looked upon it as certain that Louis Napoleon would at a favorable moment try to recover what he had lost. Bismarck had now the confidence of the people, at least so far as his national policy was concerned, and he could prepare for future events with full freedom of action.
It was during that period that I visited Germany and had an opportunity to see him. He had become so interesting a figure on the great stage of the world that it is worth while to introduce him to you personally. You enter the ministry of foreign affairs at Berlin, a public building without pretensions to architectural grandeur and beauty, and you are shown up by a liveried servant to the second story, where you find the great minister in his private office, a very plain room of moderate dimensions with a large writing table and few chairs and bookstands, and piles of papers and documents covering a considerable portion of the furniture. Behind that table there rises to receive you a man of powerful frame, fully six feet high and well proportioned, with that face whose features are familiar to you from innumerable photographs and engravings — a face full of stern determination and forbidding dignity, something of an idealized bulldog in it. But no sooner is the first greeting exchanged, than that face is lit up with a genial smile. He speaks to you in a pleasant voice, rather high issuing from so powerful a head and frame, and the visitor feels at once at home. Soon the conversation, carried on by Bismarck with the utmost vivacity, runs over all possible topics, and you find in that stern ruler of men, that indomitable war minister, that unfathomable diplomatist, one of the pleasantest and most communicative talkers, so communicative, indeed, that you sometimes stand amazed at the candor and seemingly confidential frankness with which he speaks of things which even among old acquaintances would be treated with discretion and reserve: his person relations with the Kings, his reasons for doing this and that, the objects he means to accomplish, the secret history of great actions of State, and so on. In conversation Bismarck appears as if he had absolutely nothing to conceal from the world. In fact, he is reputed to be the originator of a new sort of diplomatic art which consists in speaking the truth; and, indeed, as lying has been considered one of the high privileges of diplomacy, a frank avowal of the truth has sometimes been found the best means to deceive. But there is still something else in Bismarck's conversation which will astonish and fascinate the listener. It is a profound knowledge of men and things, a store of information which seems to be inexhaustible, and a keenness of perception and justness of judgment, which bears in every remark the touch of that intuitive insight which is characteristic of genius. I have found but one man in Europe, who, without ever having been in this country, showed a correct conception of our institutions, political affairs and public characters, and that man was Bismarck. And, in addition to this, his conversation is so enlivened with acute remarks, profound philosophical generalizations and sparkling sallies of wit, that I can well understand how even his opponents, when they come into personal contact with him, cannot escape the fascination of his individuality. I saw him also in parliamentary action. A noisy discussion is going on in the House. The tall figure of Bismarck rises behind the Minister's table and all is silence. He begins to speak. There is no attempt at oratorical display. He plunges right into the subject. A few striking sentences come out in good order; then he halts as if seeking for the right word; that being found he rushes on again with a sort of monotonous but rapid and sometimes even vehement fluency. He is no orator in the common understanding. His speeches are always short. There is no ornament in his language and no gracefulness of action. His arms hang by his side and his hands play with a paper-knife or a ruler while he is speaking. But his statements have a wonderful force of clearness and directness, and his peculiarly sarcastic wit overawes his hearers while it delights them. And there is a dash of authority, a consciousness of superiority in what he says which discourages, nay, sometimes actually silences, contradiction. And when he has finished there is a flutter perceptible all over the assembly, as if members wanted a little time to recover from the shock, and as if nobody were particularly eager to speak immediately after him.
Bismarck is one of those rare men who combat and conquer their own prejudices with the same energy and success with which they combat and overcome outside obstacles. It may be said, perhaps, that he is the most inconsistent of statesmen. But just in the inconsistencies of his career you find the most brilliant features of his statesmanship. He appeared an impracticable dreamer as long as he thought of reviving some of the institutions of the Middle Ages in the 19th century. He became one of the most practical of men as soon as he commenced to deal with living reality. When he first started in political life, he despised the people. But as soon as he rose in his aspirations for ends of national importance, he understood that such ends could be accomplished only with the cooperation of the people. And now it may be said that nobody understands the people better, while he does not disguise his contempt for that imbecile aristocracy which is unable to enter into the spirit of this new era of national life. I shall discuss what may be expected of him for the cause of popular liberty in another part of this address.
The old King of Prussia, now Emperor of Germany, is just the master for such a minister. He is by no means a man of very superior capacity and attainments. In his younger days he won the reputation of a perfect martinet. Nobody knew better how many buttons there must be on a soldier's coat and how the knapsack must be strapped on the solder's back. And he still is said to cherish an almost morbid fondness for the small details of the military service. He was also a most ardent believer in the divine right of Kings, and when the revolution of 1848 broke out, he found himself compelled to flee for his life from the wrath of the people. When he ascended the throne, a stupidly reactionary policy was looked for, and that apprehension seemed for a time well founded. The very thing which in his eyes commended Bismarck for the service of the Crown, was the ultra reactionary record of the latter. But he has become a popular monarch for the same reason which made Bismarck a popular minister: he used his power to realize the great dream of German unity. And since then even his former opponents have found much in him to like, and some amiability has been discovered even in his faults and weaknesses. He is indeed a most sturdy old gentleman. When you look at him from behind as he walks along with the elastic step of youth, his head erect and unbroken vigor in all his attitudes and movements, you would not suspect him of more than three score and ten on his back. His habits of life are those of a soldier. He cares nothing for the luxuries with which he is surrounded. In the coldest days of winter and in the roughest rain or hailstorm you may see him riding on the streets of Berlin on horseback or in an open carriage. He lives in a modest looking house, not as costly or elegant as that of A. T. Stewart in New York, not far from the royal palace, and is seen every morning sitting or standing near the window of one of the rooms on the lower floor, which he uses as an office, for he is fond of being observed by the people occupied with what he calls work. He wants to be considered a hard working man, and in some sense he is. He was brought up in the old absolutist school and thinks it his bounden duty to conduct the government of the State himself, or at least personally to supervise it. The real position of a truly constitutional monarch has, therefore, never been quite clear to him. He wants to be advised in detail of everything that is going on. He reads petitions and reports with great assiduity, seeming to think that the world would stand still if he did not appear personally to direct it. And his ministers are said frequently to exclaim with a sigh: “Oh, if only the old gentleman would not think it his duty to work!” He is a curious mixture of good sense and prejudice, of stubbornness and yielding good nature. While an absolutist by education and a sort of religious faith, yet he is fond of popularity and enjoys the applause of the multitude with such relish, that he is even capable of a sacrifice of power to obtain it. On the whole, it is very easy for a King to make himself popular. It is for him sufficient not to be bad, to be called very good; not to be below the average, to be called great, and not to be a fool, to be called wise. In the matter of royalty small favors are very thankfully received. Why, even in this republican country a stray live Prince can create great sensation on a very small capital. We might call this sort of flunkeyism positively dangerous, were it not owing to the charm of novelty; for we remember that Japanese Tommy was a popular here as Alexis.
But the King possesses one good quality which is calculated to make up for the want of many others. Although believing himself appointed by divine providence to rule over his people, he submits to the direction of men of superior ability. Not being a man of ideas himself, he accepts the ideas of others as his own. Bismarck could prevail upon him to throw away his dearest prejudice, his innate belief in the divinity of crowns, and to dethrone Kings and Princes with a mere dash of the pen, thus breaking the sacred charm of legitimacy. Although there was nothing more horrible to him than a revolutionist, he permitted Bismarck to enter into understandings with revolutionary parties in 1866. Although he would like to appear himself as the great captain who personally plans and directs the movements of armies, he submitted so completely and so openly to General Moltke's dictation that, when during the late war a corps commander applied to him for a body of cavalry, he innocently answered: “Moltke would not even let me have my staff guard at my disposal, and I do not know whether I have influence enough with him to make him grant your request.”
Thus the King, with all his belief in divine right and all his pretensions of personal rule, has still sense enough to become an instrument of power in the hands of genius. And as there perhaps never was a people so well organized and fitted to serve as a mighty combatant in an international conflict, as the Germans, so there was perhaps never in the history of the world a more brilliant constellation of individual genius to wield the great machinery of national strength, than Bismarck at the head of the Ministry and Moltke in supreme command of the military forces, under a King willing to obey their dictation.
Now let us look at the French side of the picture. The French have for centuries been the pets in the family of nations. From them elegant society all over the civilized world borrowed its external charms. They have been the leaders of fashion, not only as to dress and manners, but to a large extent also as to ways of thinking. As their soldiers have from time to time overrun the European continent, and even parts of Asia and Africa as conquerors, so their literature in poetry and prose has overrun the world, and their social elegance, their manners and even their language, became the admiration of other nations who, by imitating them, recognized them as their superiors. Certainly they are a people of remarkable faculties. Their achievements on the field of war, of industry, of science, literature and art, might well be the pride of any nation. Their political revolutions gave from time to time new impulses to liberal aspiration all over Europe. The voice of their orators and statesmen resounded far beyond the walls of their parliamentary chambers, and were listened to by all Europe with attention, sometimes with hope, sometimes with apprehension, but always with interest. The saying of their orators furnished the battle cries and passwords of political movements all over the world. And in other countries, politicians, dazzled by their brilliant example, endeavored to form themselves after the French model. English statesmen had indeed spoken as well and shown greater knowledge of affairs as well as energy and efficiency of action. English reformers had indeed exhibited more consistency and practical wisdom. German thought had indeed been more profound and grappled with philosophical, political and social problems with a higher degree of earnestness; their principles and practice of administration were more solid and honest; their popular education was more general and effective in rooting out ignorance and superstition and in leading all classes of the people upon the road of progressive improvement. But for centuries France had the advantage of being a great and united country. She had acted with the momentum of a great and consolidated power. On the political stage of France the great actions of state were always invested with a peculiar dramatic interest. The Frenchman is a natural actor. The study of appearance is with him an inborn instinct. He never forgets to dress up for every occasion public or private. He never forgets that the world is a theatre, the performance of which produced its effects not only by sober appeals to the judgment and understanding of mankind, but by appeals to the imagination. And thus setting off their unquestionable merits by brilliant appearance, they succeeded in having their pretension to stand at the head of modern civilization widely accepted.
But closer examination will show that in some important respects that shining surface was deceptive. Appearance was studied too much, and the great virtue of truth too little. That the French were in every line of merit the first nation of the world was altogether too ardently and blindly believed by themselves; and, believing it, they were not only proud of their real virtues, but full of admiration for their own failings.
Paris was the point where France put herself on exhibition before the eyes of the universe. Paris was the great mirror in which the French were in the habit of looking at and admiring themselves, despising everybody as a barbarian who would not join them in their unbounded enthusiasm about themselves. And yet, just at Paris many of their failings were no less on exhibition than their virtues. Certainly, the occasional visitor could hardly fail to be carried away by the fascinations of Parisian life. To look at the magnificence of their architectural monuments; at the accumulation of glories in their museums of art; at the incomparable elegance and tastefulness of their products of industry; to mix with French society and to encounter their philosophers, poets, statesmen, men of science and wit, all overflowing with a champagne-like sparkle of utterance; to see even in the lower classes the outward signs of a certain breeding and elegant care in their social movements, — all this was well calculated to captivate the judgment of the superficial observer. But he whose eye pierced that surface and studied the real nature of social life could hardly fail to perceive a sort of moral dry rot underneath that charming exterior: the vices which most seriously affect the sacred nature and healthy inspirations of family life, formed into a recognized habit, almost rising to the dignity of a social accomplishment; a deficient sense of distinction between right and wrong, and a lack of that moral earnestness which alone can rise to a just perception of the true aims and ends of human life; an inordinate fondness of material enjoyment and of that show and theatrical action I have already mentioned, sacrificing everything that is solid and sacred to outward appearance, and even a certain fierce brutality, which respects neither rights, nor duties, nor virtue, nor decency, and which in their revolutions sometimes breaks out with such bestial ferocity. And thus, even at Paris, French society resembles a person who displays all his valuables in the shape of jewelry on the outside to be looked at and admired, jewelry sometimes of great worth, sometimes mere paste, sham and humbug, but in all cases shining up at least to its full value, if not more, while the underclothing would scarcely bear examination.
But the more brilliant the appearance of French society is in the capital and the large cities, the more striking is the falling off in the rural districts. The French peasantry, making up an enormous percentage of the aggregate population, are undoubtedly the most ignorant and superstitious class of people in Western Europe. Public education reaching down to the bottom of society in the American and German sense, is unknown there. The number of people to whom reading and writing are strange accomplishments is immense. The ruling spirits are the Catholic priest who takes good care that his flock do not grow too smart for him, and the Government official who teaches them that it is an unbecoming thing for a good French citizen to think for himself, instead of permitting the central Government to think for all. If you want to study all the vices and evil effects of centralization, there is the place. The French peasant has no idea of what local self-government is. A community cannot establish a country road; nor even lay a plank on a public bridge; the superior authority does it all. The French peasant only pays his taxes, sends his sons into the army or furnishes a substitute, votes from time to time for a member of the legislative assembly, whose political views and objects are a profound mystery to him — for what should he know of the affairs of the central government since he is not permitted to administer his home concerns — he helps to ratify the revolutions and usurpations now and then occurring at Paris, without knowing what the bother is about, and then is proud and happy in the belief that his nation is the first on earth and that he stands at the head of civilization.
Nothing could be more significant than the manner in which the French peasantry elected Louis Napoleon President of the Republic in 1848, and afterwards ratified that bloody act of usurpation which eventually made him Emperor. The wars of the first Empire formed the great heroic tradition, the national legend of the French people. The French peasant is indeed not in the habit of studying the history of his country. But there is scarcely a peasant family in France that had not a grandfather or a grand uncle among the soldiers of Austerlitz, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, Leipzig and Waterloo. The memory of the great deeds performed there is among the heirlooms of every French family. The peasant transmits it to his children at the cottage fireside, as he received it from father, and the mighty figure of the first Emperor stands in those traditions as a sort of human deity, having outlived all the political changes which in the meantime swept over the country, and grown in mythic magnificence as it recedes into the dim distance of the past. Thus the first Emperor still lives in the heart of the peasantry as a sort of earthly omnipotence, and all the sufferings, privations and disasters, his despotic ambition brought upon his people were forgotten in the splendor of those deeds, in which every Frenchman was wont to see his own greatness.
And now after the revolution of 1848, which gave to France the outward form of a Republic, a nephew of the Emperor appeared, the pretended heir of his crown, bearing the enchanted name of Napoleon. At once the old fascinating reminiscence of greatness and glory rose up to new life in the hearts of the masses. They had been shouting for the Republic, but they voted for Napoleon as the natural successor to the Emperor's power. What did they care for the Republic? They knew it only by name, and, in fact, it was only a name. The blessings of truly republican government had never been felt or understood by them. They had always seen and felt only a centralized authority which did not permit them to govern themselves, whether the name of that authority was King or republican President. Now they heard a name again which represented to them, not liberty indeed, but strength and glory, and, following their instinct, they voted for Napoleon. He was emphatically the elect of the peasantry of France. The election of a Napoleon to the Presidency of the Republic meant distinctly the restoration of the Empire. It could mean nothing else, for Napoleon and Liberty were as incompatible as Napoleon and personal government were identical. The fall of the Republic and the restoration of the Empire followed therefore as a logical consequence.
Now began the career of that personal government which speculated upon the most dangerous weaknesses of the French character, in order merely to promote its own selfish aggrandizement. Louis Napoleon was indeed the heir of the great Emperor's name, but nobody pretends now that he was the heir of his genius. His success gave him the reputation of a profound mind and of superior ability. He did indeed understand the art of mysterious silence, making the world believe that his silent tongue was concealing great thoughts. But as it has happened so frequently in history, the results of his government have demonstrated that silence is not always a reliable sign of genius or of virtue.
It is now a well known fact that the courage which in December, 1851, carried him through the dangerous enterprise of his usurpation of absolute power, was not his own courage, but that of the circle of reckless adventurers and conspirators who had gathered around him to push him forward and then to profit of his fortunes. There were Morny, a reputed illegitimate brother of Louis Napoleon, Persigny, Fleury, St. Arnoud, L'Espinasse and other dare devils of much ability and no conscience, men who, mostly broken in character and fortune, had the pluck to risk their necks for the chance of a life of power and enjoyment, and forced him through the venture which, when its dangerous crisis appeared, his cowardice would have abandoned. Neither as a soldier nor as a statesman was he great. His selfishness swallowed up his patriotism and his imagination his judgment. The natural turn of his mind was literary. Instead of giving his country good government, he wrote the life of Julius Caesar to prove that Caesarism was a good thing for the greatness and happiness of a people.
When his power was established, he resorted to the ordinary appliances of those rulers who have only their own position in view. He maintained himself at home by showy undertakings which partly created a fictitious prosperity, partly appealed to the vanity of his people. He built up a peculiar kind of prestige by surrounding himself with an atmosphere of mystery which a despotic will in possession of unlimited power can so easily create. He sustained himself before the eyes of Europe by the prestige of the French name and a pretentious diplomacy which could easily succeed as long as there was no power in Europe in a condition to defy and cope with French power. But no sooner did such a power rise up, no sooner did a political genius enter the arena courageous enough to take up the gauntlet, than he was outwitted time and again on the field of diplomacy, disastrously defeated on the field of war, and the whole hollow edifice of his greatness and glory tumbled in pieces.
No government could have had a worse influence upon the French people than that of Louis Napoleon, for no government could have done more to develop their peculiar weaknesses. It was in its very being a political lie. It made the French people believe that it stood upon a democratic basis, and they did indeed indulge in the delusion that theirs were democratic institutions because they had been permitted to ratify by popular vote the usurpation of their own despot. Louis Napoleon developed centralization in its worst form. His personal government suffered no thought of independent action to rise among the people. He strengthened their habit of looking up to the central authority as a sort of Providence which made it appear superfluous, nay, even sacriligious, to think for themselves. He exhausted every resource of demagoguism to excite their vanity to a point of utter blindness and created in them an almost insane belief in their own perfection and invincibility. The Empress, born to be a reckless queen of fashion, aided him and the adventurers who crowded the imperial court, in developing in society that extravagance and elegant demoralization for which it always possessed so much aptness, to a point never known since the days of Louis XV. He permitted his courtiers and favorites to rob the State and people by thievish speculations to enrich themselves and to spend their money in scandalous enjoyments. The whole machinery of civil administration and even the army, so splendid in outward appearance, became rotten to the core by systematic peculation and the most daring faithlessness to public trust. It was a government of “rings” in the worst sense of the term. A single anecdote will show the spirit which pervaded the whole system of government. When the great catastrophe of Sedan had occurred, when the Emperor was a prisoner of war and the whole Empire had ignominiously broken down, Fleury, one of the Emperor's favorite companions, then Ambassador in Russia, upon receiving the dreadful news, coolly remarked: “C'est égal, nous nous sommes bien amusés.” “Well, all right, we have had a jolly time of it anyhow.” Or, in other words: “We have enjoyed ourselves, now let become of the French people what may.” I have no doubt the verdict of history will be that Louis Napoleon, the mysterious and silent, was one of the most overestimated men of the age. Under the influence of what is called his statesmanship, and what has been admired and idolized as such, a condition of things grew up in France which in the worst respects resembled the decay of the Roman Empire.
Thus we saw in the year 1870 the two powers arrayed against one another: Germany in the full bloom of her strength, with a people of frugal habits; vigorous in their moral elevation; intelligent and educated up to high notions of public and private duty; full of that profound and strong enthusiasm for national unity and independence, which had animated them so long and was now inspired by the hope of final success; administrative machinery, magnificently organized and conducted on the strictest principles of honesty and economy; an army, embodying all the physical, moral and intellectual power of the nation; and at the head of affairs a statesman of consummate ability and indomitable courage, and military leaders who in their time had never met their equals; everything real, genuine, trustworthy and ready to meet any emergency. On the other hand France, having lost her own measure in exaggerated pretensions and the boundless self-admiration of her people; the masses ignorant and wont to sacrifice individual judgment to a superior will; a personal government in its most detestable and degrading form, carried on by reckless and insatiable adventurers; her whole society more than ever demoralized by the bad example set and the vicious impulses given in the highest places; the whole administrative machinery corrupted by peculation and thieving practices; even the army disorganized by ignorant and dishonest leadership; and at her head a ruler who had absorbed all power in himself; who had stifled all freedom of political movement by his despotic selfishness, and had deceived his own people and all Europe by a system of false pretenses which now were to be brought to trial. So the two powers met for mortal combat; how could the result be doubtful?
To be sure, before the first battle was fought, there was nothing but overweening and boastful confidence in France, contemptuous sneers at the enemy and wild bragging about an easy and pleasant military promenade to Berlin, while on the German side there was a careful weighing of chance and earnest preparation, with predictions of hard fights and great dangers but a firm determination to conquer, and religious devotion to the national cause. The two parties were not quite unlike the Cavaliers and the Roundheads in the English revolution.
The two armies struck one another, and it may be said that the first encounter decided the campaign. There was nothing but victory gallantly won and pursued with the vigor of a steam engine and the precision of clockwork on one side, and on the other nothing but defeat, confusion, dismay, sudden despair and the impotent rage of humiliated pride. The French colossus collapsed after the first blow, and the German armies flooded the conquered country like a resistless inundation. In one word: It was the natural victory of truth over false pretenses; of reality and honest fact over glittering appearance and hollow sham.
I will not go into the details of that campaign which is still fresh in your memories. Let us now look for a moment at the probable consequences of the great historic achievement. We see one great Empire rising to wonderful preponderance on the humiliated pride of another. But, paradoxical as it may seem, the defeat may prove as beneficent to France as the victory will prove to Germany. In the first place, the French nation were delivered of the incubus of a most immoral, degrading and enervating despotism. When Louis Napoleon was captured, it was as if an ulcer had been cut out of the body of France. The French people were given back to themselves, and all the good there is in them has now full freedom of development.
In the second place, what the French needed most for their own good, was a correct self-knowledge, a sober appreciation of the truth. The shock of misfortune may have cured them, to some extent at least, of that blind and overweening self-adulation which made them so quarrelsome, and their pretensions so intolerable to the nations of Europe. They may come to a just sense of their true condition, their weaknesses and faults as well as their virtues. To be sure, at present many of them dream of nothing but of revenge for the defeat they have suffered. But they have already become aware that the cause of that defeat did not altogether consist in the blunders of a few generals and the mere accidents of a campaign. They have been struck by the fact that the German soldiers were far better acquainted with the geography and the resources of France than the French themselves, and that the intelligence of the German rank and file made the success of the leaders so easy. They have discovered the fact that the German army had been drilled and educated not only by the corporal but by the schoolmaster. They have learned with shame that among the French officers, who were carried as captives into Germany there were scores who, to the wonder and astonishment of the Germans, could not write enough to sign their names to their payrolls. It has become clear to them that one of the causes of their defeat was the dense ignorance of their people. And thus it happened that at once after the conclusion of peace the cry was raised by public men that the evil of popular ignorance must speedily be remedied. To be sure, it sounded a little ludicrous when Gambetta said that to prepare the nation for revenge, ignorance must be abolished in France, if it should take five years to do it.
But the idea is started and has received a vigorous impulse. When they once begin to break through that thick cloud of stupidity and superstition which rests upon the country population, when they once begin to draw all classes of the people within the reach of progressive improvement, then they may be hoped to rise to that higher level of self-knowledge where they will recognize that virtue and industry are better calculated to promote the happiness and also the true greatness of a people, than brilliant show, theatrical display and bold pretensions. They will then be more apt to recognize the despotic tendency of centralization and to lay those foundations upon which self-government and free institutions may develop themselves. And presumably even their thirst of revenge may yield to a prudent desire for friendly intercourse and understanding with other nations. A higher degree of knowledge may convince them also that the Germany of today is no longer the weak and disrupted Germany of former times; that the strong positions and places which Germany has now added to her frontier will make an attack more hopeless of success than ever, — in fact, that revenge now will have a worse chance than aggression had two years ago. Thus national ambition in France may be chastened by misfortune and directed into the channel of material, moral and political improvement.
As to Germany, it has frequently been asked whether her gigantic success will not push her forward on an ambitious career of conquest. I do not think this is to be feared. The German people do not care for glory. They care only for an independent and respected national existence. The German army is not a tool ready for the hand of reckless ambition, as an army of mere hirelings would be. It contains all that is precious in the nation. It is composed of the whole youth of the country. Such blood cannot and will not be squandered in the shadowy pursuit of mere glory or to please the greedy ambition of a ruler. When the German soldier enters upon a campaign he cares for nothing but to do his business right quickly and then to go home again without delay. He does not spoil for a fight, but when he has to fight he fights with a will for an early and lasting peace so as not to be obliged to fight again. The same military institutions which make the country so strong by enlisting the whole people in its service, form also a barrier to a policy of mere conquest and vain adventurous ambition. It may therefore be said with greater truth of Germany than it was said of France, that the national Empire means independence and peace.
But what will the consequences of the war be with regard to the development of free institutions in Europe? In France it has led already to the downfall of personal government as embodied in Napoleon, and to the establishment of a Republic in point of form. Will republican government last? I predict that, unless the French supplant their system of administrative centralization with a thoroughgoing system of local self-government, republican government there will not last. There can be no republican government for the whole country which does not draw its inspirations, nay, its very life, from local self-government. Self-government breeds independent, enlightened, active citizens and freemen; centralization breeds mere subjects and slaves. A centralized Republic is a delusion and a snare. I have never been able to understand how people, who are not permitted to manage their home affairs by their own independent action, can be expected to regulate national affairs with wisdom through the mere machinery of elections for a President or a national assembly. In a centralized State, even if it calls itself Republic, the election of rulers is nothing but the manufacturing by the people of their own despots. The very act which apparently demonstrates the people's power, is in fact only a mere rattling of their chains. The French have now an opportunity to do away with that monstrous fallacy to which they owe so many of their misfortunes. If they do not improve that opportunity, it will be their own fault, — not the fault of those who conquered Napoleon.
But what as to Germany? It has been said that the establishment of the national Empire is a step in the direction of Caesarism. No mistake could be greater. Certainly, the men at the head of affairs are no advocates of democratic government. Bismarck, although, as I have said, he combats and overcomes his own prejudices like other outside obstacles, yet is a strong monarchist, and the consciousness of his own superiority makes it difficult for him to submit to the will of others, even if those others represent the majority. The Emperor is a believer in the divine right of Princes now as he was before; and as to the Crown Prince, although he is said to be a man of more liberal impulses, yet he is of course a monarchist like the rest. Neither do I believe that there is a revolutionary tendency of any strength in Germany which might produce a sudden transformation of things. And one of the main reasons, why there is not, is very characteristic. It is that the German people are not provoked by glaring abuses and scandalous profligacy on the part of those in power; in fact, that they are too honestly and economically governed to be led into violent outbreaks.
And yet the progress of the German people in the direction of free institutions, although slow, is steady, and perhaps the more solid because slow. Public opinion, educated and strengthened by the growing habit of people of all classes to take part in political movements, is becoming from day to day more and more a great and recognized power. The German people do not move by jumps forward and backward, like the French. They build their progressive aspirations of to-day upon the actual condition of things as it was yesterday; and progress can only be solid and enduring if the chain which connects the past with the present, and the present with the future, is unbroken in its links. Logical jumps in history have always led to one or more steps backward to restore the connection of that chain.
In fact, the very organization of the German Empire, by which all the different branches of the national family, except only the Austrian Princes, were brought together under one head and one Parliament, produced at once a very remarkable change in the constitutional theory and practice. The power over peace and war was always regarded there as one of the most essential attributes of the sovereignty of the Crown. Formerly, the King of Prussia as the head of the North German Confederation had unlimited authority to declare war according to his pleasure. Now as Emperor of Germany he is not permitted by the Constitution of the Empire to declare an offensive war without the consent of the Federal Council, a body whose functions resemble somewhat those of the Senate of the United States. The power of the Crown has, therefore, been actually reduced.
Nor is this all. The reunion in one great political organization of the different German tribes with their peculiarities and various local interests must necessarily produce a tendency to give a wider and more systematic scope to local self-government. It involves a greater independence of local administration and in the same measure it broadens the basis upon which free institutions can develop themselves.
Nor does the central government resist this tendency. At this very moment events of great significance are taking place in the very Kingdom of Prussia itself. The Government introduced a bill in the Lower House of the Prussian Parliament providing for an enlargement of the self-administration of the counties of the State. The bill having passed the Lower House of Parliament by a large majority, the House of Lords rejected it, because it seriously cut down the privileges of the nobility and of the large landed proprietors. And now the same Bismarck, who, at the commencement of his political career, was the most strenuous advocate of the ancient privileges of the aristocracy, takes up the gauntlet against the same class from which he had sprung, appeals to a people by dissolving the lower House and orders new elections, perfectly sure that the new liberal county organization will be sustained by an overwhelming majority of the popular vote, and undertakes the work of reorganizing the House of Lords so as to put down its aristocratic and reactionary aspirations. The old Emperor himself is, contrary to his old traditional notions, heartily enlisted in the furtherance of this laudable cause, and success is no longer doubtful. Far from moving in the direction of a centralized and all-absorbing despotism, the development of things in Germany is, slowly perhaps but steadily, advancing on the road of enlightened progress and liberal ideas; and thus we may indulge in the hope that the great historic events I have been discussing, which established the preponderance of the Germanic element on the European continent, will also give new strength to the old Germanic idea of freedom on the same soil where it originally had birth; and that from there it may radiate over the old world in these latter days, as centuries ago it already once radiated from the same focus, growing into organic forms in England, and reaching its highest development and disclosing its greatest blessings in this great American Republic of ours. Let us hope that the new world will not recede from this idea as the old world advances.