Hail and Farewell

Bismarck inveighs against the ingratitude of kings—A fighter to the end.

¶ Did he take kindly to his enforced retirement? Far from it. With all the querulous impatience of an octogenarian, full of whims, sick in soul and body, suspicious, irritable, dying inch by inch, a prey to insomnia, his neuralgic pains, his swollen veins, in short, a crabbed old man, awaiting the call—behold now our great Otto von Bismarck, and mark well to what narrow limits his power has shrunk.

¶ On one occasion he moodily replied to a question: “Who are the Hohenzollerns? My family is as good as theirs!” And the old man meant it, every word of it.

¶ He began bombarding the newspapers with bitter reviews, criticising the Government, the affairs of the day. The African treaty he dissected, to Caprivi’s disadvantage. “I never would have signed it!” wrote Bismarck, and the press took up the cry. Any utterance from the old political sage was welcomed, the more caustic the criticism the better it read, all to the disadvantage of the Emperor and the new advisers.

¶ Many newspaper reporters called at Bismarck’s country retreat; the old man would tell them strong truths against the Government. Here and there, a newspaper came out as Bismarck’s official spokesman!

¶ It did seem as though nothing Caprivi did ever pleased the old man.

The curious fact was this: that Bismarck in his own time had always held as an inviolable principle, “No criticism of the Government in foreign affairs,” but now he claimed a privilege he had never granted to another.

¶ One of his many startling confessions of state secrets was that the Franco-Prussian war never would have taken place but for the garbled Ems dispatch. Instead of being a “holy war,” to support the very life of the Fatherland, it was now made clear that the old Divine-right idea had been but the stage-play of a political minister, for his imperial sovereign’s march to glory.

¶ The last illusion was now dispelled.

Caprivi was obliged to issue a circular-letter to Germany’s diplomatic corps, everywhere, “Do not mind Bismarck’s utterances; take no stock in them!”

¶ Even when Bismarck’s old friend, von Moltke, died, the Man of Iron refused to go to the funeral; he did not care to take a chance of meeting the Emperor, there!

¶ Querulous, iron-willed—such he is to remain. No giving up, no softening, no forgiveness; but blood and iron to the end. We must present him thus, our sad-hearted, irritable old master, proclaiming against the vanity of earthly glories, and like Wolsey wondering on the frailties and ingratitude of kings, whose memories are indeed no longer than the going down of the sun.

¶ Thus for two long weary years the bitter fight went on.

¶ The old man now went on a trip to Vienna, to see his son Herbert married, but ahead of him the Government had telegraphed, “No official welcome for Bismarck!”

The German ambassador, under instructions from Berlin, did not dare attend the wedding, refused to notice Bismarck’s presence in Vienna, officially.

¶ This was the last straw; it worked revulsion of popular feeling; the common people of Germany, the self-same people that Bismarck had so long doubted, now took up arms for fair play for the old man; and Caprivi, made the scapegoat, was forced to resign. He was succeeded by Hohenlohe, Bismarck’s friend, and leader in the Bavarian National party.

¶ On Bismarck’s eightieth birthday, the Emperor came in person, and with military honors presented the old man with a magnificent sword; but on Bismarck’s part the reconciliation was not sincere, you may well imagine that.

Wherein, at last, abandoned by his King, the plain people, whom the great Bismarck so long politically ignored, now do indeed bind up the old man’s wounds.

¶ Bismarck’s mighty nature never softened, but remained bitter to the day of his death, with fire and sword pursuing his enemies; broken by Fate, his power gone, Bismarck still continued consistent to the last; true to his iron nature, he returned the hatred of enemies with his own arrogant contempt.

¶ As the years of his downfall passed and men came to comprehend somewhat his extraordinary combination of overshadowing political genius in administrative and executive life, side by side with his strange superstitions and his many weaknesses of a grand order, this awe-inspiring man became beloved for his frailties by the very common people whom all his life long he had held under suspicion. The people rallied to his defense when kings quitted his side; they took up his cause because the old man had been outraged in his sensibilities, rather than because he was right; they sent him thousands of sympathetic letters, telegrams, presents; thousands of students, business men, women and children, visited him in his retirement; and by that touch of human nature that proves the world kin, took the embittered old man to their hearts in the name of the United Germany that he had created with toil so infinite and battlings so long and blood-stained;—and they disarmed Bismarck by honoring the name of their old enemy.

¶ It is a wonderful story of human nature, this story of how the German people rallied to Bismarck’s side; a story that reaffirms how slender after all is the space between the pomp of kings and the obscure destiny of the shepherd on the hills.

The proud figure of the grand old man who was not too high to fall from power stands side by side with Marius at the ruins of Carthage.

¶ Finally, as between the kings whom Bismarck served sofaithfully and who abandoned him at last, and the people whom he despised but who rallied to his side and bound up his wounds, this courageous giant, who during the long years in which he fronted the seemingly forlorn struggle for United Germany, had been so conscientious in the discharge of his unpleasant duties, came at last to his peculiar eminence as one of the world’s greatest characters.

¶ When he came to die, full of years and honors, although he had no National funeral like the magnificent outpouring that marked the return of Napoleon’s body to the banks of the River Seine, yet in the hearts of the German people Otto von Bismarck was accorded the grandest funeral of modern times, if not of all time.

That was many years ago; but his unapproachable memory still lives, as Father of United Germany—and his fame goes marching on.

The old man’s strange fancies as he passes the time awaiting his final call.

¶ Behold our old master in retirement, as obscure as a simple country squire; and he reads again—what do you think? The Book of Job, Bismarck’s last reading, reminds him of the evanescence of all earthly glory, which passes away like the grass that is cut down by the mower.

¶ Brave old fighter, with your show of dauntless spirit, down to the very end, we know that you are grown weary of it all, and in truth, in silent moments of self-communion, you do not care when the end may come, nor may it come too soon for you.

¶ He is worried all the time, now; worried about his son’s health; worried about the death of his brother; broken over the death of his wife; distressed by the death of favorite dogs and horses. Also, he recalls a gypsy saying having to do with the end of the Bismarck family, under strange conditions, in these mystical words:

Dem Grafen von Bismarck soll es verleiberSo Lang sie vom Horste die Reiher nicht trieben—

Or, “The Counts Bismarck shall reign at Varzin as long asthe herons are not driven from their ancient haunts”; in rude rhyme:

“The Bismarcks shall hold their domain till the dayWhen they from their haunts drive the herons away.”

¶ You see, the old man’s mind was wandering, and now and then he saw the future, as in a strange dream.

¶ He watched the crows and jackdaws gather over the fields and at the rookeries, and he said one day, “They have their joys and sorrows like human beings.”

¶ He recited Shakespeare, thinking of the olden times when he went roaring up and down the land! “Let me play the lion, too! I will roar that it will do any man’s heart good to hear me. I will that I can make the Duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar again!’”

¶ Trifles annoyed the aged Bismarck, as might be expected; such things as changing the clocks to introduce “standard time,” as it is called. “I do not like this ‘standard time’; here I get up half an hour too early and go to bed half an hour too soon,” was the octogenarian’s crabbed comment.

¶ Day by day, crowds came to see him—children, students, laborers, artists, musicians, politicians, writers—all visited the sage in his retirement.

Levi, the Wagnerian Kappelmeister, journeyed from Munich to Friedrichsruh to beg the honor of owning, as a souvenir, one of Bismarck’s old hats.

¶ Lenbach, the renowned artist, came to paint Bismarck’s picture; and noted the curious fact that although Mecklenburgers have the largest German skulls, “Bismarck’s is larger still.”

¶ Bad nights, neuralgia, insomnia became his companions; but still ambition, the one supreme infirmity of his majestic mind, gives him no peace.

What would future generations say of Bismarck’s work?And of the immediate present, has Caprivi helped it any? Was the repeal of my Iron Laws against Socialism wise? Why did not Caprivi follow my plan of making the Government the arbiter of German conscience? Why did not Caprivi carry the Army Bill? I fought for four years, once, to get army money for King William—and won over all obstacles!

¶ Schaffer came to make the Bismarck bust; it shows the Chancellor with high-cut nostrils, heavy jaws, scowling brows.

The old man likes it, because it presents him as a soldier; he is proud that he is a Field Marshal, prouder still of the Bismarcks in the old wars, proud also that he is a Prussian General of Cavalry.

¶ Then he scolds again about Caprivi’s treaty with Austria, says it will cost fifty million marks a year and nothing gained.

¶ Often in deep fits of melancholy, Bismarck thinks that Germany is ungrateful. For one thing, the Government ought to recognize my son Herbert; why, England saw in Pitt the son of his father, a chip of the old block; and why not one Bismarck after another, eh?

¶ Maybe Dr. Schweninger could do me some good, what do you think? This doctor is from South Germany—and a very determined fellow with a jet black, piratical beard; he gives orders like a military man, is a believer in diet, and all that sort of thing.

Twenty years before, when Bismarck’s weight was 247, this South German Dr. Schweninger put Bismarck through a course of “banting,” and the Chancellor rewarded the doctor with a chair in Berlin, against the united protests of the faculty! Why, yes, bring up Dr. Schweninger; he can make me well, I am sure.

¶ “I can make you live to be ninety, Prince!”

¶ “Then get to work; spare no time; I am in bad shape!”

¶ Letters, telegrams, felicitations in the form of magnificently embossed diplomas, continue to come, day after day;Bismarck is given the freedom of cities; he is enrolled among engineers, carpenters, brewers, ship-masters, tailors; each guild demands that the Iron Chancellor’s name head the list of honorary officers of the Grand Lodge.

In one year the record shows 650,000 letters and 10,000 telegrams; and among these are begging letters asking a total of $2,500,000!

¶ Bismarck often grows tired of seeing visitors; he has built himself a secret spiral staircase, hidden in an unexpected place; and uses it against unwelcome callers.

Now and then, when his health permits, he is at his editorial work again, laboriously issuing his proclamations to the German people; he writes with a quill pen, and for a blotter prefers the old-time box of blue sand.

For scribbling hasty notes, he prefers huge lead pencils, such as he favored in parliamentary days; pencils 15 inches long, similar to those used by German carpenters.

He sits at an immense oak table, and his chair seems uncomfortable; it has no back.

At his side is his porcelain tobacco jar, two feet tall, and on the stand are innumerable pipes, which in turn are filled and smoked, all day long. He holds a sort of tobacco parliament every day. Visitors must smoke a pipe or cigars, drink wine, meet the dogs, and hear the old man inveigh against these degenerate times.

¶ Those big Ulmar dogs are always around him. At meal times, no matter how fashionable the company, Bismarck pauses at the end of the dinner to throw “Sultana” or “Cyrus” a biscuit!

Sometimes he wears his Cuirassier’s uniform, this broad-shouldered giant with the thick neck and the grizzled mustache; his eyes glower under his thick white brows, and in the depths of his faded blue eyes is the old look of determination.

The old man’s face is ashen grey, but he still has the stamp of immense dignity, a colossal personality, unquestionably representing the first public man of his time.

Folks bow to him, and he is master to the end; men are his servants, not his companions.

¶ He is always very deliberate; hehas a peculiar way of stopping in the middle of a sentence to seek out in a moment of silence the exact word he needs.

¶ In the morning, he usually takes a stroll with his big dogs. It was a shock when “Old William” died, and the Emperor then gave Bismarck “Cyrus”; the Prince also had “Rebecca” and “Sultana.”

The Ulmar dogs, following the old giant, resemble tigers in their powerful slouching gait.

At night they sleep in his bedroom.

Bismarck refuses to pass under the yoke—the octogenarian’s last struggle of ambition.

¶ He has his superstitions to the end; about the number 13, about the number 7; and he believes that the moon has power to make human hair grow. “It is best,” he says, “not to make scoff of such matters.”

¶ Sometimes he goes over his orders of honor, forty-eight in all, and of great distinction; also, his learned degrees. University of Halle made him Doctor of Philosophy; Erlangen, Doctor of Law; Tuebingen, Doctor of Political Science; Giessen, Doctor of Theology, and Jena, Six-fold Doctor, that is to say Doctor of Medicine; and Goettingen, Doctor of Law.

¶ They bring him a joint of wild boar, shot in Varzin forest, and he has a feast. His fondness for game he never gives up. Also, to the last he has his champagne. After the Franco-Prussian war Bismarck refused to drink German champagne, and told the Emperor, quite plainly, “Your Majesty, my patriotism stops with my stomach; I simply must stick to French champagnes.”

¶ He tells how he used to drink Affenthaler and Merkgraefler, years before at Frankfort; these were first-rate, at one florin a bottle, or wholesale, the old man explains; by the 100 liters, only 14 kreutzers (8 cents) a bottle.

¶ “Red wine is for children, champagne for ladies, and schnapps for generals,” is one of his drinking mottoes, but he tells that he himself prefers his old-line invention, the Bismarck champagne and porter, a most powerful decoction, putting ordinary mortals under the table very early in the evening—but not the Iron Chancellor, not at all!

¶ He recalls amusing stories of his ancestors. “One ancestor put pigs’ ears in pea soup and made a gastronomic hit.”

¶ Bismarck’s eyes water one day and he explains, “The wine my ancestors drank to excess comes back in punishment for their sins.”

¶ What do you think? Bismarck’s old enemy, Herr von Sybel, the eminent author of the ponderous “History of Prussia,” called today, and Bismarck was glad to see Sybel, and they chatted a long time. As he and Sybel talked of history, Bismarck had moments when he held himself the one authentic builder of the German Empire.

¶ Gradually, he came to think that he alone of his own unaided might did the work.

¶ Last scene of all in this great drama of Bismarck! The octogenarian, in his downfall, is bitterly storming against his enemies.

Consistent to the end, he never weakened. He did not pass under the yoke of defeat by revealing any of those soft virtues that writers who make a wax doll of this mighty man would have us believe.

He raged and stormed impotently in his retirement at Friedrichsruh, and by every loud and insulting means in his power—by voice, pen, by special interviews, in his private letters, in his telegraphic dispatches, in his talks with the old friends or new callers, and to the last scratch of his Memoirs—Bismarck remains unrepentant, turbulent, to the end fighting bitterly against the Fate to which he could not and would not submit.

Temperamentally and psychologically, it was impossible for him to act in any way other than that in which he did act—even as you, in your own life, are true to yourself in storm and sunshine, following some unformulated but idiomatic law of your being.

Bismarck believed himself a chosen instrument in the hands of God and tenaciously clung to the dominant idea that the Bismarck work comprised all the raw materials of German history, affecting the German Empire.

His face is ashen, his grizzled mustache, eyebrows and hair white as the driven snow.

¶ On the whole, the old man is interested in events not in persons; he does not keep track of individuals; but he studies their work and its effects.

So, in his retirement he talks of big events, mostly; all the while suffers from fits of depression and exhibits a growing moroseness, a peculiar characteristic of highly developed German character.

He calls for Kant, Hegel, Christ; and reads them, deeply. He likes Hegel’s idea that the history of the world shows “rational order,” conceals a “manifest destiny.”

¶ But the old man’s one consolation is the Book of Job.

He lays awake o’ nights, unable to sleep, he says, “and it seems as though there were a mountain on my chest.”

¶ He does not think much of Gladstone’s “Home Rule” ideas; this “let the people” rule is bad business, is the old man’s comment.

¶ He is invited out a great deal, but always makes the same excuse, “I do not sleep well anywhere except in my own four-post bed. My traveling days are over, thank you.”

¶ One day in the park, the ladies kissed his hand, but he replied by kissing their cheeks, and he made a little speech as though he were in parliament.

¶ He studies the thick walls of Schoenhausen mansion and examines the old French cannon of ’71 scattered around the yard, as souvenirs.

¶ He superintends the planting of trees; and rules over his estate with all the old family dignity and unshaken firmness of soul. He asks his secretary to count the telegrams that came this past year and in round numbers there are 10,000. The old man takes a notion to send each inquirer after his health a Bismarck autograph. So each day, from April to August, he spends part of his time writing over and over in great scrawling letters, at the bottom of a printed card of thanks, the huge signature, “Bismarck.”

¶ Little things are beginning to bother the old man. He comes in today from a short walk and says he hates crows, because they are the enemy of the singing birds.

¶ Neuralgia is tormenting him, day and night, and he is very irritable.

School children come with teachers and after the children sing the old man bows and says, “Children, I thank you.”

¶ And this Dr. Schweninger, who promised Bismarck ninety years of life, is always hovering about, like a military doctor, giving express orders to eat this, to get up at such an hour, to go to bed at such an hour, and to take a nap at such an hour.

The old man obeys like a child.

¶ Strangers wait at the village bridge to see Bismarck and his dogs pass by; week after week delegations of working-men, lawyers, students, come to the house.

Schweninger orders him to take longer naps, not worry about politics and not to meet strangers. The old saying, “Once a man and twice a child” is coming to pass; Otto von Bismarck is no longer the stubborn, dogmatic fellow that he was, even a few years ago. But he still scolds, fights and has his way with all—except the doctor.

¶ Tomorrow, April 1, 1898, Bismarck will be 83; however, he does not seem to be failing much; but his face is ashen, his grizzled mustache, eyebrows and hair are as white as the driven snow.

¶ Gardeners write to him that they have named their choicest new variety of rose, the Bismarck; and cigarmakers have the Bismarck shape, cutlers the Bismarck dinner knife, a thick, sharp blade that will carve a duck’s neck in a twinkling.

¶ However, the old man is growing weary of it all; and he hears with no great show of interest that the people are planning monuments everywhere. There is going to be an equestrian, helmeted statue in the market place at Leipzig; at Weringrode, a heroic-sized Bismarck will lean upon a sword; there will be a column in Hartzburg, Victory with alyre and another Victory with a wreath; there is to be a statue at Kissingen; a helmeted-heroic figure at Freiberg; a column at Charlotte-springs; a column at Meiszen; at Cologne, a heroic figure with a sword; a heroic “Tyras and Bismarck,” dog and man, at Leipzig; allegorical figures, “Glory and War,” for Berlin; at Wiesbaden, a statue symbolizing the Bismarck National victory; a bust at Heidelberg; at Kreuznach; a heroic figure with helmet and sword, with “Glory” at his feet; at Zwickau, an allegorical memorial of noble proportions; a tower in the Black Forest; and still another at Altona.

¶ No; it is no use! As we said before, the old man is growing very weary of it all; and now along comes Arthur Mendell, who paints for posterity that remarkable Bismarck in which you see only the blazing eyes and the shining silver helmet—the Bismarck of the brave days of ’66 and ’70, when the German hosts carrying their deadly needle-guns, marched over the Rhine—at Bismarck’s word!

¶ Dear Old Bismarck, these wreaths of immortelles come to you in your retirement, but you have reached the time when the grasshopper has become a burden, and when you have but one wish left in this world—and that wish is to go in peace to your long sleep.

¶ Coming, Bismarck—coming very soon now, Old Soldier; and we know well how courageously you will answer up, when the invisible Skeleton in Armor calls your imperial name!

Prince Otto V. Bismarck receives his final and his one glorious decoration; and here we leave him, his fame secure among Germany’s immortals.

¶ The game is now all but played out. The last phase is to be the noblest expression.

In his prime, Bismarck was of massive proportions in mind and body; but of his moral nature both friends and enemies had often been in doubt for many years. Now, even that was revealed to be in concord with his herculean bulk.

¶ The old glory passed from him, like a dream. He committed his soul to his God; and he heard again voices of Nature that had been inaudible to him, during his many years of intriguing diplomacy.

These voices spoke to him of the vanity and emptiness of human life, of the worthless baubles for which men exchange all they have, that is to say, their immortal gift of time, which soon passes away and is no more.

The musings of the Prince on the follies, inconsistencies and ambitions of life conspire to create a heroic figure like King Solomon. All is vanity! The conqueror of a continent has so declared. He had held the world in his hand, and had found that the sphere is hollow.

So go the fates of men.

¶ The great Prince Bismarck has now become as a beggar at the city’s gates.

¶ Over his grand spectacle of human pomp and power, contrasted with his final self-abnegation, shining forth we see the heights and depths of human life; but in this case the end was greater than the beginning; the defeat than the victory; the downfall than the glory; and the disillusion than the dream.

¶ Prince Bismarck in his long career as friend and confidant of the kings of this earth, had been honored with forty-eight orders of distinction. It is needless to mention them all, but they included the Iron Cross and the Order of Merit, the one entitling him to sit with kings, the other to command an army corps.

¶ But the greatest decoration of all was the one he now wore, his high tide of glory gone.

It is the Decoration of the Order of the Disillusioned, bestowed upon himself by his own soul.

Soon or late, prince or pauper, and you and I, wear this Order as at last we sit and wonder at the years gone by.

¶ Let us silently pass on, leaving Bismarck here, in the one solemn moment of his life; when he attains to real grandeur, stamps himself as greater than when he sat before kings.

For now he possesses his own soul, in peace.

And in this last picture, the end is greater than the beginning; the defeat than the victory; the downfall than the glory; and the disillusion than the dream.

¶ His final consolation was the Book of Job; and he read therein these strange and solemn words:

¶ What is my strength, that I should hope? and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life?

Is my strength the strength of stones, or is my flesh of brass?

¶ So am I made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me.

When I lie down, I say, when shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro, unto the dawning of the day.

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent without hope.

¶ Yea, man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward. I would seek unto God and unto God would I commit my cause;

Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvelous things without number;

Who giveth rain upon the earth, and sendeth waters upon the fields;

To set up on high those that be low; that those which mourn may be exalted to safety.

He disappointeth the devices of the crafty, so that their hands cannot perform their enterprise.

¶ Behold happy is the man whom God correcteth; therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty;

For he maketh sore and bindeth up; he woundeth and his hands make whole.

He shall deliver thee in six troubles; yea, in seven there shall be no evil touch thee.

In famine, he shall redeem thee from death; and in war from the power of the sword ... neither shalt thou be afraid of destruction when it cometh.

“As One Asleep”

¶ On July 30, 1898, just before midnight, Otto Edward Leopold von Bismarck, Prince of Lauenburg and former Imperial Chancellor of the German Empire, died peacefully in the old homestead of his ancestors.

The immediate cause of death was congestion of the lungs.

¶ “Ich danke Dir, mein Kind,” were his last words, addressed to his daughter, who had stooped to wipe the moisture from his pale brow.

¶ As late as the day he died, he had read the newspapers and talked politics.

His final remarks were on the relations of Germany and Russia, at all times a subject of deep concern to him.

¶ Dr. Schweninger had promised to bring him to 90—and was seven years short.

But the Bismarck of retirement was not unhappy in the taking off; he had grown tired of it all; and it is pleasant to record that his last hours were without pain.

¶ A few days before, he had had his champagne, and had smoked five pipes in succession; also the day before he died, he had asked an attendant to “color” two new meerschaums, gifts of friends. Toward the last, he had used an invalid’s chair for breakfast, but otherwise he seemed as well as could be expected.

¶ The windows looking upon the garden were opened, early next morning, and the servants of the household gathered there to look at the master, at rest.

He was seemingly asleep in his four-poster bed, his head slightly inclined to the left; his expression was that of one gently dreaming; his arms were resting over the coverlet, and in his left hand he held one white and three red roses, a last love-token from an Austrian lady.

¶ The expression of his features was, at the end, proud and noble; but the face was as grey as ashes; for the fire of life was out at last!

¶ Later, came two Cuirassiers, in white, with drawn swords; and these massive figures stood there by the bedside, and by and by kept solemn guard beside the coffin; also, near by were two Foresters, in green.

¶ Books, papers, telegrams and a laurel wreath were in the death chamber, where the master had worked to the end.

Not far away was his favorite chessboard, also, within touch the Emperor’s last present, a fac-simile of Frederick the Great’s great crook-headed gold cane; a step the other way the globe of the earth that Bismarck used to roll over with his big hand, when he studied his endless foreign political combinations.

¶ Later, came the magnificent funeral with the high military, and all the rest; but we think we shall take leave of him in his old room with these simple objects around him, his tools of work, his big oak desk, his mounds of state papers, his writings, his quill pens, his box of blue sand, his pipes, steins and champagne glasses, his letters, his telegrams, his great heaps of books, his immense correspondence on the affairs of nations, his diplomas from universities, his degrees of law, philosophy and letters, and finally, his big Ulmar dogs.

¶ Here we leave him as one asleep, reminded of his final words, uttered when the master was breaking fast with the infirmities of his eighty-three years:

¶ “There is only one happy day left for me. It is the one on which I shall not wake again.”

¶ His son refused the request that a death-mask be made of the noble old face, but Lenbach’s famous painting will recall the stern head for years to come.

¶ Bismarck’s coffin was of polished dark oak, with eight silver handles in the shape of lion’s paws; candles burned around his coffin, the pale lights softened by veils of black and silver gauze that ornamented the silver candelabra. The floor was literally covered with wreaths, many bearing cards of sympathy in gold letters, from various eminent personages throughout the world.

¶ The Kaiser heard the funeral services.

¶ Bismarck’s mausoleum rests on a spot Bismarck selected for himself; a plain Romanesque House of Death against a background of trees; and to the right still may be seen his favorite bench where he used to sit, under the shade of spreading oaks.

The sarcophagus of yellow marble bears this inscription, selected by Bismarck himself:

Here LiesPRINCE BISMARCKA Faithful German Servantof Emperor William I.

¶ Hostile critics of Germany, brought forth by the great war of 1914, profess to believe that this inscription on Bismarck’s tomb shows that Bismarck did not wish his work to be associated with the future of the Empire, but with its past.

Instead, it really proclaims the man’s great mind, his clairvoyant historical vision. He could have said many things about himself, touching the great part he played in sustaining the pomp and majesty of kings; but his simple acknowledgment of the rôle of faithful servant, is more eloquent than sermons in brass.

¶ Finally, a small altar to the right of the porch carries this text from Colossians iii:23, the motto given to Bismarck many, many years before by Rev. Schliermacher, the pastor who confirmed the boy Otto; and that motto became indeed Bismarck’s guiding star through life, as now well you do know, balancing his record with the solemn Biblical injunction you read here beside the master’s tomb:

¶ “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.”

THE END

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