We have already stated that Bismarck would have preferred to remain at Frankfurt, because he hoped to be useful to Prussia; and he personally complained to the Prince Regent of his transference. The Prince Regent, on the other hand, demonstrated to[281] him that such an official position in St. Petersburg was one of the first in the diplomacy of Prussia, and that he ought to regard his mission there as a distinction. It was, perhaps, fortunate for Bismarck that thus placed in a remote position from the party spirit of those days, he was able as from an observatory to watch the course of political events, both inwardly and outwardly, and allow his views to assume distinctness, his plans to ripen. To his many journeys was also due the preservation of personal interests. The peculiar good-will with which he was received by the Czar, and especially by the Empress-Mother at that time, he knew how to preserve, at the same time winning the respect of the Russian statesmen. Of his life in these days, his letters, which we shall presently communicate, addressed to his wife and sister, afford us most characteristic traits. From this time forward, sadly enough, several attacks of indisposition appear, which dull the picture of manly strength and health we have hitherto beheld in him. In March he set forward on his journey to St. Petersburg, and assumed his new office on his birthday, the 1st of April, 1859; in May he went to Moscow, but upon his return he became seriously ill, and suffered greatly from a rheumatic attack in the left leg, which was very painful to him.
He there placed himself in the hands of his physicians. One evening a blister was applied to the calf of the leg, and Bismarck went to sleep, but soon awoke in raging tortures, which increased to such a degree that he tore away the blister, and with it some portion of the flesh. Perhaps in the end this proved his salvation, but such remarkable symptoms of illness appeared that it was necessary for him to ask permission for leave of absence in Berlin. The Emperor was terrified at the alteration in Bismarck, when he came to present his letters of recall. After a miserable journey Bismarck arrived in Berlin, but in a pitiable state. He remained there at the Hotel d’Angleterre in a hopeless condition; the physicians treated with him iodine, without, however, any result, and in this condition he was found by his wife, whom he summoned from Pomerania. Madame von Bismarck, in every thing touching her husband, possesses the greatest energy and affection; herself instructed in the healing art, she had all the iodine bottles thrown away, and devoted herself to the sick-bed. From this time the condition of Bismarck visibly improved, and although[282] much still remained ere he could regard himself as fully convalescent, he was at any rate enabled to seek further health and strength at Wiesbaden and Nauheim. The cure, however, was very incomplete, and it cost him a great effort to perform the duty of receiving the Emperor Alexander at Warsaw, and attending him to Berlin. After this he sought retirement for a while with his family at Reinfeld, whence he proposed to return to his post in St. Petersburg in November.
Reinfeld has been so often mentioned in these pages, and that spot of ground has so much significance for Bismarck, that some few notes concerning it can not be unwelcome to the reader. Reinfeld lies in the undulating hill country slanting from the Baltic land-ridge towards the Eastern Ocean, close to the left bank of the Stolpe, in a very pleasant part of Pomerania. The mansion of Reinfeld presents that peculiar type of Christian amiability,[44] which, in its unaffectation, produces so pleasant an effect on the visitor. There is nothing artificial about it. In the courtyard no oaths are heard, but in place of these the venerable Herr von Putkammer raises his velvet skull-cap, and from his lips come the peaceful words, “Let us all return our thanks unto the Lord,” etc., when at harvest-home the reapers enter with the corn-wreath of increase.
Bismarck had often fled to these fragrant Hinder Pomerania thorn-thickets for rest and refreshment in the summer-time, from busy official life and the social saloon of office. Hitherward he bent his steps cheerfully from Berlin and Paris, from Frankfurt and St. Petersburg. Here, with heartfelt contentment, he greeted his ancient friend, the forest; and in the neighborhood of Reinfeld there are many select localities remaining as proofs of his never-resting spirit of enterprise—as green trophies of his creative power. Frau von Bismarck, too, had grown up in Reinfeld. There she lived, at the service of all, with words of comfort and active aid, as well as with medical counsel, prudent enough to amaze many an experienced physician. Nor has Frau von Bismarck denied herself such a sphere of helpful activity in her town life. Like a true woman, she has forgotten her own sorrows to take care of the humblest persons around her, and thus[283] she has ever been a true helpmate for her consort in heavy labors and in dark hours. Frau von Bismarck possesses a fine ear for music. Her passionate performance has often delighted and soothed her husband amidst his cares, when the storms of life assailed him, and the waves ran high. How often has he sat still at night and listened to her melody, receiving the mighty influence of music into his heart of hearts!
On his journey from Reinfeld to St. Petersburg, in the November of 1859, Bismarck was taken dangerously ill at the house of his friend Alexander von Below, a Member of the Upper House, at Hohendorf in Prussia, beyond Elbing. The next station on the Eastern Railroad is Güldenboden (Goldbottom), which gives some conclusion as to the prolificacy of the Hohendorf district and agricultural system. After his illness there was a long period of reconvalescence, but Bismarck was comforted by having all his dear ones at hand. Herr von Below and his excellent sister, Mademoiselle Jeannette von Below, evinced princely hospitality. Besides Bismarck, his wife and children, his father and mother-in-law, Herr and Frau von Putkammer, remained for weeks at Hohendorf, together with Miss Fatio, the friendly home-spirit of the Bismarck family, and the boy’s tutor, Candidate Braune, now preacher at Strausberg-on-the-Barnim.
On the recovery of his health, Bismarck went, in March, 1860, to Berlin, where he took part in the Sessions of the Upper House; in May he returned to Hohendorf, whence he conducted his family to St. Petersburg. They started for K?nigsberg on the 30th May, slept at Marienpol on the 31st, at Wilkomierz on the 1st June, on the 2d at Dünaburg, on the 3d at Begitza, and on the morning of the 5th the travellers arrived in St. Petersburg. The railway was not completed at the time, so that some portion of the journey between the frontier and Dünaburg was performed in carriages.
Bismarck had hired the house of Countess Stenbock, on the English Quay, with a fine view of the Neva, the quarter of Wassili Ostrov, and the Nicholas Bridge. When Bismarck had his family about him, he felt at home on the Neva. He also took a special master, in order to learn the Russian language; and it is said to have very much pleased and astonished the Emperor Alexander when Bismarck first answered him in Russian. It is no[284] trifling task to learn Russian; we know persons who have frequently attempted to do so, but have always abandoned the task in despair. Bismarck was much in society, at the Court of the witty Archduchess Helena. There was no lack of sporting parties; he hunted the elk, the bear, and the wolf. At Varzin, as at Berlin, may be seen many trophies of his skill from the North. These bear-hunts were very contributive to his convalescence, and he warded off many a cold on these expeditions, in the bitter weather. Bismarck, who was always a friend to dumb animals, had much amusement in some young cubs he kept in the house, until they grew into the ornaments of the Zoological Gardens at Frankfurt and Cologne, at a later age. Mischka (such is the Russian name of the young bear) often made his appearance, as did the foxes at Kniephof, to the great amusement of the guests at the dinner-table; and walked about among the plates and glasses on the cloth, nipped the servant in the calf of the leg, or slid about on the slide in the dining-room.
During this Petersburg time, Bismarck was able to devote himself more fully to the education of his children. Every Saturday they appeared before their father with their exercise-books, and reported what progress they had made during the week. Then followed a short examination, which evinced his minute accuracy in scholastic teaching, and even the tutor who was present learned something—the method of education. In later years Bismarck has been unable to spare time for such examinations, the duties of his office having entirely absorbed him.
Among the gentlemen who then frequented the house of Bismarck, we will mention, the then Royal Prussian Commissioner, Freiherr von Lo?n (now General); Captain von Erkert (now Colonel); the historian Legation Councillor von Schloezer; the Prince von Croy and his old friend, Count von Kaiserling; Baron Nolde; and Count Yxkull. In the aristocratic circles of Russian society Bismarck was very greatly prized and esteemed, and this not alone on account of the favor accorded to him and his wife by the Imperial family. The Chancellor, Prince Gortschakoff, at all times regarded him with the greatest interest, and stood in continued and agreeable relations with him. Bismarck’s sporting skill and fortune became almost proverbial in the Court circles of Petersburg. From an authentic, although[285] Suabian, source, the following anecdote was related to us, how Bismarck and seven others went a bear-hunting:—“On their return, one of the seven was asked, ‘How did things go?’ and he replied, ‘Very ill for us, father. The first bear trotted in; the Prussian fired, and down fell the bear. Then came the second, and I fired, missed, and Bismarck shot him dead at my very feet. Then came the third bear; Colonel M. fired twice and missed twice; then the Prussian knocked him over with one barrel. So Bismarck shot all three, and we could get no more. It went very ill for us, father!’” Bismarck, in his Russian hunting-coat, high boots, and big brown juff’s leather cloak, was a magically imposing sight.
The following year, 1861, Bismarck spent the most of the summer in Pomerania, and part of it in Baden-Baden, where he was considerably consulted by King William in political affairs. In the large coronation painting by Menzel, he forms a conspicuous and significative object. From K?nigsberg he returned to his post at Petersburg.
His outward appearance had much changed: he looked much[286] more like what we see him now. His once rich hair has grown somewhat thin, which makes the forehead very prominent; his enormous beard had disappeared in Frankfurt; the features are very marked, but a humorous smile still plays about his lips; his eyes retain their fire, and his firm bearing is still preserved. In his letters the old hearty spirit still is evident in all its freshness, nor is good-humor wanting; but sometimes there is a feeling of mournfulness, which, although slightly toned, still shows that he had not come unwounded from the fierce contest.
The following letters belong to this period of his career:—
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Pskow, 28th March, 1859.
Russia lengthened herself out under our wheels, and at each station the versts gave birth to young; but we have now run into the haven of the railway. From K?nigsberg we travelled for ninety-six hours without intermission; at Kowno we slept four hours, and three in Egypt (a station near Dünaberg), I think, the day before yesterday. I am now very well, but my skin is still burning, as I was outside almost all night, and we changed from 1 to 12 degrees of cold, R. The snow was so deep that we literally remained sticking with six to eight horses, and had to descend. The slippery hills were worse, particularly in going down; it took us an hour to go twenty paces; the horses fell down four times, and all eight got the harness complicated together. Add to this night and wind—a real winter journey. It was impossible to sleep in consequence of the cold; yet it was better to be in the air. Sleep I shall recover. The Niemen was[287] free; but the Wilna, a river you scarcely would know, as broad as the Maine—the stream like a torrent, with blocks of ice. The Düna was only fordable at one place, where we were able to cross, with four hours’ waiting and three hours’ labor. The whole region resembles Hither Pomerania, without villages, chiefly like the district of Bütow and Bohren; some good forests, but the majority like the coast of New-Kolpizlow. Many birch woods, morasses for miles, the road straight as a line; a post-station at from every 14 to 22 versts, like Hornskrug, very well arranged, every thing to be had, and plenty of warmth—every body very civil, and the service punctual. Beyond Dünaberg there was a want of horses; at one station near Kowno we waited three hours, and then only obtained tired animals. Where the road was good they went excellently—at half-mile pace, with our heavy, ponderous carriage; but through the heavy parts they could not draw, skillful fellows as the postilions were. The common class of man pleases me at first sight. It is now six—we have just dined. Opposite to me, as I write on the table-cloth, —— is sitting, meditatively smoking.
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Petersburg, 19 (31) March, 1859.
Since early the day before yesterday, I have been warmly and dryly lodged here, in the Hotel Demidoff; but I did not get here without great exertion. Scarcely had I left K?nigsberg, eight days ago, than a lively snow storm began, and since then I have not seen the natural color of the earth’s surface. At Insterburg we began only to make a mile an hour with couriers’ horses. At Wirballen I found a mail-post carriage, the interior of which proved too narrow for my stature; I therefore changed places with Engel, and made the whole journey on the outer seat, open in front: a narrow bench, with an acute-angled back, so that it was impossible to sleep at night, without reckoning the temperature, which reached 1.2°. In this condition I remained from Wednesday morning early until Monday evening, and, except during the first and last nights of railroad, I have only slept once for three hours, and once for two hours on the post-station sofa. The skin of my face peeled off when I arrived. The journey was so long, in consequence of the deep snow, which had newly[288] fallen, and the want of a sledge-road; several times we were obliged to get out and walk, eight horses being unable to drag the carriage forward. The Düna was frozen, but about half a mile farther up there was free water, by which we passed; the Wilna drifted with ice, the Niemen was open. Horses, however, were scarce, as each post required eight and ten instead of the usual three and four. I have never had less than six, although the carriage was not heavy. The guard, postilions, and outriders did their utmost, so that I set my face against horse-slaughtering. The icy hills, were the greatest obstacle; the four hindmost horses, on one occasion, all tumbled over into a tangle—but the outriders on the right of the two foremost never stumbled—and hardly had they arisen than they went forward, in full career, with the fully-laden carriage, down hill and over bridges, at the top of their wind, amidst shouting and whipcord. They fell, only at step; but had they stumbled amidst the verst-long gallops on any declivity, we should have been the real —— of Prince ——! Well! it is over, and I enjoy the fun of having passed through it. The Neva here is like granite; but since yesterday there has been sunshine and thaw. It is well known that the town is handsome; but were I to abandon myself to the sentiment of wonder, it would arise from the extraordinary animation of the streets; despite their width, it requires good drivers to wind their way at a proper pace, carriages are so numerous; the sledges disappeared yesterday. My commissions were completed the day before yesterday; my address for —— was written down the Chancery, as I had arrived unexpectedly.
1st April.—On writing this date, it occurs to me that to-day is my birthday, the first I ever spent amidst a rattling frost—for that has again set in—and, for twelve years, without Johanna. Yesterday I had a long audience of the Empress-Mother, and was delighted with the aristocratic nobility of the venerable lady. To-day I saw the Czar; so that on my birthday I enter upon my new functions. The day before yesterday the Emperor shot two bears. Unfortunately, it is now all over with Petz; he will not allow himself to be attacked, or rarely. The new snow has been, as it were, swept away by three days of thaw; the whole country is said to be free. Business is just beginning. Loving letters to-day from Johanna and the children.
[289]
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Moscow, 6th June, 1859.
I will try to give you a sign of life, at least, hence, while I am awaiting the samovar (tea-urn), and behind me a young Russian, red-shirted, is troubling himself with entirely fruitless attempts to heat the stove; he sneezes and sighs, but it won’t burn. After having recently complained so much of the scorching heat, I woke up this morning, between Twer and here, and thought I was dreaming when I saw the country, with its fresh verdure, covered, far and near, with snow! I never wonder at any thing now; so, when I had satisfied myself that there was no doubt about it, I turned quickly on the other side to sleep and roll on, although the play of colors, green and white, was not without their charm in the redness of the dawn. I do not know whether it has melted away at Twer, but here it is gone, and cold drizzling rain is rattling on the green leads of the roofs. Green, truly, is the body-color of the Russian. I slept some forty miles out of the hundred to this place; but the other sixty miles showed me nothing but every shade of green. I did not notice cities and villages, or even houses, excepting at the stations; thick-set woods and birches cover morass and hill; some fine grass crop between, and long meadows. Thus it is for ten—twenty—forty miles. I do not remember to have noticed the bramble, and no sand; but lonely cows or horses grazing raised an idea that men were not far off. Moscow, from above, looks like a sown field—the soldiers green, the cupolas green, and I do not doubt that the eggs before me were laid by green hens. You probably know why I am here; I have asked myself, and immediately received the reply that change is the soul of life. The truth of this profound remark becomes remarkably intelligible after living ten weeks in a sunny hotel apartment, with the aspect of paving-stones. Besides, the joys of changing apparel, when they repeat themselves frequently, become somewhat deadened; I therefore determined to deny them to myself, gave all the papers to ——, to Engel my keys, declared that I would return in a week to the Stenbock house, and drove to the Moscow terminus. This occurred yesterday at noon, and at eight this morning I descended at the Hotel de France. I will now visit a pleasant friend of[290] earlier days, living some twenty versts off in the country; to-morrow evening I shall be here again; Wednesday and Thursday I shall devote to the Kremlin and such matters; and Friday or Saturday shall sleep in the beds which Engel will purchase in the mean time. To harness slowly, and drive rapidly, lies in the character of this people; I ordered the carriage two hours ago; to every inquiry I have had put at ten minutes’ interval, for the last hour and a half, the reply is, “Directly!” with stolid, friendly quietness; and so it remains. You know my pattern-like patience in waiting, but every thing has its bounds: presently we shall dash along, so that carriage and horses will break down in these bad roads, and we shall end our journey on foot. In the interval I have had three glasses of tea, destroyed several eggs, and the requirements of fuel have been so fully answered that I feel a desire for fresh air. Had I a looking-glass, I should shave from very impatience. This city is very spacious, and very strange, with its churches with green roofs and innumerable cupolas; far different from Amsterdam, although both are the most original cities I have ever seen. The amount of luggage brought here in the coupée no German conductor could divine. No Russian travels without two pillows, children in baskets, and masses of provisions of every kind. From politeness, I was complimented with a sleeping coupée, where I was worse situated than in my arm-chair. I am really astonished at making a journey under such circumstances.
Archangelski, late in the evening.
A year ago this very day I never even dreamt that I should be sitting here. On the river by which Moscow stands, some three miles away, amidst spacious gardens, lies a mansion in the Italian style. In front there is a broad, terraced, sloping lawn, surrounded by hedges like those of Sch?nbrunn, to the river side, and to the left of it a pavilion, in the six rooms of which I wander alone. On the other side of the water is a broad moonlit plain; here, grass-plats, hedges, and orangeries. The wind howls, and the flame flickers in the stove; old pictures look in a ghostly manner at me from the walls, and white marble statues from without. I return to-morrow, with my host, to Moscow; the day after to-morrow, by way of St. Petersburg, to Berlin.[291] I shall remain, if it be the will of God, until Friday, to “see what is to be seen.” My pen is very bad. I shall go to bed, though it looks broad and cold. Good-night. God be with you, and all those sheltered by Reinfeld!
The 7th.—Despite the broad cold bed, I slept well—had a capital fire made up, and am looking over the steaming tea-urn out to the somewhat clearer, but still grayish, horizon, and into the entirely green surroundings of my pavilion. It is a pleasant spot of earth, and I have the comfortable feeling that I am beyond the reach of telegraphs. My servant, like a true Russian, has, as I perceive, slept in my antechamber on a silken divan, and this would seem to be a domestic arrangement, servants not being provided with special sleeping accommodation. My pavilion has an orangery, now empty, attached to it, about 150 feet long, at the least—the winter inhabitants of which are at present planted out in the hedges in stately grandeur. The whole with its appurtenances is something like a very magnified —— with rococo appendices in the way of furniture, hedges, terraces, and statues. I am now going out walking.
Moscow, 8th June.—The city, as a city, is certainly the handsomest and most original in existence; the environs are friendly, neither pretty nor ugly; but the prospect above from the Kremlin, over the surrounding houses, with green roofs, gardens, churches, towers of the most extraordinary shapes and colors—most of them green, red, or bright blue, usually crowned by a gigantic golden ball, many with five or more on a church, unquestionably a thousand towers—something so curiously beautiful, as it appears in the setting sun, can not be seen elsewhere. The weather is again clear, and I should remain here some days longer, had there not arisen rumors of a great battle in Italy which may lead to diplomatic work; so I will make haste to be at my post. The house in which I write is very remarkable, as being one of the few remaining from 1812, with ancient thick walls like those of Sch?nhausen, of Oriental architecture—great Moorish courts.
[292]
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Peterhof, 28th June, 1859.
By the preceding date, you can see I am again up. I drove here early, to take leave of the Empress-Mother, who sails to-morrow. Her charming sincerity has truly for me something of a character of maternity, and I can explain myself to her as if I had known her from a child. She conversed with me to-day for a long time on many subjects; she was lying in a chaise-longue, dressed in black, knitting at a white and red woollen shawl with long needles, on the balcony looking to the country. I could have listened to her deep voice and honest laugh and scolding for many an hour longer, I felt so at home. I had only come for two hours in undress; but as she finally said she did not wish to say farewell, but that I must have a great deal to do, I assured her nothing at all, and then she said, “You had better remain till to-morrow, when I leave.” I accepted the invitation joyfully as a command, for here it is delightful, and in Petersburg so stony. Only imagine the heights of Oliva and Zoppot all laid out as parks; with a dozen palaces having terraces, fountains, and lakes between, with shady walks and lawns down to the sea-line, blue sky, and warm sun with white clouds, and beyond the green ocean of foliage, the real blue sea with ships and seagulls. I have not enjoyed any thing so much for a long time. In a few hours the Emperor and Gortschakow will be here, and then some business will penetrate the idyl; but, God be thanked, the world seems more peaceful despite our mobilization, and I need make myself less anxious at certain conclusions. I am sorry for the Austrian soldiers; how can they be commanded, that they are always beaten? On the twenty-fourth again. It is a lesson for the ministers, which, in their stupidity, they will still not take to heart. I should fear France rather than Austria from the moment we took up arms.
28th, Evening.—After a drive for three hours in an open carriage through the gardens, and having seen all their beauties seriatim, I am drinking tea and looking at the golden evening sky and green woods. The Imperial family desired last night to be alone, for which I can not blame them, and as a reconvalescent I sought[293] solitude, and quite enough of it for this trip. I smoke my cigar in peace, drink excellent tea, and through the smoke of both gaze at a sunset of rare magnificence. The inclosed jasmine I send you as a proof that it really does grow in the open air and blossoms here. On the other hand, I must confess that I was shown the common chestnut in espalier as a rare plant, wrapped up in the winter. But there are very fine oaks, ashes, limes, poplars, and birches as thick as oaks.
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Peterhof, 29th June, 1859.
I wished to send you my good wishes in a pair of slippers by the steamer of the 25th, so that you would have received them this very day, but I could not even do it the week before, I lay so exhausted on my back. Since January in Berlin I have never been quite well, and anxiety, climate, and colds increased my originally unimportant rheumatism to such a pitch some ten days since, that I could not breathe without very great pain. The complaint, rheumatico-gastric-nervous, had settled in the liver, and was attacked by large cupping-glasses like saucers, and cantharides and mustard everywhere, until I succeeded, after having been half won for a better world, in convincing the physicians that my nerves, by eight years of uninterrupted anxiety and continual excitement, had been weakened, and that more tapping of blood would lead to typhus or idiocy. A week ago yesterday was the worst, but my good constitution soon came to my rescue, after moderate quantities of canary were ordered. I came hither yesterday—my first trip—to take leave of the Empress-Mother, who is goodness itself towards me, and at her desire I have remained here till her departure, which takes place to-day about noon, to enjoy myself with green and sea and country air after all my sufferings. Do not write to Johanna about these details of sickness; I will tell her myself; I have till now only told her of ordinary witchcraft. As soon as I am at rest I will write especially to Oscar; I was deeply touched by his long letter, and should have replied long since, but before my illness I was for a week in the neighborhood of Moscow, and the conduct of much business is doubly difficult by the presence of the Court and Ministers in[294] Zarskoe-Selo. I hope to obtain my furlough in the first third of July, and shall then go to Berlin, and I hope by Kr?chlendorf to Pomerania.
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Petersburg, 2d July, 1859.
Half an hour ago a courier awakened me with tidings of war and peace. Our politics are sliding more and more into the Austrian groove, and if we fire one shot on the Rhine the Italo-Austrian war is over; and in place of it we shall see a Prusso-French war, in which Austria, after we have taken the load from her shoulders, will assist, or assist so far as her own interests are concerned. That we should play a very victorious part is scarcely to be conceded. Be it as God wills! it is here below always a question of time; nations and men, folly and wisdom, war and peace, they come like waves and so depart, while the ocean remains! On this earth there is nothing but hypocrisy and jugglery, and whether this mask of flesh is to be torn off by fever or a cartridge, it must fall at last, and then the difference between a Prussian and an Austrian, if of the same stature, will be so small that it will be difficult to distinguish between them. Fools and wise men, as skeletons, look very much like one another; specific patriotism we thus lose, but it would be desperate if we carried it into eternity.
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Saturday, Petersburg.
Until half-past three this morning I was engaged in writing. The sun then rose, and I went to bed, and have been at the ink-bottle from before nine again; in half an hour the steamer starts; —— is behind me. For three days together I have been obliged to go to Zarskoe-Selo, always taking up the whole day. I dined with the Emperor recently, in the clothes of four different people, not being prepared for dress; I must have looked very odd. Here people are very good to me; but in Berlin, Austria and all our dear allies are intriguing to get me away; and yet I am such a well-behaved person! Be it as God wills! I had as lief live in the country as not.
[295]
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Berlin, 14th Sept., 1859.
Forgive me for not answering your letter as yet. I thought I should be able to stay a few days longer at Reinfeld, but was yesterday suddenly telegraphed for. Formerly it took twenty-eight hours to reach here, but since the railway has been opened it takes thirty-two, and one has to get up at four o’clock. I have just arrived here at six o’clock, have satisfied my appetite, and now propose to sleep. I am to receive the Regent very early to-morrow morning at the station; thence probably to Potsdam, to receive letters and commissions; to-morrow evening off to Warsaw. I shall very likely return with the Emperor to Breslau, and thence come back here; perhaps we shall then be able to see each other for one day at last. A fourteen-seated carriage arrives at Tauroggen for me to-day; how long it will remain there Heaven knows—this vagabondizing in the autumn chills ending in the goal of winter is far from amusing.
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Berlin, 24th Sept., 1859.
After I learnt from —— that you had passed through Berlin, and had probably reached Kr?chlendorf again, I made enormous exertions to be free by six to-morrow morning and reach Stettin to-morrow night by way of Kr?chlendorf. After having talked myself hoarse with mechanics and statesmen, I have become almost idiotic with anxiety, hunger, and business. I now at eleven o’clock do not know how to write either a short or simple letter to —— on the business of the day; to rise to-morrow at half-past five, and commit some financial and legal matters to paper. Je suis au bout de mes forces and must sleep, painful as it is to me to be compelled to dispense with my intended surprise for you to-morrow. I have already torn up two letters to Baden I had commenced. I can not keep my thoughts fixed to the political cothurnus, and must defer my journey to Stettin till to-morrow night. There I shall sleep. The day after to-morrow I have to meet Bernhard at Freienwalde; he will accompany me as far as Labes, where the trains join; at night I shall sleep at Reddentin, and early on the 27th I start for Reinfeld, or Johanna will scratch[296] my eyes out. It is her father’s birthday, and horses are already ordered. If I thought this letter would reach you in time, I should try to persuade you to go to Reinfeld at the same time, but you would be worn out with the journey. I have greatly recovered, particularly during the fortnight at Baden. My left leg is still weak and swollen from walking, my nerves not yet recovered from the iodine. I still sleep badly, and after the many people and things I have seen and spoken to to-day, I am tired and angry; I do not know what at, but I have very different ideas to those of six weeks ago, when I cared little for living longer, and the people who then saw me here say that they did not believe to have had that pleasure to-day. Every Prussian ambassador dies or goes mad, says ——, with a look which vouches for the truth of his words. Other people, however, do the same. I hope to remain a fortnight at Reinfeld, and then leave for the North. It is possible that I may be called back here after the Regent’s return, and my journey may be delayed by that of the Emperor. In any case it will be a winter journey; in Petersburg there is already snow and two degrees of frost. I can not even wish for another post, as according to medical advice I am to be lazy—and that is only possible at Petersburg—unless I desire to resign altogether. I shall wrap myself in bear-skins and be snowed up, and see what remains of me and mine next May in the thaw. If there are too few I shall return to agriculture and close with politics, as Gischberg does in his fourth picture. It would be very pleasant, however, if we could see each other before the winter sleep; should I return in a fortnight this would be easy, otherwise we must seek other means, visit Danzig or the Gollenberg together.
BISMARCK TO HIS WIFE.
Lazienki, 17th Oct., 1859.
So far have they got me! Early this morning I sought in the first Polish station for the ticket-office to take my place as far as here, when suddenly a benevolent Fate, in the shape of a white-bearded Russian General, seized me; this angel is named P., and before I recovered consciousness, my pass was recovered from the police, my luggage from the custom-house officer, and I was transplanted from the luggage-train to the express, seated in[297] one of the Imperial saloon carriages, over a cigar, with this agreeable gentleman, and, after a good dinner at Petorkan, arrived at the station here, where I was parted from Alexander and luggage by the golden throng. My carriage was ready, and my questions, shouted in various languages, as to where I was to stay, were lost in the carriage roll, with which two fine horses galloped me into the night. For some half an hour I was rolling in mad haste through the darkness, and now am sitting here in uniform with my orders on, which we all donned at the last station. Tea is beside me, a mirror before me, and I know no more than that I am in the Pavilion of Stanislaus August in Lazienki, but not where it is situated, and I live in hopes that Alexander will soon find traces of me in more comfortable attire. By the noise there should be tall trees or a fountain in front of the windows; except many people in Court liveries, I do not discover any one. The Emperor reaches Breslau early on the 23d, remains there a week, and then, after two days, I shall be with you.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Lazienki, 19th Oct., 1859.
I can only tell you in so many words that I am well. Yesterday I was the whole day en grandeur; breakfasted with the Emperor, then an audience, was very graciously and kindly received; dinner with H. I. M.; theatre in the evening, a very good ballet, and the boxes filled with handsome ladies. I have slept excellently; tea is on the table, and when I have taken it I am going to drive out. The Emperor reaches Breslau early on the 23d; on the morning of the 25th we shall probably start for Berlin. The tea I mentioned consisted not only of tea, but of coffee, six eggs, three kinds of meat, biscuits, and a bottle of Bordeaux; and from the breach I made this morning you would see that the journey has not hurt me. The wind is rushing over the Vistula, and rages among the chestnuts and limes surrounding me, whirling the yellow leaves against the windows; but here inside, with double windows, tea, and thoughts of you and the children, I smoke my cigar in great comfort. Unfortunately all comfort in this world has its bounds, and I am only awaiting the end of the[298] breakfast of those in the antechamber (I hear Alexander’s voice calling out loudly for a corkscrew!) to jump into the carriage, and first drive to several castles and mansions, and then into the city.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Lazienki, 21st Oct., 1859.
I shall only just give you a sign of life this morning, for I have slept too long. Yesterday there was a grand dinner, a water and forest illumination which transcended every thing I had ever seen of the kind, and a ballet with mazurka. Whatever can be done is done, and for gay people this is Abraham’s bosom. I should enjoy this more had I any news of you. You have, no doubt, in the uncertainty of my journey, not ventured to write to me here, or the letter is delayed. To-morrow about nine we go to Skianiawicze, where there is to be a hunting-party in the park; in the evening on to Breslau. With God’s assistance this day week I shall be in Reinfeld, and shall, I hope, find you and the little ones in good health, and ready to travel. I long for the moment when we shall sit quietly at the tea-table in our winter quarters, be the Neva as frozen as it may.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Skianiawicze, 22d Oct., 9 p.m.
For five hours I have shot deer, hunted four hares, rode for three hours—every thing went off well. We are just getting into the coupé for Breslau, where we shall be early to-morrow.
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Peterhof, 1st (13th) July, 1860.
As in former times, during the sessions of the Diet, I can find no pleasanter employment for a leisure moment than to write you a line as to the state of my health. Under the impression that at eight o’clock a steamer left for Petersburg, I remained at table till half-past six—just long enough to be detained till ten. The plan is altered to-day; instead of eight, they start at half-past six and ten. But it is very pleasant here. There is charming weather to day; a fine view of the green and the sea from a well-arranged corner room of the palace; music in honor of the birthday[299] of the Empress-Mother; and a good carriage, in which I shall take a drive for an hour. Peterhof is the jewel of this neighborhood, and delightful also for a west European, both as a park and landscape—something like the neighborhood of Danzig and Zoppot, of which you naturally know nothing, nor of Rügen; the latter is in the same style, but prettier. My health is unexpectedly good since I have lived in my own house. Your kindness in Berlin to some extent replaced this want; but the green hotel saloon, and the provisional character of my existence, still somewhat oppresses my memory. I feel like an old pensioner who has done with the business of this world, or like a formerly ambitious soldier, who has reached the haven of a comfortable command; and I feel that I could travel towards my end through long contented years. Till twelve I am employed with the Carlsbaders, walking, breakfast, dressing; from then till five official life gives me just enough regular work to feel that I am not superfluous in the world. Dinner I enjoy perfectly, particularly such things as I ought not to eat. From eight to ten I ride, also par ordonnance du médecin, and then read the newspapers and dispatches—enjoying some peaches the while—till twelve. I shall be able to endure this for a long time, provided I succeed in retaining the position of an observant natural philosopher in our politics. Yesterday Johanna made her first appearance in society. As I had to be in bed by twelve, and no one comes till eleven, it did not last long. My health is a welcome excuse for keeping out of all company. I dined here to-day. Such are the only irregularities that have taken place since my first reception at Court. The Emperor was very hearty on seeing me again, embraced me, and evinced an unquestionably sincere pleasure at my return. Johanna finds the life far pleasanter than she expected. Some slight cold somewhat upset her a few days since, but thank God all is right again, as with your Marie.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Zarskoe-Selo, 4th Oct., 1860.
I must be withdrawn from the clock-work of business, and by imperial command obtain an hour of leisure, to take thought and write to you. My daily life is taken up from the hour of breakfast until four without rest—work of all kinds, on paper and[300] among men. I then ride till six; but after dinner, by order of the physician, I approach the ink-bottle with caution, and only under extreme necessity. On the other hand, I read every thing which has arrived in dispatches and newspapers, and retire to rest about midnight, generally in good spirits, and in a contemplative mood as to the singular demands the Prussian in Russia makes upon his ambassador. Before sinking to sleep, I think of the best of sisters; but to write to this angel is only possible when I am sent for to an audience at one, and I have to take the railway for that purpose about nine. I thus have two hours remaining, during which I am quartered in the vacant rooms of the handsomest of all grandmothers, the Princess ——, where I write to you and smoke paper cigars until a visit or breakfast disturbs me. I look from the table, down hill, over birches and planes, where red and yellow are already predominating over green leaves. Behind them are the grass-green roofs of the village, over which, to the left, a church stands, with five golden towers in the shape of onions; and the whole is framed in on the horizon by the endless bushes, meadows, and forest plains, behind whose brown-grayish blue shadows a telescope would show the Isaac’s Church in Petersburg. A characteristic landscape, but under the cold gray sky more than autumnal—at any rate, a very northern autumn landscape. Yesterday the young Archduke Paul was born, and in a week the long delayed journey to Warsaw will be commenced. I hope to remain here; at least, I have written that I did not consider the custom of a reception on the frontier necessary, and should only come if specially commanded. I feel, thank God, much better than in the spring; but I do not trust in my health so entirely, and the Court life there, with diurnal balls until three o’clock, and all its restlessness, will be a severe trial even for people in perfect health. After my many journeys since the beginning of 1859, the feeling of really living anywhere with my own family is so beneficial that I am loath to tear myself away from domesticity. I should like to remain, like the badger, in my lair, at least until summer returns. Johanna and the children, thank God, are well, although Bill gave us some anxiety for a time, as Johanna will have informed you. The tutor and Josephine, the nurse, are, however, in bed. Quite without sickness we never are, and the doctor is a daily[301] guest. God grant that all sufferings are at an end in your house! The Chamberlain is just announced, and I do not know whether I shall be able to finish these lines here, or the day after to-morrow in Petersburg, when the Eagle sails, having many dispatches to write till then.
Petersburg, 12th Oct.—On taking up my letter-case, among my preparations for departure I found the foregoing, of which I was guilty at Zarskoe-Selo, and will not withhold it from you. Since then I have been ordered to go to Warsaw, and obey with somewhat of a heavy heart, after having somewhat evasively declined an invitation of the Emperor’s to that place. I am well enough for business, but not for pleasure. When you read this, probably on Wednesday, I shall, if God will, already be in Berlin. On Thursday I leave for Warsaw, and thence, by way of Wilna, hither. I shall not therefore have the pleasure of seeing you, unless by chance you should be in Berlin. I hope to do so next summer. The sea voyage will not be comfortable, but the land journey is too monotonous.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Petersburg, 9th Dec., 1860.
I take it for granted that you are already in Berlin, as I do not know what you could do in the long evenings at Kr?chlendorf, although they are not so long as here, where lights are now brought punctually at three o’clock, to see to read and write. On some of our foggy days it is hardly possible, despite of the double windows and distance from the cold, to enter upon such pursuits after noon. But I can not say that my evenings or nights are too long; my anger at the swift progress of time is as great in the evening when I go to bed, or in the morning when I rise. I have just now a great deal to do; we are not at all social—my means do not permit it. I catch cold in other people’s houses, and generally an ambassador with 30,000 thalers salary is condemned to great economy. I receive visitors at dinner, i.e., I give them according to fortune de pot, but no evening parties. Evening parties, theatres, and so forth, are interdicted by the mourning carriages; coachmen, j?gers, are all dressed in black. I have been out hunting once, but found the wolves wiser than the huntsmen; I was glad, however, to be able to do so once[302] more. The cold is not very intense; three, five, seven, seldom eleven degrees of frost; there has been good sledging for some weeks.
I am in the midst of Christmas plagues, and find nothing for Johanna that is not too dear. Please buy her some twelve or twenty pearls at Friedberg’s, suitable for her necklace, i.e. for the largest; say about 300 thalers. I should also like some picture-books, in Schneider’s Library; if you are unable to get them, ask —— to do so. I should like “Düsseldorf Magazines” of last year, “Düsseldorf Art Albums” of last and this year, München Fliegender Bl?tter of last year, and München Bilderbogen of this year and the last; also Kladderdatsch Almanac, and such nonsense.
Please get all this as soon as you can, and send it me by the aid of Harry with the next dispatch-bag—also the pearls, so that they may be here by Christmas; a courier will probably start before then. Put a few boxes of confections with them, but not too many, for the children are in a customary state of digestion without them.
The death of old Bellin makes a breach at Sch?nhausen, and puts me into some doubt as to my arrangements there. I do not know whether the widow will remain in the mansion, or whether she will prefer her little cottage—the ice-house—which the old man arranged for her. The garden I shall have to resign to the farmer, but will reserve a right of resumption by a notice from year to year, should I return thither. The accounts I must give to my attorney; I do not know any one there.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Petersburg, 26 (14) March, 1861.
I first congratulate you on my birthday; this disinterested step, however, is not the only reason of the unusual appearance of an autograph letter from me. You know that on the 11th April the basis of my domestic bliss was born; it is not, however, as well known to you that I signified my delight at the return of this day last year by the present of a pair of earrings, brilliants, purchased of Wagner Unter von Linden, and that they have recently disappeared from the possession of the charming owner, and have probably been stolen. In order to soften the[303] sorrow of this loss, I should be glad to receive by the 11th—there is sure to be a courier or some other traveller before that time—a pair of similar decorations of the conjugal earshells. Wagner will know about what they were and cost; if possible I should like them similar; a simple setting like your own, and they may be a little dearer than those of last year. The equality of my budget can not be maintained, whether the deficit be a hundred thalers more or less. I must await the restoration of my finances, when I take wife and children to Pomerania, and send the horses to grass in Ingermanland in the summer. Experience alone can tell how great the saving will be by such an operation. Should it prove insufficient, I shall next year leave my very pleasant house, and put myself on a Saxo-Bavaro-Würtemberg footing, until my salary is raised, or the leisure of private life is restored me. Otherwise I have grown friendly with the existence here, do not find the winter so bad as I thought, and require no change in my position, until, if it be God’s will, I can sit down in peace at Sch?nhausen or Reinfeld, to have my coffin made without undue haste. The ambition to be a minister dies away nowadays from a multitude of causes, not all fitted for epistolary communication; in Paris or in London I should live less pleasantly than here, and have no more to say; and a removal is half a death. The protection of two hundred thousand vagabondizing Prussians, one-third of whom live in Russia, and two-thirds of whom visit it annually, gives me enough to do not to get bored. My wife and children endure the climate very well; there is a certain number of people with whom I associate; now and then I shoot a bear or an elk, the latter some two hundred versts hence; there is charming sledging; high society—whose daily visits are without the slightest advantage for the royal service—I avoid, because I can not sleep if I go to bed so late. It is impossible to appear much before eleven; most people come after twelve, and about two go to a second soirée of supper-eating folks. This I am unable yet to endure, and perhaps never shall again, and I am not angry at it, as the ennui of a rout is more intense here than anywhere else, because one has too few circumstances of life and interests in common. Johanna goes out often, and answers without annoyance all questions about my health, as the necessary manure on the unfertile soil of[304] conversation. I wish Johanna, for economical reasons, would go to Germany as soon as possible, but she will not! I mean to Pomerania, and I would follow her as soon and for as long as I can get leave of absence. I will take the waters somewhere, and then above all take a sea-bath, to get rid again of this intolerable tenderness of skin. There is nothing heard from and seen of ——; couriers seem to have left off travelling. For months I have had no express dispatches from the Ministry, and what come by post are tiresome. Farewell, dear heart; greet Oscar. The Neva still bears carriages of every kind, although we have had a thaw for weeks, so that no sledges can pass in the city, and carriages are daily broken in the deep fissures in the ice which covers the pavements; it is like driving over a frozen ploughed field. You, no doubt, have green leaves about you.
BISMARCK TO OSCAR VON ARNIM.
Reinfeld, 16th August, 1861.
I have just received the news of the terrible misfortune which has befallen you and Malwine. My first thought was to come to you instanter, but I had overestimated my strength. The cure has commenced, and the thought to break it off suddenly was so definitely contradicted, that I determined to let Johanna travel alone. Such a blow is beyond the power of human consolation; and yet it is a natural desire to be near those whom one loves, in sorrow, and to join in their lamentations. It is all we can do. A greater sorrow could scarcely have befallen you—to lose so charming and joyfully growing child in this way, and with it to bury all the hopes which were to become the joys of your old age. As to this, mourning can not depart from you as long as you live in this world. This I feel with you in deeply painful sympathy. We are without counsel, and helpless in the mighty hand of God—in so far as He will not help us—and can do nothing but bow in humility under His behest. He can take away from us all that He gave us, and leave us entirely desolate; and our mourning over this would be the more bitter the more we rise against the Omnipotent will in anger and opposition. Do not mingle bitterness and murmuring with your just sorrow, but remember that you still have a son and daughter left you, and that you must regard yourself as blest with them, and even with[305] the feeling of having possessed a beloved child for fifteen years, in comparison with the many who have never had children and known paternal joys. I will not burden you with weak grounds for comfort, but assure you in these lines that as a friend and brother I feel your sorrow as my own, and am cut to the heart by it. How do all the little cares and troubles which beset our daily lives vanish beside the iron advent of real misfortunes! And I feel the recollections of all complaints and desires, by which I have forgotten how many blessings God gives us, and how much danger surrounds us without touching us, as so many reproofs. We should not depend on this world, and come to regard it as our home. Another twenty or thirty years, under the most favorable circumstances, and we shall both have passed from the sorrows of this world; our children will have arrived at our present position, and will find with astonishment that the life so freshly begun is going down hill. Were it all over with us so, it would not be worth while dressing and undressing. Do not you remember the words of a Stolpmünder fellow-traveller? The thought that death is but the passage to another life may perhaps diminish your sorrow but little, but you might believe that your beloved son would have been a faithful and true companion for the time you have yet to live here, and would have continued your memory. The circle of those whom we love grows narrower and receives no increase until we have grandchildren. At our years we make no new connections which can replace those who have died away. Let us therefore hold each other closer in affection, until death parts us also, as your son is now parted from us. Who can tell how soon! Will you not come with Malle to Stolpmünde, and live quietly with us for a few weeks or days? In any case I shall come in three or four weeks to you to Kr?chlendorf, or wherever you may be. I greet my beloved Malle from my heart. May God grant her, as also yourself, strength to endure and patient resignation!
BISMARCK TO HIS SISTER.
Petersburg, 17 (5) Jan., 1862.
I wished last night to go shooting some fifteen miles hence on the road to ——, where some wild quadrupeds, already purchased by me, are awaiting me. I therefore wrote in great haste all[306] that to-day’s courier was to take with him. Brotherly love in this case, however, would have suffered. Then it grew so cold again that the nocturnal sledging would have put my nose in a dilemma, and the chase would have been cruel for the beaters. I therefore gave it up, and won a little time to write you a few loving words—especially to thank you for your excellent purchases and letters. The dress is everywhere admired; and in the little brooch also your good taste has evinced itself. Christmas, with God’s grace, has passed away from us in quietness and content, and Marie is making satisfactory progress. It would, therefore, be unthankful to complain of the cold, which has remained fixed at 18° to 28° with a persistency remarkable even for Russia, which would give 22° to 32° for the little hills to the south-west, where I usually shoot. For fourteen days the temperature has never been less than 18°. Usually, it is seldom longer than thirty hours consecutively over 20°. The houses are so frozen that no fires are of any use. To-day it is 24° at the window in the sun; a bright sun and blue sky. You write in your last letter of imprudent words spoken by ——, in Berlin. Tact he has not, and never will have; but that he is intentionally my enemy I do not consider. Nor does any thing take place here that every body might not know. If I were disposed to continue my career, it might perhaps be the very best thing if a great deal were heard to my disadvantage, for then I should, at least, get back to Frankfurt; or if I were very idle and pretentious for eight years, that would do. This is far too late a thing for me; I shall therefore continue to do my duty. Since my illness I have become so mentally weak, that the energy for exciting circumstances is deficient. Three years ago, I might still have been a useful minister, but now I regard myself, mentally, as a sick circus-rider. I must remain in the service some years, if ever I am to see it. In three years the Kniephof lease will be out, in four years that of Sch?nhausen: until then I should not know exactly where to live, if I resigned. The present revision of posts leaves me out in the cold. I have a superstitious dread of expressing any wish about it, and afterwards to regret it by experience. I should go to Paris or London without sorrow, without joy, or remain here, as God and His Majesty please; the cabbage will grow no fatter for our policy, nor for me, whichever[307] should happen. Johanna wishes for Paris, because she thinks the climate would suit the children better. Sickness happens everywhere, and so does misfortune; with God’s help, one gets over them, or one bends in resignation to His will; locality has nothing to do with it. To —— I concede any post; he has the material. I should be ungrateful to God and man, were I to declare I am badly off here, and anxious for a change; but for the Ministry I have an absolute fear, as against a cold bath. I would rather go to one of those vacant posts, or back to Frankfurt, even to Berne, where I lived very well. If I am to leave here, I should like to hear of it soon. On the 1 (13) February I must declare whether I retain my house, must, en cas que si, stipulate for buildings and repairs; expensive horses and other matters would have to be purchased, which requires months here, and causes a loss or saving of thousands. To move in winter is scarcely possible. After some interruptions, I read my letter again, and it makes a melancholy impression; unjustly so, for I am neither discontented nor tired of life, and, after careful consideration, have discovered no wish unfulfilled, except that it should be 10° less cold, and that I should have paid some fifty visits which press upon me. Modest wishes! I hear that I am expected in the winter to the Diet. I do not think of coming to Berlin without special orders from the King, unless in summer, upon leave. Johanna and the children will, I think, go to Germany in about four months. I shall follow, if God will, in some four or six weeks, and shall return about as much sooner. By reason of the cold, the children have not been out of the house for nearly three weeks. All Russian mothers observe this rule so soon as it is more than 10°; it must therefore be a matter of experience, although I go to 15°, but no farther. Despite this want of air, they look very well, notwithstanding matters of diet—which is constitutional—and their Christmas feastings. Marie has become a sensible little person, but is still quite a child, which I am glad to see. By my side lies Varnhagen’s Diary. I can not understand the expenditure of moral indignation with which this needy mirror of the times, from 1836 to 1845, has been condemned. There are vulgarities enough in it, but people conversed in that manner in those days, and worse; it is drawn from life. V. is vain and malicious, but who is not? It is merely[308] a question how life has ripened the nature of one or another with worm-holes, sunshine or wet weather, bitter, sweet, or rotten. During the whole time at my command, there has been humbug of all sorts; so I have written away up to two o’clock, and at three the messenger must be on the railway.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Petersburg, 7th March, 1862.
I make use of an English courier to send you a greeting of a few lines; a groan at all the illness with which God afflicts us. We have had scarcely a day all this winter on which we were all well in the house. Johanna has a cough just now, which quite exhausts her, so that she must not go out; Bill is in bed with fever, pains in body and throat—the physician can not tell us yet what will come of it; our new governess scarcely hopes to see Germany again. She has been lying prostrate for weeks, daily weaker and more helpless; the doctor thinks probably galloping[309] consumption will be the end of it. I am only well when out shooting; directly I enter a ball-room or a theatre I catch cold, and neither eat nor sleep. As soon as the climate is milder I shall send them, stock, block, and barrel, to Reinfeld. The indifference with which I contemplate a transfer is much diminished by these facts: I should scarcely have the courage to face next winter here. Johanna will scarcely be persuaded to allow me to return hither by myself. If I am not transferred I shall perhaps seek a longer leave of absence. I have recently had a letter from ——; he believes he is intended to be sent here, but would rather go to Paris; he thinks me intended for London, and I have somewhat familiarized myself with the thought. Letters from the Prince spoke of ——’s resignation and my succession; I do not think this is the intention, but should decline were it so. Independently of political exigencies, I do not feel myself well enough for so much excitement and labor. This feeling also causes me some thought; if I were offered Paris, London is quieter; were it not for climate and my children’s health, I should doubtless prefer to remain here. Berne is also a fixed idea of mine; tiresome places in pretty neighborhoods suit old people, but there is no sporting there, as I do not care for climbing after chamois.