The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. X | Page 7

fossilized"; whether he spoke of the
unprecedented popular ovations given to him at his final departure from
Berlin as a "first-class funeral"--there are always the same childlike
directness, the same naïve impulsiveness, the same bantering
earnestness, the same sublime contempt for sham and hypocrisy.
And what man has been more truthful in intellectual and religious
matters? He, the man of iron will, of ferocious temper, was at the same
time the coolest reasoner, the most unbiased thinker. He willingly
submitted to the judgment of experts, he cheerfully acknowledged
intellectual talent in others, he took a pride in having remained a learner
all his life, but he hated arrogant amateurishness. He was not a
church-goer; he declined to be drawn into the circle of religious
schemers and reactionary fanatics; he would occasionally speak in
contemptuous terms of "the creed of court chaplains"; but, writing to
his wife of that historic meeting with Napoleon in the lonely cottage
near the battlefield of Sedan, he said: "A powerful contrast with our last
meeting in the Tuileries in '67. Our conversation was a difficult thing, if
I wanted to avoid touching on topics which could not but affect
painfully the man whom God's mighty hand had cast down." And more
than once has he given vent to reflections like these: "For him who
does not believe--as I do from the bottom of my heart--that death is a

transition from one existence to another, and that we are justified in
holding out to the worst of criminals in his dying hour the comforting
assurance, _mors janua vitae_--I say that for him who does not share
that conviction the joys of this life must possess so high a value that I
could almost envy him the sensations they must procure him." Or these:
"Twenty years hence, or at most thirty, we shall be past the troubles of
this life, whilst our children will have reached our present standpoint,
and will discover with astonishment that their existence, but now so
brightly begun, has turned the corner and is going down hill. Were that
to be the end of it all, life would not be worth the trouble of dressing
and undressing every day."
IV
We have considered a few traits of Bismarck's mental and moral
make-up which seem to be closely allied with German national
character and traditions. But, after all, the personality of a man like
Bismarck is not exhausted by the qualities which he has in common
with his people, however sublimated these qualities may be in him. His
innermost life belongs to himself alone, or is shared, at most, by the
few men of the world's history who, like him, tower in splendid
solitude above the waste of the ages. In the Middle High German
Alexanderlied there is an episode which most impressively brings out
the impelling motive of such titanic lives. On one of his expeditions
Alexander penetrates into the land of Scythian barbarians. These
child-like people are so contented with their simple, primitive existence
that they beseech Alexander to give them immortality. He answers that
this is not in his power. Surprised, they ask why, then, if he is only a
mortal, he is making such a stir in the world. Thereupon he answers:
"The Supreme Power has ordained us to carry out what is in us. The sea
is given over to the whirlwind to plough it up. As long as life lasts and I
am master of my senses, I must bring forth what is in me. What would
life be if all men in the world were like you?" These words might have
been spoken by Bismarck. Every word, every act of his public career,
gives us the impression of a man irresistibly driven on by some
overwhelming, mysterious power. He was not an ambitious schemer,
like Beaconsfield or Napoleon; he was not a moral enthusiast like
Gladstone or Cavour. If he had consulted his private tastes and
inclinations, he would never have wielded the destinies of an empire.

Indeed, he often rebelled against his task; again and again he tried to
shake it off; and the only thing which again and again brought him
back to it was the feeling, "I must; I cannot do otherwise." If ever there
was a man in whom Fate revealed its moral sovereignty, that man was
Bismarck.
Whither has he gone now? Has he joined his compeers? Is he
conversing in ethereal regions with Alexander, Caesar, Frederick? Is he
sweeping over land and sea in the whirlwind and the thunder-cloud? Or
may we hope that he is still working out the task which, in spite of all
the imperiousness of his nature, was the essence of his earthly life--the
task of making the Germans a nation of true freemen?
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: From Glimpses