or at all events, is it the
province
of art to do
them?
them?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v04 - Bes to Bro
"
The common air of heaven sharpens men's judgments. Poor
Horner, but for that kept atmosphere of his always surrounding
him, would have been bluntly asked "what he had done since he
was breeched," and in reply he could only have muttered some-
thing about the currency. As for our special rogue Cellini, the
question would probably have assumed this shape: "Rascal, name
the crime you have not committed, and account for the omission. "
But these awkward questions are not put to the lucky people
who keep their own atmospheres. The critics, before they can
get at them, have to step out of the every-day air, where only
achievements count and the Decalogue still goes for something,
into the kept atmosphere, which they have no sooner breathed
than they begin to see things differently, and to measure the
object thus surrounded with a tape of its own manufacture.
Horner -poor, ugly, a man neither of words nor deeds-be-
comes one of our great men; a nation mourns his loss and
erects his statue in the Abbey. Mr. Bagehot gives several
instances of the same kind, but he does not mention Cellini,
who is however in his own way an admirable example.
You open his book-a Pharisee of the Pharisees. Lying,
indeed! Why, you hate prevarication. As for murder, your
friends know you too well to mention the subject in your hear-
ing, except in immediate connection with capital punishment.
You are of course willing to make some allowance for Cellini's
time and place the first half of the sixteenth century and
Italy! "Yes," you remark, "Cellini shall have strict justice at
my hands. " So you say as you settle yourself in your chair and
begin to read. We seem to hear the rascal laughing in his
## p. 1917 (#107) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
grave.
peeps at
His spirit breathes upon you from his book -
you roguishly as you turn the pages. His atmosphere surrounds
you; you smile when you ought to frown, chuckle when you
should groan, and-oh, final triumph! -laugh aloud when, if you
had a rag of principle left, you would fling the book into the
fire. Your poor moral sense turns away with a sigh, and
patiently awaits the conclusion of the second volume.
How cautiously does he begin, how gently does he win your
ear by his seductive piety! I quote from Mr. Roscoe's transla-
tion:
·
1917
"It is a duty incumbent on upright and credible men of all
ranks, who have performed anything noble or praiseworthy, to
record, in their own writing, the events of their lives; yet they
should not commence this honorable task before they have passed
their fortieth year. Such at least is my opinion now that I have
completed my fifty-eighth year, and am settled in Florence,
where, considering the numerous ills that constantly attend
human life, I perceive that I have never before been so free
from vexations and calamities, or possessed of so great a share
of content and health as at this period. Looking back on some
delightful and happy events of my life, and on many misfortunes
so truly overwhelming that the appalling retrospect makes me
wonder how I have reached this age in vigor and prosperity,
through God's goodness I have resolved to publish an account of
my life; and
I must, in commencing my narrative,
satisfy the public on some few points to which its curiosity is
usually directed; the first of which is to ascertain whether a man
is descended from a virtuous and ancient family.
I shall
therefore now proceed to inform the reader how it pleased God
that I should come into the world. "
•
So you read on page 1; what you read on page 191 is this:
"Just after sunset, about eight o'clock, as this musqueteer
stood at his door with his sword in his hand, when he had done
supper, I with great address came close up to him with a long
dagger, and gave him a violent back-handed stroke, which I
aimed at his neck. He instantly turned round, and the blow,
falling directly upon his left shoulder, broke the whole bone of
it; upon which he dropped his sword, quite overcome by the
pain, and took to his heels. I pursued, and in four steps came
up with him, when, raising the dagger over his head, which he
lowered down, I hit him exactly upon the nape of the neck.
――
## p. 1918 (#108) ###########################################
1918
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
The weapon penetrated so deep that, though I made a great
effort to recover it again, I found it impossible. "
So much for murder. Now for manslaughter, or rather Cel-
lini's notion of manslaughter.
«Pompeo entered an apothecary's shop at the corner of the
Chiavica, about some business, and stayed there for some time.
I was told he had boasted of having bullied me, but it turned
out a fatal adventure to him. Just as I arrived at that quarter
he was coming out of the shop, and his bravoes, having made an
opening, formed a circle round him. I thereupon clapped my
hand to a sharp dagger, and having forced my way through
the file of ruffians, laid hold of him by the throat, so quickly
and with such presence of mind that there was not one of his
friends could defend him. I pulled him towards me to give
him a blow in front, but he turned his face about through
excess of terror, so that I wounded him exactly under the ear;
and upon repeating my blow, he fell down dead. It had never
been my intention to kill him, but blows are not always under
command. »
We must all feel that it would never have done to have
begun with these passages; but long before the 191st page has
been reached, Cellini has retreated into his own atmosphere, and
the scales of justice have been hopelessly tampered with.
That such a man as this encountered suffering in the course
of his life should be matter for satisfaction to every well-regu-
lated mind; but somehow or other, you find yourself pitying
the fellow as he narrates the hardships he endured in the Castle
of St. Angelo. He is so symmetrical a rascal! Just hear him!
listen to what he says well on in the second volume, after the
little incidents already quoted:-
"Having at length recovered my strength and vigor, after I
had composed myself and resumed my cheerfulness of mind, I
continued to read my Bible, and so accustomed my eyes to that
darkness, that though I was at first able to read only an hour
and a half, I could at length read three hours. I then reflected
on the wonderful power of the Almighty upon the hearts of
simple men, who had carried their enthusiasm so far as to believe
firmly that God would indulge them in all they wished for; and
I promised myself the assistance of the Most High, as well
through His mercy as on account of my innocence. Thus turn-
ing constantly to the Supreme Being, sometimes in prayer, some-
## p. 1919 (#109) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1919
times in silent meditation on the divine goodness, I was totally
engrossed by these heavenly reflections, and came to take such
delight in pious meditations that I no longer thought of past
misfortunes. On the contrary, I was all day long singing psalms
and many other compositions of mine, in which I celebrated and
praised the Deity. "
Thus torn from their context, these passages may seem to
supply the best possible falsification of the previous statement
that Cellini told the truth about himself. Judged by these pass-
ages alone, he may appear a hypocrite of an unusually odious
description. But it is only necessary to read his book to dispel
that notion. He tells lies about other people; he repeats long
conversations, sounding his own praises, during which, as his
own narrative shows, he was not present; he exaggerates his own
exploits, his sufferings-even, it may be, his crimes: but when
we lay down his book, we feel we are saying good-by to a man
whom we know.
He has introduced himself to us, and though doubtless we
prefer saints to sinners, we may be forgiven for liking the com-
pany of a live rogue better than that of the lay-figures and
empty clock-cases labeled with distinguished names, who are to
be found doing duty for men in the works of our standard his-
torians. What would we not give to know Julius Cæsar one-
half as well as we know this outrageous rascal? The saints of
the earth, too, how shadowy they are! Which of them do we
really know? Excepting one or two ancient and modern Quiet-
ists, there is hardly one amongst the whole number who being
dead yet speaketh. Their memoirs far too often only reveal to
us a hazy something, certainly not recognizable as a man. This
is generally the fault of their editors, who, though men them-
selves, confine their editorial duties to going up and down the
diaries and papers of the departed saint, and obliterating all
human touches. This they do for the "better prevention of
scandals"; and one cannot deny that they attain their end, though
they pay dearly for it.
I shall never forget the start I gave when, on reading some
old book about India, I came across an after-dinner jest of
Henry Martyn's. The thought of Henry Martyn laughing over
the walnuts and the wine was almost, as Robert Browning's un-
known painter says, "too wildly dear;" and to this day I cannot
help thinking that there must be a mistake somewhere.
## p. 1920 (#110) ###########################################
1920
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
To return to Cellini, and to conclude. On laying down his
Memoirs, let us be careful to recall our banished moral sense,
and make peace with her, by passing a final judgment on this
desperate sinner; which perhaps after all, we cannot do better
than by employing language of his own concerning a monk, a
fellow-prisoner of his, who never, so far as appears, murdered
anybody, but of whom Cellini none the less felt himself entitled
to say:
"I admired his shining qualities, but his odious vices I freely
censured and held in abhorrence. "
-
ON THE ALLEGED OBSCURITY OF MR. BROWNING'S POETRY
IT
N
considering whether a poet is intelligible and lucid, we
ought not to grope and grub about his work in search of
obscurities and oddities, but should, in the first instance
at all events, attempt to regard his whole scope and range; to
form some estimate, if we can, of his general purport and
effect, asking ourselves for this purpose such questions as these:
- How are we the better for him? Has he quickened any
passion, lightened any burden, purified any taste? Does he
play any real part in our lives? When we are in love, do we
whisper him in our lady's ear? When we sorrow, does he ease
our pain? Can he calm the strife of mental conflict? Has he
had anything to say which wasn't twaddle on those subjects
which, elude analysis as they may, and defy demonstration as
they do, are yet alone of perennial interest
"On man, on nature, and on human life,"
on the pathos of our situation, looking back on to the irrevo-
cable and forward to the unknown? If a poet has said, or
done, or been any of these things to an appreciable extent, to
charge him with obscurity is both folly and ingratitude.
But the subject may be pursued further, and one may be
called upon to investigate this charge with reference to partic-
ular books or poems. In Browning's case this fairly may be
done; and then another crop of questions arises, such as: What
is the book about, i. e. , with what subject does it deal, and
From Obiter Dicta
## p. 1921 (#111) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
what method of dealing does it employ? Is it didactical, analyt-
ical, or purely narrative? Is it content to describe, or does it
aspire to explain? In common fairness these questions must be
asked and answered, before we heave our critical half-bricks at
strange poets. One task is of necessity more difficult than
another. Students of geometry who have pushed their re-
searches into that fascinating science so far as the fifth proposi-
tion of the first book, commonly called the 'Pons Asinorum'
(though now that so many ladies read Euclid, it ought, in com-
mon justice to them, to be at least sometimes called the Pons
Asinarum'), will agree that though it may be more difficult to
prove that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are
equal, and that if the equal sides be produced, the angles on
the other side of the base shall be equal, than it was to describe
an equilateral triangle on a given finite straight line; yet no
one but an ass would say that the fifth proposition was one whit
less intelligible than the first. When we consider Mr. Browning
in his later writings, it will be useful to bear this distinction in
mind.
(
Looking then at the first period, we find in its front eight
plays:-
'Strafford,' written in 1836, when its author was twenty-
four years old, and put upon the boards of Covent Garden
Theatre on the 1st of May, 1837; Macready playing Strafford,
and Miss Helen Faucit Lady Carlisle. It was received with much
enthusiasm, but the company was rebellious and the manager
bankrupt; and after running five nights, the man who played
Pym threw up his part, and the theatre was closed.
2.
'Pippa Passes. '
3. King Victor and King Charles. '
4.
'The Return of the Druses. '
1921
5. 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon. '
This beautiful and pathetic play was put on the stage of
Drury Lane on the 11th of February, 1843, with Phelps as Lord
Tresham, Miss Helen Faucit as Mildred Tresham, and Mrs. Stir-
ling, still known to us all, as Guendolen.
It was a brilliant
success. Mr. Browning was in the stage-box; and if it is any
satisfaction for a poet to hear a crowded house cry "Author,
author! " that satisfaction has belonged to Mr. Browning. The
play ran several nights; and was only stopped because one of
Mr. Macready's bankruptcies happened just then to intervene.
It
IV-121
## p. 1922 (#112) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1922
was afterwards revived by Mr. Phelps, during his "memorable
management" of Sadlers' Wells.
6. 'Colombe's Birthday. ' Miss Helen Faucit put this upon
the stage in 1852, when it was reckoned a success.
'Luria. '
7.
8. A Soul's Tragedy. '
To call any of these plays unintelligible is ridiculous; and
nobody who has ever read them ever did, and why people who
have not read them should abuse them is hard to see. Were
society put upon its oath, we should be surprised to find how
many people in high places have not read All's Well that Ends.
Well, or Timon of Athens'; but they don't go about saying
these plays are unintelligible. Like wise folk, they pretend to
have read them, and say nothing. In Browning's case they are
spared the hypocrisy. No one need pretend to have read 'A
Soul's Tragedy'; and it seems, therefore, inexcusable for any one
to assert that one of the plainest, most pointed and piquant bits
of writing in the language is unintelligible. But surely some-
thing more may be truthfully said of these plays than that they
are comprehensible. First of all, they are plays, and not works
- like the dropsical dramas of Sir Henry Taylor and Mr. Swin-
burne. Some of them have stood the ordeal of actual represent-
ation; and though it would be absurd to pretend that they met
with that overwhelming measure of success our critical age has
reserved for such dramatists as the late Lord Lytton, the author
of Money,' the late Tom Taylor, the author of The Overland
Route,' the late Mr. Robertson, the author of 'Caste,' Mr. H.
Byron, the author of 'Our Boys,' Mr. Wills, the author of
'Charles I. ,' Mr. Burnand, the author of The Colonel,' and Mr.
Gilbert, the author of so much that is great and glorious in our
national drama; at all events they proved themselves able to
arrest and retain the attention of very ordinary audiences. But
who can deny dignity and even grandeur to 'Luria,' or withhold
the meed of a melodious tear from Mildred Tresham? What
action of what play is more happily conceived or better rendered
than that of Pippa Passes'? — where innocence and its reverse,
tender love and violent passion, are presented with emphasis,
and yet blended into a dramatic unity and a poetic perfection,
entitling the author to the very first place amongst those
dramatists of the century who have labored under the enormous
disadvantage of being poets to start with.
## p. 1923 (#113) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1923
Passing from the plays, we are next attracted by a number
of splendid poems, on whose base the structure of Mr. Brown-
ing's fame perhaps rests most surely, his dramatic pieces;
poems which give utterance to the thoughts and feelings of
persons other than himself, or as he puts it when dedicating a
number of them to his wife:-
――――――――
"Love, you saw me gather men and women,
Live or dead, or fashioned by my fancy,
Enter each and all, and use their service,
Speak from every mouth the speech-a poem;"
or again in 'Sordello':
"By making speak, myself kept out of view,
The very man as he was wont to do. "
At a rough calculation, there must be at least sixty of these
pieces. Let me run over the names of a very few of them.
'Saul,' a poem beloved by all true women; 'Caliban,' which the
men, not unnaturally perhaps, often prefer. The Two Bishops':
the sixteenth-century one ordering his tomb of jasper and basalt
in St. Praxed's Church, and his nineteenth-century successor roll-
ing out his post-prandial Apologia. 'My Last Duchess,' the
Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister,' 'Andrea del Sarto,' 'Fra Lippo
Lippi,' 'Rabbi Ben Ezra,' 'Cleon,' 'A Death in the Desert,'
'The Italian in England,' and 'The Englishman in Italy. '
It is plain truth to say that no other English poet, living or
dead, Shakespeare excepted, has so heaped up human interest for
his readers as has Robert Browning.
Against these dramatic pieces the charge of unintelligibility
fails as completely as it does against the plays. They are all
perfectly intelligible; but- and here is the rub-they are not
easy reading, like the estimable writings of the late Mrs. Hemans.
They require the same honest attention as it is the fashion to
give to a lecture of Professor Huxley's or a sermon of Canon
Liddon's; and this is just what too many persons will not give
to poetry.
They
"Love to hear
A soft pulsation in their easy ear;
To turn the page, and let their senses drink
A lay that shall not trouble them to think. "
## p. 1924 (#114) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1924
Next to these dramatic pieces come what we may be content
to call simply poems: some lyrical, some narrative. The latter
are straightforward enough, and as a rule full of spirit and hu-
mor; but this is more than can always be said of the lyrical
pieces. Now, for the first time in dealing with this first period,
excluding Sordello,' we strike difficulty. The Chinese puzzle
comes in.
We wonder whether it all turns on the punctuation.
And the awkward thing for Mr. Browning's reputation is this,
that these bewildering poems are for the most part very short.
We say awkward, for it is not more certain that Sarah Gamp
liked her beer drawn mild than it is that your Englishman likes
his poetry cut short; and so, accordingly, it often happens that
some estimable paterfamilias takes up an odd volume of Brown-
ing his volatile son or moonstruck daughter has left lying about,
pishes and pshaws! and then, with an air of much condescension
and amazing candor, remarks that he will give the fellow another
chance, and not condemn him unread. So saying, he opens the
book, and carefully selects the very shortest poem he can find;
and in a moment, without sign or signal, note or warning, the
unhappy man is floundering up to his neck in lines like these,
which are the third and final stanza of a poem called 'Another
Way of Love': -
«And after, for pastime,
If June be refulgent
With flowers in completeness,
All petals, no prickles,
Delicious as trickles
Of wine poured at mass-time,
And choose One indulgent
To redness and sweetness;
Or if with experience of man and of spider,
She use my June lightning, the strong insect-ridder
To stop the fresh spinning,—why June will consider. »
He comes up gasping, and more than ever persuaded that
Browning's poetry is a mass of inconglomerate nonsense, which
nobody understands-least of all members of the Browning
Society.
We need be at no pains to find a meaning for everything
Mr. Browning has written. But when all is said and done-
when these few freaks of a crowded brain are thrown overboard
## p. 1925 (#115) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1925
to the sharks of verbal criticism who feed on such things— Mr.
Browning and his great poetical achievement remain behind to
be dealt with and accounted for. We do not get rid of the Lau-
reate by quoting: -
"O darling room, my heart's delight,
Dear room, the apple of my sight,
With thy two couches soft and white
There is no room so exquisite —
No little room so warm and bright
Wherein to read, wherein to write;"
or of Wordsworth by quoting: -
"At this, my boy hung down his head:
He blushed with shame, nor made reply,
And five times to the child I said,
"Why, Edward? tell me why? >»
or of Keats by remembering that he once addressed a young
lady as follows:
"O come, Georgiana! the rose is full blown,
The riches of Flora are lavishly strown:
The air is all softness and crystal the streams,
The west is resplendently clothed in beams. "
The strength of a rope may be but the strength of its weak-
est part; but poets are to be judged in their happiest hours, and
in their greatest works.
The second period of Mr. Browning's poetry demands a dif-
ferent line of argument; for it is, in my judgment, folly to deny
that he has of late years written a great deal which makes very
difficult reading indeed. No doubt you may meet people who
tell you that they read The Ring and the Book' for the first
time without much mental effort; but you will do well not to
believe them. These poems are difficult-they cannot help being
so. What is The Ring and the Book'? A huge novel in twenty
thousand lines- told after the method not of Scott but of Balzac;
it tears the hearts out of a dozen characters; it tells the same
story from ten different points of view. It is loaded with detail
of every kind and description: you are let off nothing. As with
a schoolboy's life at a large school, if he is to enjoy it at all, he
must fling himself into it, and care intensely about everything-
――
## p. 1926 (#116) ###########################################
1926
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
so the reader of The Ring and the Book' must be interested
in everybody and everything, down to the fact that the eldest
daughter of the counsel for the prosecution of Guido is eight
years old on the very day he is writing his speech, and that he
is going to have fried liver and parsley for his supper.
If you are prepared for this, you will have your reward; for
the style, though rugged and involved, is throughout, with the
exception of the speeches of counsel, eloquent and at times
superb; and as for the matter, if your interest in human nature
is keen, curious, almost professional—if nothing man, woman, or
child has been, done, or suffered, or conceivably can be, do, or
suffer, is without interest for you; if you are fond of analysis,
and do not shrink from dissection-you will prize The Ring
and the Book' as the surgeon prizes the last great contribution
to comparative anatomy or pathology.
But this sort of work tells upon style. Browning has, I think,
fared better than some writers. To me, at all events, the step
from 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon' to 'The Ring and the Book'
is not so marked as is the mauvais pas that lies between 'Amos
Barton' and 'Daniel Deronda. ' But difficulty is not obscurity.
One task is more difficult than another. The angles at the base
of the isosceles triangles are apt to get mixed, and to confuse us
all-man and woman alike. 'Prince Hohenstiel' something or
another is a very difficult poem, not only to pronounce but to
read; but if a poet chooses as his subject Napoleon III. — in
whom the cad, the coward, the idealist, and the sensualist were
inextricably mixed-and purports to make him unbosom himself
over a bottle of Gladstone claret in a tavern at Leicester Square,
you cannot expect that the product should belong to the same
class of poetry as Mr. Coventry Patmore's admirable 'Angel in
the House. '
It is the method that is difficult. Take the husband in 'The
Ring and the Book. ' Mr. Browning remorselessly hunts him
down, tracks him to the last recesses of his mind, and there bids
him stand and deliver. He describes love, not only broken but
breaking; hate in its germ; doubt at its birth. These are diffi-
cult things to do either in poetry or prose, and people with easy,
flowing Addisonian or Tennysonian styles cannot do them.
I seem to overhear a still, small voice asking, But are they
worth doing?
or at all events, is it the province of art to do
them? The question ought not to be asked. It is heretical,
## p. 1927 (#117) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1927
being contrary to the whole direction of the latter half of this
century. The chains binding us to the rocks of realism are
faster riveted every day; and the Perseus who is destined to cut
them is, I expect, some mischievous little boy at a Board-school.
But as the question has been asked, I will own that sometimes,
even when deepest in works of this, the now orthodox school, I
have been harassed by distressing doubts whether after all this
enormous labor is not in vain; and wearied by the effort, over-
loaded by the detail, bewildered by the argument, and sickened
by the pitiless dissection of character and motive, have been
tempted to cry aloud, quoting—or rather, in the agony of the
moment, misquoting - Coleridge:-
"Simplicity — thou better name
Than all the family of Fame. »
But this ebullition of feeling is childish and even sinful. We
must take our poets as we do our meals—as they are served up
to us. Indeed, you may, if full of courage, give a cook notice,
but not the time-spirit who makes our poets. We may be sure
to appropriate an idea of the late Sir James Stephen—that if
Robert Browning had lived in the sixteenth century, he would
not have written a poem like 'The Ring and the Book'; and if
Edmund Spenser had lived in the nineteenth century he would
not have written a poem like the 'Faerie Queene. '
It is therefore idle to arraign Mr. Browning's later method
and style for possessing difficulties and intricacies which are
inherent to it. The method at all events has an interest of its
own, a strength of its own, a grandeur of its own. If you do
not like it you must leave it alone. You are fond, you say, of
romantic poetry; well, then, take down your Spenser and qualify
yourself to join "the small transfigured band" of those who are
able to take their Bible-oaths they have read their 'Faerie
Queene' all through. The company, though small, is delightful,
and you will have plenty to talk about without abusing Brown-
ing, who probably knows his Spenser better than you do. Real-
ism will not for ever dominate the world of letters and art
the fashion of all things passeth away-but it has already
earned a great place: it has written books, composed poems,
painted pictures, all stamped with that "greatness" which, despite
fluctuations, nay, even reversals of taste and opinion, means
immortality.
## p. 1928 (#118) ###########################################
1928
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
But against Mr. Browning's later poems it is sometimes
alleged that their meaning is obscure because their grammar is
bad. A cynic was once heard to observe with reference to that
noble poem 'The Grammarian's Funeral,' that it was a pity the
talented author had ever since allowed himself to remain under
the delusion that he had not only buried the grammarian, but
his grammar also. It is doubtless true that Mr. Browning has
some provoking ways, and is something too much of a verbal
acrobat. Also, as his witty parodist, the pet poet of six genera-
tions of Cambridge undergraduates, reminds us:
➖➖➖
"He loves to dock the smaller parts of speech,
As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur. »
It is perhaps permissible to weary a little of his 's and o's, but
we believe we cannot be corrected when we say that Browning
is a poet whose grammar will bear scholastic investigation better
than that of most of Apollo's children.
A word about 'Sordello. ' One half of 'Sordello,' and that,
with Mr. Browning's usual ill-luck, the first half, is undoubtedly
obscure. It is as difficult to read as 'Endymion' or the 'Revolt
of Islam,' and for the same reason-the author's lack of experi-
ence in the art of composition. We have all heard of the young
architect who forgot to put a staircase in his house, which con-
tained fine rooms, but no way of getting into them. 'Sordello'
is a poem without a staircase. The author, still in his twenties,
essayed a high thing. For his subject—
"He singled out
Sordello compassed murkily about
With ravage of six long sad hundred years. '»
He partially failed; and the British public, with its accustomed
generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage the others, has
never ceased girding at him because forty-two years ago he pub-
lished at his own charges a little book of two hundred and fifty
pages, which even such of them as were then able to read could
not understand.
## p. 1929 (#119) ###########################################
1929
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
(1815-)
BY MUNROE SMITH
TTO EDWARD LEOPOLD, fourth child of Charles and Wilhelmina
von Bismarck, was born at Schönhausen in Prussia, April 1,
1815. The family was one of the oldest in the "Old Mark »
(now a part of the province of Saxony), and not a few of its mem-
bers had held important military or diplomatic positions under the
Prussian crown. The young Otto passed his school years in Berlin,
and pursued university studies in law (1832-5) at Göttingen and at
Berlin. At Göttingen he was rarely seen at lectures, but was a
prominent figure in the social life of the student body: the old uni-
versity town is full of traditions of his prowess in duels and drink-
ing bouts, and of his difficulties with the authorities. In 1835 he
passed the State examination in law, and was occupied for three
years, first in the judicial and then in the administrative service of
the State, at Berlin, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Potsdam. In 1838 he left
the governmental service and studied agriculture at the Eldena
Academy. From his twenty-fourth to his thirty-sixth year (1839-51)
his life was that of a country squire. He took charge at first of
property held by his father in Pomerania; upon his father's death
in 1845 he assumed the management of the family estate of Schön-
hausen. Here he held the local offices of captain of dikes and of
deputy in the provincial Diet. The latter position proved a stepping-
stone into Prussian and German politics; for when Frederick William
IV. summoned the "United Diet" of the kingdom (1847), Bismarck
was sent to Berlin as an alternate delegate from his province.
The next three years were full of events. The revolution of 1848
forced all the German sovereigns who had thus far retained absolute
power, among them the King of Prussia, to grant representative con-
stitutions to their people. The same year witnessed the initiation
of a great popular movement for the unification of Germany. A na-
tional Parliament was assembled at Frankfort, and in 1849 it offered
to the King of Prussia the German imperial crown; but the constitu-
tion it had drafted was so democratic, and the opposition of the
German princes so great, that Frederick William felt obliged to re-
fuse the offer. An attempt was then made, at a Parliament held in
Erfurt, to establish a << narrower Germany » under Prussian leadership;
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
but this movement also came to nothing. The Austrian govern-
ment, paralyzed for a time by revolts in its own territories, had
re-established its power and threatened Prussia with war. Russia
supported Austria, and Prussia submitted at Olmütz (1850). In these
stirring years, Bismarck - first as a member of the United Diet and
then as a representative in the new Prussian Chamber of Deputies—
made himself prominent by hostility to the constitutional movement
and championship of royal prerogative. He defended the King's
refusal of the imperial crown, because "all the real gold in it would
be gotten by melting up the Prussian crown"; and he compared the
pact which the King, by accepting the Frankfort constitution, would
make with the democracy, to the pact between the huntsman and
the devil in the 'Freischütz': sooner or later, he declared, the people
would come to the Emperor, and pointing to the Imperial arms,
would say, "Do you fancy this eagle was given you for nothing? "
He sat in the Erfurt Parliament, but had no faith in its success. He
opposed the constitution which it adopted, although this was far
more conservative than that drafted at Frankfort, because he deemed
it still too revolutionary. During the Austro-Prussian disputes of
1850 he expressed himself, like the rest of the Prussian Conserva-
tives, in favor of reconciliation with Austria, and he even defended
the convention of Olmütz.
After Olmütz, the German Federal Diet, which had disappeared
in 1848, was reconstituted at Frankfort, and to Frankfort Bismarck
was sent, in 1857, as representative of Prussia. This position, which
he held for more than seven years, was essentially diplomatic, since
the Federal Diet was merely a permanent congress of German
ambassadors; and Bismarck, who had enjoyed no diplomatic training,
owed his appointment partly to the fact that his record made him
persona grata to the "presidential power," Austria. He soon forfeited
the favor of that State by the steadfastness with which he resisted
its pretensions to superior authority, and the energy with which he
defended the constitutional parity of Prussia and the smaller States;
but he won the confidence of the home government, and was con-
sulted by the King and his ministers with increasing frequency on
the most important questions of European diplomacy. He strove to
inspire them with greater jealousy of Austria. He favored closer
relations with Napoleon III. , as a make-weight against the Austrian
influence, and was charged by some of his opponents with an undue
leaning toward France; but as he explained in a letter to a friend,
if he had sold himself, it was "to a Teutonic and not to a Gallic
devil. "
In the winter of 1858-9, as the Franco-Austrian war drew nearer,
Bismarck's anti-Austrian attitude became so pronounced that his
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1931
government, by no means ready to break with Austria, but rather
disposed to support that power against France, felt it necessary to
put him, as he himself expressed it, "on ice on the Neva. " From
1859 to 1862 he held the position of Prussian ambassador at St.
Petersburg. In 1862 he was appointed ambassador at Paris. In the
autumn of the same year he became Minister-President of Prussia.
The new Prussian King, William I. , had become involved in a
controversy with the Prussian Chamber of Deputies over the reor-
ganization of the army; his previous ministers were unwilling to
press the reform against a hostile majority; and Bismarck, who was
ready to assume the responsibility, was charged with the premiership
of the new cabinet. "Under some circumstances," he said later,
"death upon the scaffold is as glorious as upon the battlefield. "
From 1862 to 1866 he governed Prussia without the support of the
lower chamber and without a regular budget. He informed a com-
mittee of the Deputies that the questions of the time were not to be
settled by debates, but by "blood and iron. "
In the diplomatic field it was his effort to secure a position of
advantage for the struggle with Austria for the control of Germany,
- a struggle which, six years before, he had declared to be inevitable.
During his stay in St. Petersburg he had strengthened the friendly
feeling already subsisting between Prussia and Russia; and in 1863
he gave the Russian government useful support in crushing a Polish
insurrection. To a remonstrance from the English ambassador, some-
what arrogantly delivered in the name of Europe, Bismarck responded,
"Who is Europe? " While in Paris he had convinced himself that no
serious interference was to be apprehended from Napoleon. That
monarch overrated Austria; regarded Bismarck's plans, which appear
to have been explained with extraordinary frankness, as chimerical;
and pronounced Bismarck "not a serious person. " Bismarck, on the
other hand, privately expressed the opinion that Napoleon was "a
great unrecognized incapacity. " When, in 1863, the death of Fred-
erick VII. of Denmark without direct heirs raised again the ancient
Schleswig-Holstein problem, Bismarck saw that the opportunity had
come for the solution of the German question.
The events of the next seven years are familiar history. In 1864
Prussia and Austria made war on Denmark, and obtained a joint
sovereignty over the duchies of Holstein and Schleswig. In 1866,
with Italy as her ally, Prussia drove Austria out of the German Con-
federation; annexed Schleswig, Holstein, Hanover, Electoral Hesse,
and Frankfort; and brought all the German States north of the Main,
except Luxemburg, into the North German Confederation, of which
the King of Prussia was President and Bismarck Chancellor. When
war was declared by France in 1870, the South German States also
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
placed their forces at the King of Prussia's disposal; and before the
war was over they joined the newly established German Empire,
which thus included all the territories of the old Confederation except
German Austria and Luxemburg. The old Confederation was a mere
league of sovereign States; the new Empire was a nation. To this
Empire, at the close of the war, the French Republic paid an indem-
nity of five milliards of francs, and ceded Alsace and Lorraine.
-
In giving the German people political unity Bismarck realized their
strongest and deepest desire; and the feeling entertained toward him
underwent a sudden revulsion. From 1862 to 1866 he had been the
best hated man in Germany. The partial union of 1867 — when, as
he expressed it, Germany was "put in the saddle"-made him a
national hero. The reconciliation with the people was the more com-
plete because, at Bismarck's suggestion, a German Parliament was
created, elected by universal suffrage, and because the Prussian min-
isters (to the great indignation of their conservative supporters) asked
the Prussian Deputies to grant them indemnity for their unconstitu-
tional conduct of the government during the preceding four years.
For the next ten years Bismarck had behind him, in Prussian and in
German affairs, a substantial nationalist majority. At times, indeed,
he had to restrain their zeal. In 1867, for instance, when they desired
to take Baden alone into the new union, the rest of South Ger-
many being averse to entrance,- Bismarck was obliged to tell them
that it would be a poor policy "to skim off the cream and let the
rest of the milk turn sour. "
Bismarck remained Chancellor of the Empire as well as Minister-
President of Prussia until 1890, when William II. demanded his
resignation. During these years the military strength of the Empire
was greatly increased; its finances were placed upon an independ-
ent footing; its authority was extended in legislative matters, and
its administrative system was developed and consolidated. Conflicts
with the Roman Catholic hierarchy (1873-87), and with the Social De-
mocracy (1878-90) resulted indecisively; though Bismarck's desire to
alleviate the misery which in his opinion caused the socialistic move-
ment gave rise to a series of remarkable laws for the insurance of
the laboring classes against accident, disease, and old age. With a
return to the protective system, which Bismarck advocated for fiscal
reasons, he combined the attempt to enlarge Germany's foreign mar-
ket by the establishment of imperial colonies in Africa and in the
Pacific Ocean. In other respects his foreign policy, after 1870, was
controlled by the desire to preserve peace. "Germany," he said,
"belongs to the satisfied nations. " When the Russian friendship
cooled, he secured an alliance with Austria (1879), which Italy also
joined (1882); and the "triple alliance" thus formed continued to
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1933
dominate European politics for many years after Bismarck's with-
drawal from office.
Of Bismarck's State papers, the greater portion are still buried in
the Prussian archives. The most important series that has been pub-
lished consists of his dispatches from Frankfort (Poschinger, Preussen
im Bundestag, 1851-8, 4 vols. ). These are marked by clearness of
statement, force of argument, and felicity of illustration.
The style,
although less direct and simple than that of his unofficial writings, is
still excellent. A large part of the interest attaching to these early
papers lies in their acute characterization of the diplomatists with
whom he had to deal. His analysis of their motives reveals from the
outset that thorough insight into human nature which was to count
for so much in his subsequent diplomatic triumphs. Of his later
notes and dispatches, such as have seen the light may be found in
Hahn's documentary biography (Fürst Bismarck,' 5 vols. ). His re-
ports and memorials on economic and fiscal questions have been
collected by Poschinger in 'Bismarck als Volkswirth. '
Of Bismarck's parliamentary speeches there exists a full collection
(reproduced without revision from the stenographic reports) in fifteen
volumes. Bismarck was not an orator in the ordinary acceptation of
the word. His mode of address was conversational; his delivery was
monotonous and halting. He often hesitated, searching for a word;
but when it came, it usually seemed the only word that could have
expressed his meaning, and the hesitation that preceded it gave it a
singular emphasis. It seemed to be his aim to convince his hearers,
not to win them; his appeal was regularly to their intelligence, not
to their emotions. When the energy and warmth of his own feelings
had carried him into something like a flight of oratory, there was apt
to follow, at the next moment, some plain matter-of-fact statement
that brought the discussion back at once to its ordinary level. Such
an anti-climax was often very effective: the obvious effort of the
speaker to keep his emotions under restraint vouched for the sincer-
ity of the preceding outburst. It should be added that he appre-
ciated as few Germans do the rhetorical value of understatement.
He was undoubtedly at his literary best in conversation and in
his letters. We have several volumes of Bismarck anecdotes, Bis-
marck table-talk, etc. The best known are those of Busch, which
have been translated into English — and in spite of the fact that his
sayings come
me to us at second hand and colored by the personality of
the transmitter, we recognize the qualities which, by the universal
testimony of those who knew him, made him one of the most fas-
cinating of talkers. These qualities, however, come out most clearly
in a little volume of letters (Bismarck briefe), chiefly addressed to
his wife. (These letters have been excellently translated into English
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1934
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
by F. Maxse. ) They are characterized throughout by vivid and
graphic descriptions, a subtle sense of humor, and real wit; and they
have in the highest degree-far more than his State papers or
speeches the literary quality, and that indescribable something
which we call style.
-
Bismarck furnishes, once for all, the answer to the old French
question, whether a German can possibly have esprit — witness his
response to the German prince who desired his advice regarding the
offer of the crown of one of the Balkan States: «< Accept, by all
means: it will be a charming recollection for you. " He possessed
also to a high degree the power of summing up a situation or char-
acterizing a movement in a single phrase; and his sayings have
enriched the German language with more quotations than the spoken
words of any German since Luther.
Of the numerous German biographies, Hahn's gives the greatest
amount of documentary material; Hesekiel's (which has been trans-
lated into English) is the most popular. The best French biography
is by Simon; the only important English work is that by Lowe. For
bibliography, see Schulze and Koller, 'Bismarck-Literatur' (1895),
which contains about 600 titles. The Frankfort dispatches and the
speeches have been translated into French, but not into English.
Munroe Smith
житое
TO FRAU VON ARNIM
SCHÖNHAUSEN, August 7th, 1850.
THE
HE fact is, this journey, and I see it more clearly the nearer
it approaches, gives me a right of reversion on the new
lunatic asylum, or at least a seat for life in the Second
Chamber. I can already see myself on the platform of the
Genthiner station; then both of us packed in the carriage, sur-
rounded with all sorts of child's necessaries- an embarrassing
company; Johanna ashamed to suckle the baby, which accord-
ingly roars itself blue; then the passports, the inn; then at Stettin
railway station with both bellowing monkeys; then waiting an
hour at Angermünde for the horses; and how are we to get from
Kröchlendorf to Külz? It would be perfectly awful if we had to
remain for the night at Stettin. I did that last year with Marie
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
་་
and her squallings. I was in such a state of despair yesterday
over all these visions that I was positively determined to give
the whole thing up, and at last went to bed with the resolve at
least to go straight through, without stopping anywhere; but
what will one not commit for the sake of domestic peace? The
young cousins, male and female, must become acquainted, and
who knows when Johanna will see you again? She pounced upon
me last night with the boy in her arms, and with all those
wiles which formerly lost us Paradise; of course she succeeded
in wringing my consent that everything should remain as before.
I feel, however, that I am as one to whom fearful injustice is
done, and I am certain that I shall have to travel next year with
three cradles, wet-nurses, long-clothes, and counterpanes. I am
now awake by six o'clock, and already in a gentle simmer of
anger; I cannot get to sleep, owing to all the visions of traveling
which my imagination paints in the darkest colors, even up to the
picnics" on the sandhills of Stolpmünde. And then if one were
only paid for it! But to travel away the last remnants of a once
handsome fortune with sucking babies! -I am very unhappy!
Well Wednesday, then, in Gerswalde-I should have done.
probably better by driving over Passow, and you would not have
had so far to Prenzlau as to G. However, it is now a fait
accompli, and the pain of selection is succeeded by the quiet of
resignation. Johanna is somewhat nervous about her dresses,
supposing you Boitzenburgers have company.
――
1935
TO HIS WIFE
FRANKFORT, August 7th, 1851.
I
WANTED to write to you yesterday and to-day, but, owing to all
the clatter and bustle of business, could not do so until now,
late in the evening on my return from a walk through the
lovely summer-night breeze, the moonlight, and the murmuring
of poplar leaves, which I took to brush away the dust of the
day's dispatches and papers. Saturday afternoon I drove out
with Rochow and Lynar to Rüdesheim; there I took a boat,
rowed out upon the Rhine, and swam in the moonlight, with
nothing but nose and eyes out of the water, as far as the
Mäusethürm near Bingen, where the bad bishop came to his end.
It gives one a peculiar dreamy sensation to float thus on a quiet
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
warm night in the water, gently carried down by the current,
looking above on the heavens studded with the moon and stars,
and on each side the banks and wooded hill-tops and the battle-
ments of the old castles bathed in the moonlight, whilst nothing
falls on one's ear but the gentle splashing of one's own move-
ments. I should like to swim like this every evening. I drank
some very fair wine afterwards, and then sat a long time with
Lynar smoking on the balcony-the Rhine below us.
My little
New Testament and the star-studded heavens brought us on the
subject of religion, and I argued long against the Rousseau-like
sophism of his ideas, without, however, achieving more than to
reduce him to silence. He was badly treated as a child by
bonnes and tutors, without ever having known his parents. Later
on, in consequence of much the same sort of education as
myself, he picked up the same ideas in his youth; but is more
satisfied and more convinced by them than ever I was.
Next day we took the steamer to Coblenz, stopped there an
hour for breakfast, and came back the same way to Frankfort,
where we arrived in the evening. I undertook this expedition.
with the intention of visiting old Metternich, who had invited
me to do so at Johannisberg; but I was so much pleased with
the Rhine that I preferred to make my way over to Coblenz and
to postpone the visit. When you and I saw it we had just re-
turned from the Alps, and the weather was bad; on this fresh
summer morning, however, and after the dusty monotony of
Frankfort, the Rhine has risen very considerably in my estima-
tion. I promise myself complete enjoyment in spending a couple
of days with you at Rüdesheim; the place is so quiet and rural,
honest people and cheap living. We will hire a small boat and
row at our leisure downwards, climb up the Niederwald and a
castle or two, and return with the steamer. One can leave this
place early in the morning, stay eight hours at Rüdesheim,
Bingen, or Rheinstein, etc. , and be back again in the evening.
My appointment here appears now to be certain.
Moscow, June 6th, 1859.
I
WILL send you at least a sign of life from here, while I am
waiting for the samovar; and a young Russian in a red shirt
is exerting himself behind me with vain attempts to light a
fire he puffs and blows, but it will not burn. After having
-
•
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1937
complained so much about the scorching heat lately, I woke
to-day between Twer and here, and thought I was dreaming
when I saw the country and its fresh verdure covered far and
wide with snow. I shall wonder at nothing again, and having
convinced myself of the fact beyond all doubt, I turned quickly
on the other side to sleep and roll on farther, although the play
of colors - from green to white in the red dawn of day was
not without its charm. I do not know if the snow still lies at
Twer; here it has thawed away, and a cool gray rain is rattling
on the green tin of the roofs. Green has every reason to be the
Russian favorite color. Of the five hundred miles I have passed
in traveling here, I have slept away about two hundred, but each
hand-breadth of the remainder was green in every shade. Towns
and villages, and more particularly houses, with the exception of
the railway stations, I did not observe. Bushy forests with birch-
trees cover swamp and hill, a fine growth of grass beneath, long
tracts of meadow-land between; so it goes on for fifty, one hun-
dred, two hundred miles. Ploughed land I do not remember to
have remarked, nor heather, nor sand. Solitary grazing cows or
horses awoke one at times to the presumption that there might
be human beings in the neighborhood. Moscow, seen from
above, looks like a field of young wheat: the soldiers are green,
the cupolas green, and I do not doubt that the eggs on the table
before me were laid by green hens.
You will want to know how I come to be here. I also have
already asked myself this question, and the answer I received
was that change is the soul of life. The truth of this profound
saying becomes especially obvious after having lived for ten
weeks in a sunny room of a hotel, with the look-out on pave-
ments. The charms of moving become rather blunted if they
occur repeatedly within a short period; I therefore determined to
forego them, handed over all paper to, gave Engel my keys,
declared that I would put up in a week at Stenbock's house, and
drove to the Moscow station. This was yesterday at noon, and
this morning, at eight o'clock, I alighted here at the Hôtel de
France. First of all I shall pay a visit to a charming acquaint-
ance of former times, who lives in the country, about twenty
versts from here; to-morrow evening I shall be here again;
Wednesday and Thursday shall visit the Kremlin and so forth;
and Friday or Saturday sleep in the beds which Engel will
meantime buy. Slow harnessing and fast driving lie in the
-
IV-122
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
character of this people. I ordered the carriage two hours ago:
to every call which I have been uttering for each successive ten
minutes of an hour and a half, the answer is, "Immediately,"
given with imperturbably friendly composure; but there the
matter rests. You know my exemplary patience in waiting, but
everything has its limits; afterwards there will be wild galloping,
so that on these bad roads horse and carriage break down, and
at last we reach the place on foot. I have meanwhile drunk
three glasses of tea and annihilated several eggs; the efforts at
getting warm have also so perfectly succeeded that I feel the
need of fresh air.
The common air of heaven sharpens men's judgments. Poor
Horner, but for that kept atmosphere of his always surrounding
him, would have been bluntly asked "what he had done since he
was breeched," and in reply he could only have muttered some-
thing about the currency. As for our special rogue Cellini, the
question would probably have assumed this shape: "Rascal, name
the crime you have not committed, and account for the omission. "
But these awkward questions are not put to the lucky people
who keep their own atmospheres. The critics, before they can
get at them, have to step out of the every-day air, where only
achievements count and the Decalogue still goes for something,
into the kept atmosphere, which they have no sooner breathed
than they begin to see things differently, and to measure the
object thus surrounded with a tape of its own manufacture.
Horner -poor, ugly, a man neither of words nor deeds-be-
comes one of our great men; a nation mourns his loss and
erects his statue in the Abbey. Mr. Bagehot gives several
instances of the same kind, but he does not mention Cellini,
who is however in his own way an admirable example.
You open his book-a Pharisee of the Pharisees. Lying,
indeed! Why, you hate prevarication. As for murder, your
friends know you too well to mention the subject in your hear-
ing, except in immediate connection with capital punishment.
You are of course willing to make some allowance for Cellini's
time and place the first half of the sixteenth century and
Italy! "Yes," you remark, "Cellini shall have strict justice at
my hands. " So you say as you settle yourself in your chair and
begin to read. We seem to hear the rascal laughing in his
## p. 1917 (#107) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
grave.
peeps at
His spirit breathes upon you from his book -
you roguishly as you turn the pages. His atmosphere surrounds
you; you smile when you ought to frown, chuckle when you
should groan, and-oh, final triumph! -laugh aloud when, if you
had a rag of principle left, you would fling the book into the
fire. Your poor moral sense turns away with a sigh, and
patiently awaits the conclusion of the second volume.
How cautiously does he begin, how gently does he win your
ear by his seductive piety! I quote from Mr. Roscoe's transla-
tion:
·
1917
"It is a duty incumbent on upright and credible men of all
ranks, who have performed anything noble or praiseworthy, to
record, in their own writing, the events of their lives; yet they
should not commence this honorable task before they have passed
their fortieth year. Such at least is my opinion now that I have
completed my fifty-eighth year, and am settled in Florence,
where, considering the numerous ills that constantly attend
human life, I perceive that I have never before been so free
from vexations and calamities, or possessed of so great a share
of content and health as at this period. Looking back on some
delightful and happy events of my life, and on many misfortunes
so truly overwhelming that the appalling retrospect makes me
wonder how I have reached this age in vigor and prosperity,
through God's goodness I have resolved to publish an account of
my life; and
I must, in commencing my narrative,
satisfy the public on some few points to which its curiosity is
usually directed; the first of which is to ascertain whether a man
is descended from a virtuous and ancient family.
I shall
therefore now proceed to inform the reader how it pleased God
that I should come into the world. "
•
So you read on page 1; what you read on page 191 is this:
"Just after sunset, about eight o'clock, as this musqueteer
stood at his door with his sword in his hand, when he had done
supper, I with great address came close up to him with a long
dagger, and gave him a violent back-handed stroke, which I
aimed at his neck. He instantly turned round, and the blow,
falling directly upon his left shoulder, broke the whole bone of
it; upon which he dropped his sword, quite overcome by the
pain, and took to his heels. I pursued, and in four steps came
up with him, when, raising the dagger over his head, which he
lowered down, I hit him exactly upon the nape of the neck.
――
## p. 1918 (#108) ###########################################
1918
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
The weapon penetrated so deep that, though I made a great
effort to recover it again, I found it impossible. "
So much for murder. Now for manslaughter, or rather Cel-
lini's notion of manslaughter.
«Pompeo entered an apothecary's shop at the corner of the
Chiavica, about some business, and stayed there for some time.
I was told he had boasted of having bullied me, but it turned
out a fatal adventure to him. Just as I arrived at that quarter
he was coming out of the shop, and his bravoes, having made an
opening, formed a circle round him. I thereupon clapped my
hand to a sharp dagger, and having forced my way through
the file of ruffians, laid hold of him by the throat, so quickly
and with such presence of mind that there was not one of his
friends could defend him. I pulled him towards me to give
him a blow in front, but he turned his face about through
excess of terror, so that I wounded him exactly under the ear;
and upon repeating my blow, he fell down dead. It had never
been my intention to kill him, but blows are not always under
command. »
We must all feel that it would never have done to have
begun with these passages; but long before the 191st page has
been reached, Cellini has retreated into his own atmosphere, and
the scales of justice have been hopelessly tampered with.
That such a man as this encountered suffering in the course
of his life should be matter for satisfaction to every well-regu-
lated mind; but somehow or other, you find yourself pitying
the fellow as he narrates the hardships he endured in the Castle
of St. Angelo. He is so symmetrical a rascal! Just hear him!
listen to what he says well on in the second volume, after the
little incidents already quoted:-
"Having at length recovered my strength and vigor, after I
had composed myself and resumed my cheerfulness of mind, I
continued to read my Bible, and so accustomed my eyes to that
darkness, that though I was at first able to read only an hour
and a half, I could at length read three hours. I then reflected
on the wonderful power of the Almighty upon the hearts of
simple men, who had carried their enthusiasm so far as to believe
firmly that God would indulge them in all they wished for; and
I promised myself the assistance of the Most High, as well
through His mercy as on account of my innocence. Thus turn-
ing constantly to the Supreme Being, sometimes in prayer, some-
## p. 1919 (#109) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1919
times in silent meditation on the divine goodness, I was totally
engrossed by these heavenly reflections, and came to take such
delight in pious meditations that I no longer thought of past
misfortunes. On the contrary, I was all day long singing psalms
and many other compositions of mine, in which I celebrated and
praised the Deity. "
Thus torn from their context, these passages may seem to
supply the best possible falsification of the previous statement
that Cellini told the truth about himself. Judged by these pass-
ages alone, he may appear a hypocrite of an unusually odious
description. But it is only necessary to read his book to dispel
that notion. He tells lies about other people; he repeats long
conversations, sounding his own praises, during which, as his
own narrative shows, he was not present; he exaggerates his own
exploits, his sufferings-even, it may be, his crimes: but when
we lay down his book, we feel we are saying good-by to a man
whom we know.
He has introduced himself to us, and though doubtless we
prefer saints to sinners, we may be forgiven for liking the com-
pany of a live rogue better than that of the lay-figures and
empty clock-cases labeled with distinguished names, who are to
be found doing duty for men in the works of our standard his-
torians. What would we not give to know Julius Cæsar one-
half as well as we know this outrageous rascal? The saints of
the earth, too, how shadowy they are! Which of them do we
really know? Excepting one or two ancient and modern Quiet-
ists, there is hardly one amongst the whole number who being
dead yet speaketh. Their memoirs far too often only reveal to
us a hazy something, certainly not recognizable as a man. This
is generally the fault of their editors, who, though men them-
selves, confine their editorial duties to going up and down the
diaries and papers of the departed saint, and obliterating all
human touches. This they do for the "better prevention of
scandals"; and one cannot deny that they attain their end, though
they pay dearly for it.
I shall never forget the start I gave when, on reading some
old book about India, I came across an after-dinner jest of
Henry Martyn's. The thought of Henry Martyn laughing over
the walnuts and the wine was almost, as Robert Browning's un-
known painter says, "too wildly dear;" and to this day I cannot
help thinking that there must be a mistake somewhere.
## p. 1920 (#110) ###########################################
1920
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
To return to Cellini, and to conclude. On laying down his
Memoirs, let us be careful to recall our banished moral sense,
and make peace with her, by passing a final judgment on this
desperate sinner; which perhaps after all, we cannot do better
than by employing language of his own concerning a monk, a
fellow-prisoner of his, who never, so far as appears, murdered
anybody, but of whom Cellini none the less felt himself entitled
to say:
"I admired his shining qualities, but his odious vices I freely
censured and held in abhorrence. "
-
ON THE ALLEGED OBSCURITY OF MR. BROWNING'S POETRY
IT
N
considering whether a poet is intelligible and lucid, we
ought not to grope and grub about his work in search of
obscurities and oddities, but should, in the first instance
at all events, attempt to regard his whole scope and range; to
form some estimate, if we can, of his general purport and
effect, asking ourselves for this purpose such questions as these:
- How are we the better for him? Has he quickened any
passion, lightened any burden, purified any taste? Does he
play any real part in our lives? When we are in love, do we
whisper him in our lady's ear? When we sorrow, does he ease
our pain? Can he calm the strife of mental conflict? Has he
had anything to say which wasn't twaddle on those subjects
which, elude analysis as they may, and defy demonstration as
they do, are yet alone of perennial interest
"On man, on nature, and on human life,"
on the pathos of our situation, looking back on to the irrevo-
cable and forward to the unknown? If a poet has said, or
done, or been any of these things to an appreciable extent, to
charge him with obscurity is both folly and ingratitude.
But the subject may be pursued further, and one may be
called upon to investigate this charge with reference to partic-
ular books or poems. In Browning's case this fairly may be
done; and then another crop of questions arises, such as: What
is the book about, i. e. , with what subject does it deal, and
From Obiter Dicta
## p. 1921 (#111) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
what method of dealing does it employ? Is it didactical, analyt-
ical, or purely narrative? Is it content to describe, or does it
aspire to explain? In common fairness these questions must be
asked and answered, before we heave our critical half-bricks at
strange poets. One task is of necessity more difficult than
another. Students of geometry who have pushed their re-
searches into that fascinating science so far as the fifth proposi-
tion of the first book, commonly called the 'Pons Asinorum'
(though now that so many ladies read Euclid, it ought, in com-
mon justice to them, to be at least sometimes called the Pons
Asinarum'), will agree that though it may be more difficult to
prove that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are
equal, and that if the equal sides be produced, the angles on
the other side of the base shall be equal, than it was to describe
an equilateral triangle on a given finite straight line; yet no
one but an ass would say that the fifth proposition was one whit
less intelligible than the first. When we consider Mr. Browning
in his later writings, it will be useful to bear this distinction in
mind.
(
Looking then at the first period, we find in its front eight
plays:-
'Strafford,' written in 1836, when its author was twenty-
four years old, and put upon the boards of Covent Garden
Theatre on the 1st of May, 1837; Macready playing Strafford,
and Miss Helen Faucit Lady Carlisle. It was received with much
enthusiasm, but the company was rebellious and the manager
bankrupt; and after running five nights, the man who played
Pym threw up his part, and the theatre was closed.
2.
'Pippa Passes. '
3. King Victor and King Charles. '
4.
'The Return of the Druses. '
1921
5. 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon. '
This beautiful and pathetic play was put on the stage of
Drury Lane on the 11th of February, 1843, with Phelps as Lord
Tresham, Miss Helen Faucit as Mildred Tresham, and Mrs. Stir-
ling, still known to us all, as Guendolen.
It was a brilliant
success. Mr. Browning was in the stage-box; and if it is any
satisfaction for a poet to hear a crowded house cry "Author,
author! " that satisfaction has belonged to Mr. Browning. The
play ran several nights; and was only stopped because one of
Mr. Macready's bankruptcies happened just then to intervene.
It
IV-121
## p. 1922 (#112) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1922
was afterwards revived by Mr. Phelps, during his "memorable
management" of Sadlers' Wells.
6. 'Colombe's Birthday. ' Miss Helen Faucit put this upon
the stage in 1852, when it was reckoned a success.
'Luria. '
7.
8. A Soul's Tragedy. '
To call any of these plays unintelligible is ridiculous; and
nobody who has ever read them ever did, and why people who
have not read them should abuse them is hard to see. Were
society put upon its oath, we should be surprised to find how
many people in high places have not read All's Well that Ends.
Well, or Timon of Athens'; but they don't go about saying
these plays are unintelligible. Like wise folk, they pretend to
have read them, and say nothing. In Browning's case they are
spared the hypocrisy. No one need pretend to have read 'A
Soul's Tragedy'; and it seems, therefore, inexcusable for any one
to assert that one of the plainest, most pointed and piquant bits
of writing in the language is unintelligible. But surely some-
thing more may be truthfully said of these plays than that they
are comprehensible. First of all, they are plays, and not works
- like the dropsical dramas of Sir Henry Taylor and Mr. Swin-
burne. Some of them have stood the ordeal of actual represent-
ation; and though it would be absurd to pretend that they met
with that overwhelming measure of success our critical age has
reserved for such dramatists as the late Lord Lytton, the author
of Money,' the late Tom Taylor, the author of The Overland
Route,' the late Mr. Robertson, the author of 'Caste,' Mr. H.
Byron, the author of 'Our Boys,' Mr. Wills, the author of
'Charles I. ,' Mr. Burnand, the author of The Colonel,' and Mr.
Gilbert, the author of so much that is great and glorious in our
national drama; at all events they proved themselves able to
arrest and retain the attention of very ordinary audiences. But
who can deny dignity and even grandeur to 'Luria,' or withhold
the meed of a melodious tear from Mildred Tresham? What
action of what play is more happily conceived or better rendered
than that of Pippa Passes'? — where innocence and its reverse,
tender love and violent passion, are presented with emphasis,
and yet blended into a dramatic unity and a poetic perfection,
entitling the author to the very first place amongst those
dramatists of the century who have labored under the enormous
disadvantage of being poets to start with.
## p. 1923 (#113) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1923
Passing from the plays, we are next attracted by a number
of splendid poems, on whose base the structure of Mr. Brown-
ing's fame perhaps rests most surely, his dramatic pieces;
poems which give utterance to the thoughts and feelings of
persons other than himself, or as he puts it when dedicating a
number of them to his wife:-
――――――――
"Love, you saw me gather men and women,
Live or dead, or fashioned by my fancy,
Enter each and all, and use their service,
Speak from every mouth the speech-a poem;"
or again in 'Sordello':
"By making speak, myself kept out of view,
The very man as he was wont to do. "
At a rough calculation, there must be at least sixty of these
pieces. Let me run over the names of a very few of them.
'Saul,' a poem beloved by all true women; 'Caliban,' which the
men, not unnaturally perhaps, often prefer. The Two Bishops':
the sixteenth-century one ordering his tomb of jasper and basalt
in St. Praxed's Church, and his nineteenth-century successor roll-
ing out his post-prandial Apologia. 'My Last Duchess,' the
Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister,' 'Andrea del Sarto,' 'Fra Lippo
Lippi,' 'Rabbi Ben Ezra,' 'Cleon,' 'A Death in the Desert,'
'The Italian in England,' and 'The Englishman in Italy. '
It is plain truth to say that no other English poet, living or
dead, Shakespeare excepted, has so heaped up human interest for
his readers as has Robert Browning.
Against these dramatic pieces the charge of unintelligibility
fails as completely as it does against the plays. They are all
perfectly intelligible; but- and here is the rub-they are not
easy reading, like the estimable writings of the late Mrs. Hemans.
They require the same honest attention as it is the fashion to
give to a lecture of Professor Huxley's or a sermon of Canon
Liddon's; and this is just what too many persons will not give
to poetry.
They
"Love to hear
A soft pulsation in their easy ear;
To turn the page, and let their senses drink
A lay that shall not trouble them to think. "
## p. 1924 (#114) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1924
Next to these dramatic pieces come what we may be content
to call simply poems: some lyrical, some narrative. The latter
are straightforward enough, and as a rule full of spirit and hu-
mor; but this is more than can always be said of the lyrical
pieces. Now, for the first time in dealing with this first period,
excluding Sordello,' we strike difficulty. The Chinese puzzle
comes in.
We wonder whether it all turns on the punctuation.
And the awkward thing for Mr. Browning's reputation is this,
that these bewildering poems are for the most part very short.
We say awkward, for it is not more certain that Sarah Gamp
liked her beer drawn mild than it is that your Englishman likes
his poetry cut short; and so, accordingly, it often happens that
some estimable paterfamilias takes up an odd volume of Brown-
ing his volatile son or moonstruck daughter has left lying about,
pishes and pshaws! and then, with an air of much condescension
and amazing candor, remarks that he will give the fellow another
chance, and not condemn him unread. So saying, he opens the
book, and carefully selects the very shortest poem he can find;
and in a moment, without sign or signal, note or warning, the
unhappy man is floundering up to his neck in lines like these,
which are the third and final stanza of a poem called 'Another
Way of Love': -
«And after, for pastime,
If June be refulgent
With flowers in completeness,
All petals, no prickles,
Delicious as trickles
Of wine poured at mass-time,
And choose One indulgent
To redness and sweetness;
Or if with experience of man and of spider,
She use my June lightning, the strong insect-ridder
To stop the fresh spinning,—why June will consider. »
He comes up gasping, and more than ever persuaded that
Browning's poetry is a mass of inconglomerate nonsense, which
nobody understands-least of all members of the Browning
Society.
We need be at no pains to find a meaning for everything
Mr. Browning has written. But when all is said and done-
when these few freaks of a crowded brain are thrown overboard
## p. 1925 (#115) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1925
to the sharks of verbal criticism who feed on such things— Mr.
Browning and his great poetical achievement remain behind to
be dealt with and accounted for. We do not get rid of the Lau-
reate by quoting: -
"O darling room, my heart's delight,
Dear room, the apple of my sight,
With thy two couches soft and white
There is no room so exquisite —
No little room so warm and bright
Wherein to read, wherein to write;"
or of Wordsworth by quoting: -
"At this, my boy hung down his head:
He blushed with shame, nor made reply,
And five times to the child I said,
"Why, Edward? tell me why? >»
or of Keats by remembering that he once addressed a young
lady as follows:
"O come, Georgiana! the rose is full blown,
The riches of Flora are lavishly strown:
The air is all softness and crystal the streams,
The west is resplendently clothed in beams. "
The strength of a rope may be but the strength of its weak-
est part; but poets are to be judged in their happiest hours, and
in their greatest works.
The second period of Mr. Browning's poetry demands a dif-
ferent line of argument; for it is, in my judgment, folly to deny
that he has of late years written a great deal which makes very
difficult reading indeed. No doubt you may meet people who
tell you that they read The Ring and the Book' for the first
time without much mental effort; but you will do well not to
believe them. These poems are difficult-they cannot help being
so. What is The Ring and the Book'? A huge novel in twenty
thousand lines- told after the method not of Scott but of Balzac;
it tears the hearts out of a dozen characters; it tells the same
story from ten different points of view. It is loaded with detail
of every kind and description: you are let off nothing. As with
a schoolboy's life at a large school, if he is to enjoy it at all, he
must fling himself into it, and care intensely about everything-
――
## p. 1926 (#116) ###########################################
1926
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
so the reader of The Ring and the Book' must be interested
in everybody and everything, down to the fact that the eldest
daughter of the counsel for the prosecution of Guido is eight
years old on the very day he is writing his speech, and that he
is going to have fried liver and parsley for his supper.
If you are prepared for this, you will have your reward; for
the style, though rugged and involved, is throughout, with the
exception of the speeches of counsel, eloquent and at times
superb; and as for the matter, if your interest in human nature
is keen, curious, almost professional—if nothing man, woman, or
child has been, done, or suffered, or conceivably can be, do, or
suffer, is without interest for you; if you are fond of analysis,
and do not shrink from dissection-you will prize The Ring
and the Book' as the surgeon prizes the last great contribution
to comparative anatomy or pathology.
But this sort of work tells upon style. Browning has, I think,
fared better than some writers. To me, at all events, the step
from 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon' to 'The Ring and the Book'
is not so marked as is the mauvais pas that lies between 'Amos
Barton' and 'Daniel Deronda. ' But difficulty is not obscurity.
One task is more difficult than another. The angles at the base
of the isosceles triangles are apt to get mixed, and to confuse us
all-man and woman alike. 'Prince Hohenstiel' something or
another is a very difficult poem, not only to pronounce but to
read; but if a poet chooses as his subject Napoleon III. — in
whom the cad, the coward, the idealist, and the sensualist were
inextricably mixed-and purports to make him unbosom himself
over a bottle of Gladstone claret in a tavern at Leicester Square,
you cannot expect that the product should belong to the same
class of poetry as Mr. Coventry Patmore's admirable 'Angel in
the House. '
It is the method that is difficult. Take the husband in 'The
Ring and the Book. ' Mr. Browning remorselessly hunts him
down, tracks him to the last recesses of his mind, and there bids
him stand and deliver. He describes love, not only broken but
breaking; hate in its germ; doubt at its birth. These are diffi-
cult things to do either in poetry or prose, and people with easy,
flowing Addisonian or Tennysonian styles cannot do them.
I seem to overhear a still, small voice asking, But are they
worth doing?
or at all events, is it the province of art to do
them? The question ought not to be asked. It is heretical,
## p. 1927 (#117) ###########################################
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
1927
being contrary to the whole direction of the latter half of this
century. The chains binding us to the rocks of realism are
faster riveted every day; and the Perseus who is destined to cut
them is, I expect, some mischievous little boy at a Board-school.
But as the question has been asked, I will own that sometimes,
even when deepest in works of this, the now orthodox school, I
have been harassed by distressing doubts whether after all this
enormous labor is not in vain; and wearied by the effort, over-
loaded by the detail, bewildered by the argument, and sickened
by the pitiless dissection of character and motive, have been
tempted to cry aloud, quoting—or rather, in the agony of the
moment, misquoting - Coleridge:-
"Simplicity — thou better name
Than all the family of Fame. »
But this ebullition of feeling is childish and even sinful. We
must take our poets as we do our meals—as they are served up
to us. Indeed, you may, if full of courage, give a cook notice,
but not the time-spirit who makes our poets. We may be sure
to appropriate an idea of the late Sir James Stephen—that if
Robert Browning had lived in the sixteenth century, he would
not have written a poem like 'The Ring and the Book'; and if
Edmund Spenser had lived in the nineteenth century he would
not have written a poem like the 'Faerie Queene. '
It is therefore idle to arraign Mr. Browning's later method
and style for possessing difficulties and intricacies which are
inherent to it. The method at all events has an interest of its
own, a strength of its own, a grandeur of its own. If you do
not like it you must leave it alone. You are fond, you say, of
romantic poetry; well, then, take down your Spenser and qualify
yourself to join "the small transfigured band" of those who are
able to take their Bible-oaths they have read their 'Faerie
Queene' all through. The company, though small, is delightful,
and you will have plenty to talk about without abusing Brown-
ing, who probably knows his Spenser better than you do. Real-
ism will not for ever dominate the world of letters and art
the fashion of all things passeth away-but it has already
earned a great place: it has written books, composed poems,
painted pictures, all stamped with that "greatness" which, despite
fluctuations, nay, even reversals of taste and opinion, means
immortality.
## p. 1928 (#118) ###########################################
1928
AUGUSTINE BIRRELL
But against Mr. Browning's later poems it is sometimes
alleged that their meaning is obscure because their grammar is
bad. A cynic was once heard to observe with reference to that
noble poem 'The Grammarian's Funeral,' that it was a pity the
talented author had ever since allowed himself to remain under
the delusion that he had not only buried the grammarian, but
his grammar also. It is doubtless true that Mr. Browning has
some provoking ways, and is something too much of a verbal
acrobat. Also, as his witty parodist, the pet poet of six genera-
tions of Cambridge undergraduates, reminds us:
➖➖➖
"He loves to dock the smaller parts of speech,
As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur. »
It is perhaps permissible to weary a little of his 's and o's, but
we believe we cannot be corrected when we say that Browning
is a poet whose grammar will bear scholastic investigation better
than that of most of Apollo's children.
A word about 'Sordello. ' One half of 'Sordello,' and that,
with Mr. Browning's usual ill-luck, the first half, is undoubtedly
obscure. It is as difficult to read as 'Endymion' or the 'Revolt
of Islam,' and for the same reason-the author's lack of experi-
ence in the art of composition. We have all heard of the young
architect who forgot to put a staircase in his house, which con-
tained fine rooms, but no way of getting into them. 'Sordello'
is a poem without a staircase. The author, still in his twenties,
essayed a high thing. For his subject—
"He singled out
Sordello compassed murkily about
With ravage of six long sad hundred years. '»
He partially failed; and the British public, with its accustomed
generosity, and in order, I suppose, to encourage the others, has
never ceased girding at him because forty-two years ago he pub-
lished at his own charges a little book of two hundred and fifty
pages, which even such of them as were then able to read could
not understand.
## p. 1929 (#119) ###########################################
1929
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
(1815-)
BY MUNROE SMITH
TTO EDWARD LEOPOLD, fourth child of Charles and Wilhelmina
von Bismarck, was born at Schönhausen in Prussia, April 1,
1815. The family was one of the oldest in the "Old Mark »
(now a part of the province of Saxony), and not a few of its mem-
bers had held important military or diplomatic positions under the
Prussian crown. The young Otto passed his school years in Berlin,
and pursued university studies in law (1832-5) at Göttingen and at
Berlin. At Göttingen he was rarely seen at lectures, but was a
prominent figure in the social life of the student body: the old uni-
versity town is full of traditions of his prowess in duels and drink-
ing bouts, and of his difficulties with the authorities. In 1835 he
passed the State examination in law, and was occupied for three
years, first in the judicial and then in the administrative service of
the State, at Berlin, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Potsdam. In 1838 he left
the governmental service and studied agriculture at the Eldena
Academy. From his twenty-fourth to his thirty-sixth year (1839-51)
his life was that of a country squire. He took charge at first of
property held by his father in Pomerania; upon his father's death
in 1845 he assumed the management of the family estate of Schön-
hausen. Here he held the local offices of captain of dikes and of
deputy in the provincial Diet. The latter position proved a stepping-
stone into Prussian and German politics; for when Frederick William
IV. summoned the "United Diet" of the kingdom (1847), Bismarck
was sent to Berlin as an alternate delegate from his province.
The next three years were full of events. The revolution of 1848
forced all the German sovereigns who had thus far retained absolute
power, among them the King of Prussia, to grant representative con-
stitutions to their people. The same year witnessed the initiation
of a great popular movement for the unification of Germany. A na-
tional Parliament was assembled at Frankfort, and in 1849 it offered
to the King of Prussia the German imperial crown; but the constitu-
tion it had drafted was so democratic, and the opposition of the
German princes so great, that Frederick William felt obliged to re-
fuse the offer. An attempt was then made, at a Parliament held in
Erfurt, to establish a << narrower Germany » under Prussian leadership;
## p. 1930 (#120) ###########################################
1930
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
but this movement also came to nothing. The Austrian govern-
ment, paralyzed for a time by revolts in its own territories, had
re-established its power and threatened Prussia with war. Russia
supported Austria, and Prussia submitted at Olmütz (1850). In these
stirring years, Bismarck - first as a member of the United Diet and
then as a representative in the new Prussian Chamber of Deputies—
made himself prominent by hostility to the constitutional movement
and championship of royal prerogative. He defended the King's
refusal of the imperial crown, because "all the real gold in it would
be gotten by melting up the Prussian crown"; and he compared the
pact which the King, by accepting the Frankfort constitution, would
make with the democracy, to the pact between the huntsman and
the devil in the 'Freischütz': sooner or later, he declared, the people
would come to the Emperor, and pointing to the Imperial arms,
would say, "Do you fancy this eagle was given you for nothing? "
He sat in the Erfurt Parliament, but had no faith in its success. He
opposed the constitution which it adopted, although this was far
more conservative than that drafted at Frankfort, because he deemed
it still too revolutionary. During the Austro-Prussian disputes of
1850 he expressed himself, like the rest of the Prussian Conserva-
tives, in favor of reconciliation with Austria, and he even defended
the convention of Olmütz.
After Olmütz, the German Federal Diet, which had disappeared
in 1848, was reconstituted at Frankfort, and to Frankfort Bismarck
was sent, in 1857, as representative of Prussia. This position, which
he held for more than seven years, was essentially diplomatic, since
the Federal Diet was merely a permanent congress of German
ambassadors; and Bismarck, who had enjoyed no diplomatic training,
owed his appointment partly to the fact that his record made him
persona grata to the "presidential power," Austria. He soon forfeited
the favor of that State by the steadfastness with which he resisted
its pretensions to superior authority, and the energy with which he
defended the constitutional parity of Prussia and the smaller States;
but he won the confidence of the home government, and was con-
sulted by the King and his ministers with increasing frequency on
the most important questions of European diplomacy. He strove to
inspire them with greater jealousy of Austria. He favored closer
relations with Napoleon III. , as a make-weight against the Austrian
influence, and was charged by some of his opponents with an undue
leaning toward France; but as he explained in a letter to a friend,
if he had sold himself, it was "to a Teutonic and not to a Gallic
devil. "
In the winter of 1858-9, as the Franco-Austrian war drew nearer,
Bismarck's anti-Austrian attitude became so pronounced that his
## p. 1931 (#121) ###########################################
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1931
government, by no means ready to break with Austria, but rather
disposed to support that power against France, felt it necessary to
put him, as he himself expressed it, "on ice on the Neva. " From
1859 to 1862 he held the position of Prussian ambassador at St.
Petersburg. In 1862 he was appointed ambassador at Paris. In the
autumn of the same year he became Minister-President of Prussia.
The new Prussian King, William I. , had become involved in a
controversy with the Prussian Chamber of Deputies over the reor-
ganization of the army; his previous ministers were unwilling to
press the reform against a hostile majority; and Bismarck, who was
ready to assume the responsibility, was charged with the premiership
of the new cabinet. "Under some circumstances," he said later,
"death upon the scaffold is as glorious as upon the battlefield. "
From 1862 to 1866 he governed Prussia without the support of the
lower chamber and without a regular budget. He informed a com-
mittee of the Deputies that the questions of the time were not to be
settled by debates, but by "blood and iron. "
In the diplomatic field it was his effort to secure a position of
advantage for the struggle with Austria for the control of Germany,
- a struggle which, six years before, he had declared to be inevitable.
During his stay in St. Petersburg he had strengthened the friendly
feeling already subsisting between Prussia and Russia; and in 1863
he gave the Russian government useful support in crushing a Polish
insurrection. To a remonstrance from the English ambassador, some-
what arrogantly delivered in the name of Europe, Bismarck responded,
"Who is Europe? " While in Paris he had convinced himself that no
serious interference was to be apprehended from Napoleon. That
monarch overrated Austria; regarded Bismarck's plans, which appear
to have been explained with extraordinary frankness, as chimerical;
and pronounced Bismarck "not a serious person. " Bismarck, on the
other hand, privately expressed the opinion that Napoleon was "a
great unrecognized incapacity. " When, in 1863, the death of Fred-
erick VII. of Denmark without direct heirs raised again the ancient
Schleswig-Holstein problem, Bismarck saw that the opportunity had
come for the solution of the German question.
The events of the next seven years are familiar history. In 1864
Prussia and Austria made war on Denmark, and obtained a joint
sovereignty over the duchies of Holstein and Schleswig. In 1866,
with Italy as her ally, Prussia drove Austria out of the German Con-
federation; annexed Schleswig, Holstein, Hanover, Electoral Hesse,
and Frankfort; and brought all the German States north of the Main,
except Luxemburg, into the North German Confederation, of which
the King of Prussia was President and Bismarck Chancellor. When
war was declared by France in 1870, the South German States also
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
placed their forces at the King of Prussia's disposal; and before the
war was over they joined the newly established German Empire,
which thus included all the territories of the old Confederation except
German Austria and Luxemburg. The old Confederation was a mere
league of sovereign States; the new Empire was a nation. To this
Empire, at the close of the war, the French Republic paid an indem-
nity of five milliards of francs, and ceded Alsace and Lorraine.
-
In giving the German people political unity Bismarck realized their
strongest and deepest desire; and the feeling entertained toward him
underwent a sudden revulsion. From 1862 to 1866 he had been the
best hated man in Germany. The partial union of 1867 — when, as
he expressed it, Germany was "put in the saddle"-made him a
national hero. The reconciliation with the people was the more com-
plete because, at Bismarck's suggestion, a German Parliament was
created, elected by universal suffrage, and because the Prussian min-
isters (to the great indignation of their conservative supporters) asked
the Prussian Deputies to grant them indemnity for their unconstitu-
tional conduct of the government during the preceding four years.
For the next ten years Bismarck had behind him, in Prussian and in
German affairs, a substantial nationalist majority. At times, indeed,
he had to restrain their zeal. In 1867, for instance, when they desired
to take Baden alone into the new union, the rest of South Ger-
many being averse to entrance,- Bismarck was obliged to tell them
that it would be a poor policy "to skim off the cream and let the
rest of the milk turn sour. "
Bismarck remained Chancellor of the Empire as well as Minister-
President of Prussia until 1890, when William II. demanded his
resignation. During these years the military strength of the Empire
was greatly increased; its finances were placed upon an independ-
ent footing; its authority was extended in legislative matters, and
its administrative system was developed and consolidated. Conflicts
with the Roman Catholic hierarchy (1873-87), and with the Social De-
mocracy (1878-90) resulted indecisively; though Bismarck's desire to
alleviate the misery which in his opinion caused the socialistic move-
ment gave rise to a series of remarkable laws for the insurance of
the laboring classes against accident, disease, and old age. With a
return to the protective system, which Bismarck advocated for fiscal
reasons, he combined the attempt to enlarge Germany's foreign mar-
ket by the establishment of imperial colonies in Africa and in the
Pacific Ocean. In other respects his foreign policy, after 1870, was
controlled by the desire to preserve peace. "Germany," he said,
"belongs to the satisfied nations. " When the Russian friendship
cooled, he secured an alliance with Austria (1879), which Italy also
joined (1882); and the "triple alliance" thus formed continued to
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1933
dominate European politics for many years after Bismarck's with-
drawal from office.
Of Bismarck's State papers, the greater portion are still buried in
the Prussian archives. The most important series that has been pub-
lished consists of his dispatches from Frankfort (Poschinger, Preussen
im Bundestag, 1851-8, 4 vols. ). These are marked by clearness of
statement, force of argument, and felicity of illustration.
The style,
although less direct and simple than that of his unofficial writings, is
still excellent. A large part of the interest attaching to these early
papers lies in their acute characterization of the diplomatists with
whom he had to deal. His analysis of their motives reveals from the
outset that thorough insight into human nature which was to count
for so much in his subsequent diplomatic triumphs. Of his later
notes and dispatches, such as have seen the light may be found in
Hahn's documentary biography (Fürst Bismarck,' 5 vols. ). His re-
ports and memorials on economic and fiscal questions have been
collected by Poschinger in 'Bismarck als Volkswirth. '
Of Bismarck's parliamentary speeches there exists a full collection
(reproduced without revision from the stenographic reports) in fifteen
volumes. Bismarck was not an orator in the ordinary acceptation of
the word. His mode of address was conversational; his delivery was
monotonous and halting. He often hesitated, searching for a word;
but when it came, it usually seemed the only word that could have
expressed his meaning, and the hesitation that preceded it gave it a
singular emphasis. It seemed to be his aim to convince his hearers,
not to win them; his appeal was regularly to their intelligence, not
to their emotions. When the energy and warmth of his own feelings
had carried him into something like a flight of oratory, there was apt
to follow, at the next moment, some plain matter-of-fact statement
that brought the discussion back at once to its ordinary level. Such
an anti-climax was often very effective: the obvious effort of the
speaker to keep his emotions under restraint vouched for the sincer-
ity of the preceding outburst. It should be added that he appre-
ciated as few Germans do the rhetorical value of understatement.
He was undoubtedly at his literary best in conversation and in
his letters. We have several volumes of Bismarck anecdotes, Bis-
marck table-talk, etc. The best known are those of Busch, which
have been translated into English — and in spite of the fact that his
sayings come
me to us at second hand and colored by the personality of
the transmitter, we recognize the qualities which, by the universal
testimony of those who knew him, made him one of the most fas-
cinating of talkers. These qualities, however, come out most clearly
in a little volume of letters (Bismarck briefe), chiefly addressed to
his wife. (These letters have been excellently translated into English
## p. 1934 (#124) ###########################################
1934
OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
by F. Maxse. ) They are characterized throughout by vivid and
graphic descriptions, a subtle sense of humor, and real wit; and they
have in the highest degree-far more than his State papers or
speeches the literary quality, and that indescribable something
which we call style.
-
Bismarck furnishes, once for all, the answer to the old French
question, whether a German can possibly have esprit — witness his
response to the German prince who desired his advice regarding the
offer of the crown of one of the Balkan States: «< Accept, by all
means: it will be a charming recollection for you. " He possessed
also to a high degree the power of summing up a situation or char-
acterizing a movement in a single phrase; and his sayings have
enriched the German language with more quotations than the spoken
words of any German since Luther.
Of the numerous German biographies, Hahn's gives the greatest
amount of documentary material; Hesekiel's (which has been trans-
lated into English) is the most popular. The best French biography
is by Simon; the only important English work is that by Lowe. For
bibliography, see Schulze and Koller, 'Bismarck-Literatur' (1895),
which contains about 600 titles. The Frankfort dispatches and the
speeches have been translated into French, but not into English.
Munroe Smith
житое
TO FRAU VON ARNIM
SCHÖNHAUSEN, August 7th, 1850.
THE
HE fact is, this journey, and I see it more clearly the nearer
it approaches, gives me a right of reversion on the new
lunatic asylum, or at least a seat for life in the Second
Chamber. I can already see myself on the platform of the
Genthiner station; then both of us packed in the carriage, sur-
rounded with all sorts of child's necessaries- an embarrassing
company; Johanna ashamed to suckle the baby, which accord-
ingly roars itself blue; then the passports, the inn; then at Stettin
railway station with both bellowing monkeys; then waiting an
hour at Angermünde for the horses; and how are we to get from
Kröchlendorf to Külz? It would be perfectly awful if we had to
remain for the night at Stettin. I did that last year with Marie
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
་་
and her squallings. I was in such a state of despair yesterday
over all these visions that I was positively determined to give
the whole thing up, and at last went to bed with the resolve at
least to go straight through, without stopping anywhere; but
what will one not commit for the sake of domestic peace? The
young cousins, male and female, must become acquainted, and
who knows when Johanna will see you again? She pounced upon
me last night with the boy in her arms, and with all those
wiles which formerly lost us Paradise; of course she succeeded
in wringing my consent that everything should remain as before.
I feel, however, that I am as one to whom fearful injustice is
done, and I am certain that I shall have to travel next year with
three cradles, wet-nurses, long-clothes, and counterpanes. I am
now awake by six o'clock, and already in a gentle simmer of
anger; I cannot get to sleep, owing to all the visions of traveling
which my imagination paints in the darkest colors, even up to the
picnics" on the sandhills of Stolpmünde. And then if one were
only paid for it! But to travel away the last remnants of a once
handsome fortune with sucking babies! -I am very unhappy!
Well Wednesday, then, in Gerswalde-I should have done.
probably better by driving over Passow, and you would not have
had so far to Prenzlau as to G. However, it is now a fait
accompli, and the pain of selection is succeeded by the quiet of
resignation. Johanna is somewhat nervous about her dresses,
supposing you Boitzenburgers have company.
――
1935
TO HIS WIFE
FRANKFORT, August 7th, 1851.
I
WANTED to write to you yesterday and to-day, but, owing to all
the clatter and bustle of business, could not do so until now,
late in the evening on my return from a walk through the
lovely summer-night breeze, the moonlight, and the murmuring
of poplar leaves, which I took to brush away the dust of the
day's dispatches and papers. Saturday afternoon I drove out
with Rochow and Lynar to Rüdesheim; there I took a boat,
rowed out upon the Rhine, and swam in the moonlight, with
nothing but nose and eyes out of the water, as far as the
Mäusethürm near Bingen, where the bad bishop came to his end.
It gives one a peculiar dreamy sensation to float thus on a quiet
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
warm night in the water, gently carried down by the current,
looking above on the heavens studded with the moon and stars,
and on each side the banks and wooded hill-tops and the battle-
ments of the old castles bathed in the moonlight, whilst nothing
falls on one's ear but the gentle splashing of one's own move-
ments. I should like to swim like this every evening. I drank
some very fair wine afterwards, and then sat a long time with
Lynar smoking on the balcony-the Rhine below us.
My little
New Testament and the star-studded heavens brought us on the
subject of religion, and I argued long against the Rousseau-like
sophism of his ideas, without, however, achieving more than to
reduce him to silence. He was badly treated as a child by
bonnes and tutors, without ever having known his parents. Later
on, in consequence of much the same sort of education as
myself, he picked up the same ideas in his youth; but is more
satisfied and more convinced by them than ever I was.
Next day we took the steamer to Coblenz, stopped there an
hour for breakfast, and came back the same way to Frankfort,
where we arrived in the evening. I undertook this expedition.
with the intention of visiting old Metternich, who had invited
me to do so at Johannisberg; but I was so much pleased with
the Rhine that I preferred to make my way over to Coblenz and
to postpone the visit. When you and I saw it we had just re-
turned from the Alps, and the weather was bad; on this fresh
summer morning, however, and after the dusty monotony of
Frankfort, the Rhine has risen very considerably in my estima-
tion. I promise myself complete enjoyment in spending a couple
of days with you at Rüdesheim; the place is so quiet and rural,
honest people and cheap living. We will hire a small boat and
row at our leisure downwards, climb up the Niederwald and a
castle or two, and return with the steamer. One can leave this
place early in the morning, stay eight hours at Rüdesheim,
Bingen, or Rheinstein, etc. , and be back again in the evening.
My appointment here appears now to be certain.
Moscow, June 6th, 1859.
I
WILL send you at least a sign of life from here, while I am
waiting for the samovar; and a young Russian in a red shirt
is exerting himself behind me with vain attempts to light a
fire he puffs and blows, but it will not burn. After having
-
•
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OTTO EDWARD LEOPOLD VON BISMARCK
1937
complained so much about the scorching heat lately, I woke
to-day between Twer and here, and thought I was dreaming
when I saw the country and its fresh verdure covered far and
wide with snow. I shall wonder at nothing again, and having
convinced myself of the fact beyond all doubt, I turned quickly
on the other side to sleep and roll on farther, although the play
of colors - from green to white in the red dawn of day was
not without its charm. I do not know if the snow still lies at
Twer; here it has thawed away, and a cool gray rain is rattling
on the green tin of the roofs. Green has every reason to be the
Russian favorite color. Of the five hundred miles I have passed
in traveling here, I have slept away about two hundred, but each
hand-breadth of the remainder was green in every shade. Towns
and villages, and more particularly houses, with the exception of
the railway stations, I did not observe. Bushy forests with birch-
trees cover swamp and hill, a fine growth of grass beneath, long
tracts of meadow-land between; so it goes on for fifty, one hun-
dred, two hundred miles. Ploughed land I do not remember to
have remarked, nor heather, nor sand. Solitary grazing cows or
horses awoke one at times to the presumption that there might
be human beings in the neighborhood. Moscow, seen from
above, looks like a field of young wheat: the soldiers are green,
the cupolas green, and I do not doubt that the eggs on the table
before me were laid by green hens.
You will want to know how I come to be here. I also have
already asked myself this question, and the answer I received
was that change is the soul of life. The truth of this profound
saying becomes especially obvious after having lived for ten
weeks in a sunny room of a hotel, with the look-out on pave-
ments. The charms of moving become rather blunted if they
occur repeatedly within a short period; I therefore determined to
forego them, handed over all paper to, gave Engel my keys,
declared that I would put up in a week at Stenbock's house, and
drove to the Moscow station. This was yesterday at noon, and
this morning, at eight o'clock, I alighted here at the Hôtel de
France. First of all I shall pay a visit to a charming acquaint-
ance of former times, who lives in the country, about twenty
versts from here; to-morrow evening I shall be here again;
Wednesday and Thursday shall visit the Kremlin and so forth;
and Friday or Saturday sleep in the beds which Engel will
meantime buy. Slow harnessing and fast driving lie in the
-
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character of this people. I ordered the carriage two hours ago:
to every call which I have been uttering for each successive ten
minutes of an hour and a half, the answer is, "Immediately,"
given with imperturbably friendly composure; but there the
matter rests. You know my exemplary patience in waiting, but
everything has its limits; afterwards there will be wild galloping,
so that on these bad roads horse and carriage break down, and
at last we reach the place on foot. I have meanwhile drunk
three glasses of tea and annihilated several eggs; the efforts at
getting warm have also so perfectly succeeded that I feel the
need of fresh air.
