menu_book Chapter 24

Section 24 of From Metternich to Bismarck by Lionel Cecil Jain. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Pamela Nagami. Chapter 10, The Bismarck System, Part 1. Creator of a new empire, restorer of unity to a long-divided race, conqueror of his country's hated foe, Bismarck appeared well to merit all the plaudits, all the honors showered upon him, to have gained a triumph such as it has fallen to the lot of but few men to secure.

Yet neither was he content, nor did he taste the gladness of perfect realization. The German empire was founded, to all seeming, it was brought based upon a people's will, welded together by the sacred fire of nationality, confirmed by sorrow and by joy, maintained by the blessed union of hearts that throbbed as one. Fair was the prospect, unclouded the brightness of the dawn, sure the hope of everlasting life.

But it was not given to all to know with what reluctance King Ludwig of Bavaria had parted forever with the secular dream of the house of Wittelsbach. How unwillingly he had given utterance to the wishes of his fellow princes, with what doubtings he had implored William to accept an imperial crown. Nor did there appear on the surface that rancor which lay deep-rooted in Bavarian and Saxon hearts, a rancor not the less permanent because momentarily forgotten in

the fever of high emotion, because that forgetfulness had led to so untoward, so fatal a result. Minds filled with the glamour of the dramatic climax at Versailles found it impossible to understand how jealously the skeleton of local independence was guarded against the two fortunate Hohenzollerns. Ears deafened by peons of victory could not hear the dull murmurings of ill-omened dissent, nor did the eyes of entranced beholders pierce the bright sunshine of success. But

Bismarck's eyes were not dazzled, and the clearness of his political vision remained undimmed by the enthusiasm of that supreme moment. To eyewitnesses of the scene, he appeared to be uplifted by the wonder of ultimate triumph. Perhaps he was rather depressed by the conviction of the incompleteness of that triumph. For Germany was only partially united. The empire was only a federated state. King William had inclined to abdicate,

rather than agree to anything short of the complete triumph of Prussia, The crown prince had urged the forcible suppression of every vestige of local independence, but the masterful tact of the chancellor had overborne the opposition of both father and son. He had seen how necessary it was to seize the golden hour while Germans were triumphing over Frenchmen. He did not forget the moral ascendancy of the Habsburgs or that Vienna was more German

than Berlin. An attempt to secure all might well involve the loss of that which could be gained, and the half-loaf of federation was better than utter denial of the bread of unity, peace, and concord. The German empire was therefore and is a compromise. It is neither coextensive with the true fatherland, since millions of good Teutons on the Danube are excluded, nor is it a purely German paradise, since the Prussianization of Posen is not even now complete. It is neither

a federation of free states, as was the old Bund, nor a centralized monarchy, such as William and probably Bismarck desired. The king of Prussia is German emperor, not emperor of Germany. He is, in theory, the president among the princes of the empire. Supreme in time of war, powerful in time of peace, he yet may not infringe those local rights which are guaranteed even to such petty states as Lippe-Dettmult. And though for ordinary purposes the Prussian vote carries the day in the

Bundesrat, the federal council in which the individual members of the empire are represented, still no change can be made in the Constitution in face of the united opposition of the southern States. It is perhaps not unwise that the deliberations of this council are decently hidden from the gaze of the vulgar, that publicity is confined to the less vital debates of the Reichstag, a lower house elected by manhood suffrage, which may imagine, but imagines wrongly,

that it governs the German Empire. If the disputes within the Bundesrat were equally public, it would possibly be more obvious than it is that the new unity of Germany is really maintained by the armed might of Prussia, and that the throbbing heart of the united German people is not immune from inharmonious palpitations. And if Bismarck did not attain full realization of his ideals at home, he was still more subjected to bitter disappointment abroad.

Imagining that he had forever, or at least for a generation, crushed the power of France, and that he had laid the sure foundation of a long era of undisputed Teutonic supremacy by the overthrow of the leading Latin state, he was sadly undeceived by the wonderful recovery of his beaten foe. On the morrow of the capitulation of Paris, France seemed rapidly to be drifting towards a condition of utter anarchy. Within five years, the state had been

reorganized upon a far securer basis than any which had been devised since the fall of the Ancien Régime. And with this reorganization, the prospects of German ascendancy were somewhat overclouded. The labors of Bismarck rendered less fruitful than he had hoped. Expecting the establishment of the Red Republic, which should be a splendid foil to the good order of the German Empire, the Chancellor found that the Republic established was no less white than the system

which it had replaced. For the revolution produced by the overthrow of Napoleon and the calamities of the French arms ran the same course as the revolutions which had driven forth Charles X and Louis-Philippe. Once again, sober politicians were content merely to change the name of the government. Once again, a more enthusiastic party aimed at a complete revolution. They, the communards, wished to abandon that centralization which had hitherto prevailed.

They hoped, by granting autonomy to the local communes, to establish the complete supremacy of the original Commune of Paris, reviving that ascendancy of the capital which had been enjoyed during the Revolution. Supported by mutinous soldiers and the National Guard, favored by the masses who desired as ever redress of material grievances, they were able to seize the Hôtel de Ville, drive Thiers, head of the state, and the government of the National Assembly, to Versailles,

and acquire control of part of Paris. The red flag of the social revolution replaced the dull tricolor of milk-and-water republicanism. A revolutionary commune came into being, and a pale simulation of the glorious reign of terror was inaugurated. The regeneration of France was begun. Such regeneration had only reached the stage of massacre and licensed arson, which the Commune was powerless to prevent, when the forces of order, rallying at Versailles and

laying siege to Paris, reasserted the authority of the National Assembly, April to May, 1871. Paris was once more captured, the would-be remakers of society were condemned as society's foes, those taken with arms were shot as criminals, the rest were transported or imprisoned. Never had such vigor been displayed by a French executive, never such severity. The streets were red with blood, and in horror, the second siege far surpassed the first.

France has hardly yet forgotten the last effort of idealists and self-seekers to unite for the forcible creation of a pure regime. And in such horrors, the Third Republic came to birth. The Bordeaux Assembly had early decreed the deposition of Napoleon III and the abolition of the Second Empire. A Republican government had been formed provisionally, and Thiers had

been elected head of the state. But it remained to elaborate a constitution, and here parties were sharply divided. The monarchists, possessing a majority, would have recalled a representative of the Bourbon House, but at first could not agree upon the representative to be recalled. The Republicans were not wholly satisfied with the validity of an assembly elected while France was occupied by Germans, and loving the Republic with unfeigned sincerity, by disputing upon this

question, did their utmost to destroy that Republic. It was the work of Thiers to hold the balance between the two extremist parties and gradually to form a moderate group prepared to bring back good order to the state. He succeeded in his task, though he did not himself place the coping stone upon the edifice of the new order. For a while, factious opposition kept France in a condition not unlike one of anarchy. The government was in theory only provisional,

and to royalists and pure republicans alike it was of primary importance to delay all definition. But gradually it became clear, as Thiers, now elected president, pointed out, that the existing order could only be changed by revolution. Revolution was not desired by the moderates of either wing of the assembly, and their coalition enabled the executive to stamp out disorder. France was freed from the presence of German troops by the prompt payment of the war indemnity.

The army was reorganized on the system which had given victory to Prussia. The revenue was regulated and increased, and the National Guard, that historic storm center, was abolished. Such reorganization brought its reward. Though Gambetta somewhat dimmed the great reputation won by his zeal in the cause of national defense by conducting an equally energetic campaign in favor of sovereignty of the people, though the royalist sections

intrigued for the return of the Comte de Chambord, Thiers was able to give his country more or less stable government and to hold in check the latent forces of disorder. When, however, his efforts to induce the assembly to vote a definitive constitution only resulted in the limitation of his own powers and the defeat of his ministers, he abandoned hope and resigned. 1873. The result of his resignation was to throw power into the

hands of the monarchists, who had united in accepting the representative of the elder line and who hoped by delay to bring about a restoration. They secured the election of MacMahon as president. The marshal, as a soldier, felt himself in honor bound to forward the interests of those who had elected him, and the head of the state consistently supported those who planned his overthrow. Endless discussions on the form of the projected constitution wasted

the time of the assembly, and meanwhile, every effort was made to dissipate the idea that France had in any wise committed herself to a Republican form of government. But the royalists were too weak to force the issue. Many were alienated by the declaration of the Comte de Chambord against the tricolor. Signs of a Bonapartist revival alarmed all sections. The debate on the Constitution suddenly ceased. An amendment, formally recognizing that the head of the executive was president of

the Republic really ended the chances of a restoration, and it was speedily followed by the definitive establishment of that system which still maintains. Organized in close imitation of the Belgian Constitution, the Third Republic is governed by a president elected for seven years by the two chambers, by responsible ministers, and by a Senate and chamber of deputies. Its general character is conservative, and to its conservatism, to the compromise which it embodies

between monarchical and extreme republican ideas, its success has been due. At times its existence has been imperiled. Under MacMahon, and since, it has trembled on the brink of a coup d'etat, but it has shown unexpected vitality and has already existed longer than any form of government possessed by France since the Constituent Assembly of 1789 set the example of constitution-mongering. And to Bismarck, such conservatism was most disheartening. He had roundly rebuked the German

ambassador at Paris for showing sympathy with the Bonapartists. He desired nothing more than the very reddest of red republics across the Rhine. Such a government would alienate the monarchical powers. It would lend weight to his warnings of the dangers of socialism and of anarchy. And it was upon these warnings that he relied to enable him to escape a repetition of Tilsit, to prevent that union of Russia and France, which was the persistent nightmare of the cabinet of

Berlin. To prevent such a coalition, which threatened to grind Germany to powder between an upper and nether millstone, was the Chancellor's most cherished aim. The eventual formation of such a coalition is the index of his relative failure in foreign politics. For a moment, however, despite the lamentable recovery of France, he secured a measure of success. Friends were forthcoming, and a league was formed recalling to mind the days of Tropau and Verona. Alexander II,

as though haunted by some premonition of that nitroglycerin bomb which was eventually to bring his reign to so abrupt a conclusion, feared revolution with a deadly fear. And this fear, stimulated by the German Chancellor, served to strengthen those cordial relations which had subsisted between the courts of Petersburg and Berlin since the days of the Polish rebellion. Before the Tsar's blinking eyes, Bismarck conjured up gaunt specters, red-handed socialism and

blood-stained anarchy triumphant. To trembling prayers for advice, he answered by pointing out the one true way of salvation, by urging with insistence the need for a monarchical league to hold in check the prevalent tendency to disorder. And Alexander, hearing, remembered. At the same time, that reconciliation between Prussia and Austria, for which Bismarck's moderation after Königsgrätz had prepared, was completed. To the Magyars, the establishment of

German unity under the Hohenzollerns had always appeared desirable. Nothing could more contribute to the attainment of their own ends. And now, when the acceptance of dualism and the ceremony at Versailles had forever relegated to the Land of Dreams, all hope of a revived Habsburg ascendancy in Germany, the Austrians were won over to the Hungarian view. They realized that the dominant races in the dual monarchy were threatened by the Pan-Slav movement, and that

the enemy to be feared was rather at Petersburg than at Berlin. The resultant change of feeling was indicated by the fall of the anti-Prussian Beust and by the accession to office of Andrasi, the leading exponent of the policy of a German alliance. A willing ear was thus lent to the friendly overtures of Bismarck and a rapprochement between the two courts naturally ensued. The hostility of Austria being thus overcome, Bismarck was able to bring about a meeting of

the Three Emperors at Berlin, 1872. And though neither this conference nor other similar conferences led to the conclusion of any definitive alliance, the three Eastern powers did reach a general understanding upon the principles which should govern their policy. They prepared to resist revolution in all its forms, concerting measures for the repression of unauthorized nationalist agitations and for the prevention of socialistic outbursts. The Prussian chancellor

was relieved from any immediate anxiety, and his feeling of security was increased by the practical adhesion of Italy to the so-called League of the Three Emperors. Victor Emmanuel, as a result of the fall of Napoleon III, had won his capital and the undying hatred of Pius IX. But that hatred had been almost equally incurred by Francis Joseph, who had adopted a liberal ecclesiastical policy, which the Pope characterized as Sané na Fanda, and by Bismarck, who in the

Kulturkampf, a controversy brought on by the promulgation of the dogma of papal infallibility, had favored the dissident Catholics. The three courts were thus drawn together, and it seemed as if a new quadruple alliance was about to assume the direction of Central and Eastern Europe. But such harmony was not of long duration. The new league was soon shipwrecked upon the fatal Ottoman rock, for the manifold problems which constitute the Eastern question

had in no sense been solved by the Crimean War and the Treaty of Paris. Rather, the vanity of the fancied settlement had been abundantly demonstrated. That union of Wallachia and Moldavia against which Great Britain had then labored to provide had nonetheless been effected, and the principality of Romania been created. Alexander II, seizing the occasion of the Franco-German War, had denounced the Black Sea clauses of the treaty, and above all,

the port, had proved conclusively how empty were the promises of reform in which the Western powers had placed such touching confidence. Turks continued to oppress, Christians to revolt. Disturbances in Crete troubled the powers. A massacre in Lebanon produced French intervention. All things continued as they had been since the decay of the Ottoman Empire produced that fear which begets tyranny. Nor did the eternal question grow less acute as the years passed away.

On the contrary, its difficulty was increased by the introduction of a new disturbing element. Encouraged by the Progressive Party in Russia and by the success of parallel movements in Italy and Germany, perhaps influenced also by the establishment of dualism across the Danube, the Slavs of the Balkan Peninsula, those scattered remnants of nations for which Bismarck cared so little, began to see visions and to dream dreams of union. They conceived that they might dominate

southeastern Europe, and the consequent agitation speedily led to a storm. A bad harvest in Herzegovina supplied the immediate cause or excuse. The tax gatherers refused to forego their dues. The taxpayers preferred death in battle to death by starvation. In 1875, a revolt began in this district and spread rapidly to Bosnia. Serbia and Montenegro grew restless, and Europe was compelled once more to attempt the achievement of the impossible. End of Section 24.