sees him feels that Prince Bismarck is still in possession of immense physical power. Photography has made his features known to all. It is a strange face, which would attract attention anywhere, even if we did not know that it belonged to a man whose doings have changed our modern world. It is a face never to be forgotten − by no means a handsome, but still less an ugly one. It was remarkably bright, full of humor, of merry mischief even, in days long gone by. It has now become serious − almost solemn − with an expression of unflinching energy and daring.
The bald, round forehead − an object of admiration for the phrenologist − is of quite extraordinary dimensions; the large, prominent blue eyes seem as if they could look into the sun without blinking. They are not quick, − they wander slowly from one object to another; but when they rest on a human countenance, they become so intensely inquiring, that many people, when they have to undergo this searching look, feel uneasy; and all, even Bismarck's equals or superiors, are made aware that they are in presence of a man with whom it would be wise to play fair, as he would probably discover the subtlest tricks. His thick, well-set eyebrows are singularly long and shaggy, and they add not a little to the stern, and, at times, somewhat fierce expression of his countenance. The nose is of ordinary size − not as long, perhaps, as might be expected from the rest of the face; the chin is large and massive.
Prince Bismarck has said of himself, that he was the best-hated man in Europe. He has indeed many furious enemies in various parts of the world: in his own country to begin with, among the Particularists, the Catholics, and the Socialists; and again at Rome, in Austria, and in France. He has not often been heard to complain of this; still, a bright intellect cannot possess the knowledge of such a fact without being saddened by it. Prince Bismarck is by no means a light-hearted man. Sorrow and care have taken up their abode with him. They throw a shadow on his brow, and make themselves felt in the sound of his voice, and in the frequent bitterness of his hesitating speech. He is no longer young; he fully realizes the fact that the best part of his life is gone, that his greatest battles have been fought; and maybe in his inner heart there is the feeling, that while he has achieved much for the greatness of his country, he has done but little for his own happiness. Sometimes, when he is sitting among his personal and intimate friends − he has, besides his family, some five or six of these − free from all restraint, smoking his long pipe, patting the head of his huge dog, attending listlessly to a conversation going on around him in subdued tones, there passes over his cold face a something like a soft transparent veil, behind which his hard features relax and take an unlooked-for expression of wistful sadness.
After all, Otto von Bismarck, a child of the Marches, where his family has been known since the thirteenth century, is a thorough-bred German. Though one of the most matter-of-fact men the world has ever known, he carries within his breast a hidden vein of deep feeling; and though that feeling is certainly not of the kind which gives birth to morbid sentimentality, and it is difficult to believe that young Bismarck ever addressed his complainings to the moon, still it enables him to feel keenly all that a sensitive heart has to endure during the passage through life.
His love for his wife and children is very great, and these attend on him and take care of him in a way which shows that the deepest affection unites them to the head of the family. They look on all those who bring hard work, trouble, or anxiety to the prince, as personal enemies; they protect his sleep, his rest, his leisure even, as the most precious thing in the world. When he is ill, they nurse him with untiring care his slightest wishes are respected laws they enjoy his pleasures; and if any man has succeeded in amusing the prince, or even in making him smile, you may be assured that the princess and her children will thank him as though he had done them a personal service.
As for the prince, he has given during his life constant proofs not only of true and honest love for the wife he has chosen and the children she has borne him, but also of a delicate, and, one may say, chivalrous tenderness towards them. Years have made no change in this. Every one who has been admitted into the intimacy of the Bismarck family has been able to judge of the affectionate, and, at the same time, dignified character of the relations between the prince and princess. Hundreds of passages might be quoted in confirmation of this, from the letters written by Bismarck to his wife, some of which have been published. It may suffice to notice here his behavior in her presence a few minutes after a daring attack had been made on his life by Julius Cohen better known as Blind, from the name of Carl Blind who had adopted him as a son.
