The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
for which far-sighted men have laboured for generations, will receive a mortal blow, from which it might take a century to recover. That she cannot afford. The world is on the move: the great nations are already jockeying for position in the race for power which is sure to move with incredible swiftness, now that science and industry are providing the impetus. If Germany is to take her place among the leaders, she must have unity, she must have strength, she must have discipline”—his great fist smacked the table with each phrase—“she must submit herself to the guidance and government of a supreme authority, who will do for her what Napoleon did for France, what Washington did for America. These were not liberals, Mr Flashman; these were not progressive intellectuals. Germany must have her Napoleon, if she is to have her—”
“Waterloo?” I was sick of all his bombast. Mind you, the moment I’d said it, I wished I hadn’t, for he stopped dead and stared at me in silence with those blazing blue eyes. Then he sat back in his chair, and spoke quietly.
“There will be no Waterloo. However, this is academic, and certainly wasted on a mind such as yours. I have said enough, I think, to explain to you the necessity for ensuring that the spread of liberal thought must be checked before it breeds revolution proper. For this, there must be measures, wherever possible, to buttress existing government, and to preserve order. Stability must be maintained wherever seditious influences are at work. And nowhere are they more in evidence than in Schleswig and Holstein.”
“I wondered when we should get back to them,” says I, and glanced at the others to see how they had taken Bismarck’s tirade. Young Rudi was blowing smoke rings at the ceiling, but de Gautet was all ears, and as for Kraftstein, he was pointing like a damned retriever, as though ready to bark in admiration. It occurred to me that if he found Bismarck’s claptrap absorbing, there was probably no lack of other idiots in Germany who would do so too.
“If you care to study the map of Europe above that bookcase,” Bismarck continued, “you will see that at the eastern limit of Holstein, where it adjoins Mecklenburg, there is a small duchy called Strackenz. It, like Schleswig and Holstein, has ties both with Germany and Denmark; like them, also, it is riven internally by contending parties. Being a rural, backward province, it is of less apparent importance than its larger neighbours, but this is an illusion. In fact, it is the spark on the tinder; if the dissension between the contending parties in Strackenz were to erupt into disorder, this would undoubtedly be used by revolutionary elements as an excuse to foment unrest in the neighbouring provinces; Denmark and Germany could become involved—believe me, great wars have begun over smaller matters than Strackenz.
“Is it plain to you that the peace must be kept in this little province? If it is, then given time, German diplomacy will ensure the incorporation of Schleswig and Holstein into the German confederacy, and the process of our national unification will have begun. But if in the immediate future anything should occur to plunge Strackenz into unrest, if the rival factions there should be given any crisis to exploit—then, my work will be ruined before it has been commenced.”
I can’t say I gave a tuppenny damn about his work, or the building of a united German state, and I couldn’t for the life of me see what all this had to do with me. Still, I could only listen. Bismarck was leaning forward again, staring at me and tapping the table.
“Such a crisis is at hand. Here are the facts. Strackenz is ruled by a Duchess Irma, who has recently reached marriageable age. She is exceedingly popular with her subjects, being young and personable and therefore supremely fitted to rule, in the eyes of superstitious peasants. It has been arranged that she should marry a prince of the Danish royal family, a nephew, in fact, of King Christian himself, one Prince Carl Gustaf. This informs you of the importance that Denmark attaches to even such a tiny province as Strackenz. The point is that the marriage will be hailed by the Danish faction in Strackenz, who are an unusually troublesome group—possibly because they are so far away from Denmark itself. And if they are contented, Strackenz will continue in peace. Its German population will know how to wait,” he added with confidence.
I confess I stifled a yawn, but he ignored it.
“Politically, then, the match is not only desirable, but essential. Its stabilising influence apart, I am not without hopes of Carl Gustaf, with whom I am acquainted. He would make a popular consort and ruler in Strackenz.”
He hesitated, his eyes unwinking on mine, and I stirred impatiently.
“Well, then,” says I, “good luck to the happy couple, and God bless ’em all-and Tiny Tim. Will you come to the point as far as I’m concerned—if I am at all, which I’m beginning to doubt.”
“Oh, you are,” says he, nodding grimly. “I said there was a crisis in Strackenz. It is this: as things stand, the wedding, which is to be solemnised in six weeks’ time, cannot take place.”
“Can’t it, now? Why not?”
“Prince Carl Gustaf, who is in many ways an admirable young man, has nevertheless his share of young men’s folly.” Bismarck paused. “He has contracted a social disease, which makes it impossible that he marry, at least for the time being.”
“A what?”
“A social disease.”
“You mean he’s got a dose of clap?” I let loose a guffaw. “Well, that’s damned inconsiderate of him. Bad luck on Duchess what’s-her-name, too. Still, boys will be boys, eh? But that makes things awkward, I agree. What are you going to do about it?”
Bismarck didn’t reply for a moment. There was a dead silence in the room, an expectant silence that made me uneasy.
“Well,” says I at length. “What next?”
Bismarck stood up abruptly, went over to a desk against the wall, and took a small object from it. He weighed it in his hand as he paced slowly back to the table.
“If the wedding does not take place, Strackenz will explode. The Danish party will see to it; liberal agitators will whip up anti-German feeling with tales of a plot. But it is obviously impossible for Prince Carl to marry for several months, when his … condition has responded to treatment.”
He seemed to expect a comment, so I suggested the wedding be postponed.
“On what pretext? If the real reason were known, the marriage could never take place at all, obviously. And the Strackenz pot would boil over. At the moment, no one knows of Carl Gustaf’s malady except his own physician, and two highly-placed Danish ministers. The rest of Denmark, like Germany and Strackenz, suspects nothing amiss, and expects the wedding to go forward.”
“You say only three people know that this Prince has Cupid’s measles? Then how do you …”
“I have my own sources. The three I mentioned, the Prince, and ourselves are the only people who know, rest assured.” He juggled the object in his hand. “The wedding must take place.”
“Well, he’ll just have to marry her, clap and all, won’t he? What else …”
“Out of the question,” says de Gautet, speaking for the first time. “Humanitarian reasons apart, it would surely be discovered afterwards, and the ensuing scandal would have as disastrous an effect as a postponement of the marriage.”
“Well, then, talk sense,” says I. “If the Prince can’t marry her in six weeks, the wedding’s off, ain’t it? You’ll have to think of something else.”
“We have,” says Bismarck. “And the wedding will take place.”
“You’re talking bloody nonsense,” says I. “Anyway, what the hell do I care? What has all this to do with me?”
Bismarck tossed down on the table the thing he had been holding. It slithered along the length of the wood and stopped in front of me. I saw it was a gold case, oval and about four inches long.
“Open it,” says Bismarck.
I touched the catch, and the thing sprang open. In it was a miniature, in very fine colour, showing a man in uniform, youngish,