Germany, Where Is It?

Bismarck, of course, wasn't doing it "for the children."

In truth, compared to his own claim—one even he might not believe—of "for the children," he cared far more about his own future and the fate of his family. Naturally, his focus was primarily on himself. This might explain why, historically, his children not only failed to achieve much in their careers but also exhibited severe flaws in their personalities. It's a testament to what a terrible father Bismarck truly was.

But being a "terrible father" and an "excellent politician" are never mutually exclusive. This holds especially true for Bismarck. As a skilled politician, he excelled at handling unexpected situations, even turning unfavorable incidents into political capital and strategy. The sudden "visit" from Lassalle was no exception—Bismarck's mind was already churning with ideas on how to leverage it.

"Just as you said," Bismarck remarked with a faint smile, strolling leisurely to the window-side table. Casually leaning against it, he fixed his eyes on Lassalle and said, "I certainly won't hand you over to the secret police. You must have noticed over the past few days, even though you came uninvited, I've treated you as my guest."

"How fascinating!" Lassalle shot Bismarck a piercing look, meeting his gaze. In the golden light of the post-snow sunset, Bismarck—this hulking man who had won 26 duels unscathed in university—appeared uncharacteristically soft. Yet even in such warm hues, the scar on his face remained ferocious, serving as a timely reminder of the kind of man Lassalle was facing.

"For a Junker like you to consider someone like me a guest," Lassalle shrugged, "it's truly unbelievable!"

Despite his current "living under someone else's roof" predicament, Lassalle couldn't suppress his inner thoughts. His tone carried a clear hint of sarcasm and ridicule.

This wasn't due to any personal vendetta between Ferdinand Lassalle and Bismarck. It was purely a clash of political ideologies. During the fervent days of the 1848 revolution, Ferdinand Lassalle had been fervently rallying troops, manufacturing guns and cannons, and preparing to arm workers to "bring about a new day." Meanwhile, Bismarck had been driven by private ambitions, heading to Berlin to "serve the king" and extinguish the flames of revolution. Though they had never crossed swords on the battlefield, their opposing positions were self-evident.

"Times have changed, Mr. Lassalle." Bismarck waved dismissively, as if greeting an old acquaintance after years apart. "This isn't 1848 anymore. We've changed too, haven't we?"

As he spoke, Bismarck took a seat beside Lassalle, his tone unusually candid. "Of course, you can still call me a Junker if you insist, given the 'von' in my name—but if you'd care to chat with me, you might find that even a Junker like me can occasionally invite someone like you as a guest."

"It's hard to imagine such words coming from your mouth," Lassalle replied, his tone still tinged with sarcasm, though notably less so than before. Alongside the sarcasm was a trace of genuine puzzlement. "If you still consider yourself a Junker and are aware of my stance, you must know how limited our conversation can be..."

"Sometimes, identity or surname doesn't define a person entirely," Bismarck waved a hand, stood up, and retrieved a booklet from a suitcase on the table. Handing it to Lassalle, he added, "I suppose a typical Junker household wouldn't have something like this, would it?"

Lassalle took the booklet, his gaze immediately drawn to the beautifully printed Gothic German text on the cover. His pupils contracted sharply as he stared at it in shock. The title read:

Das Kommunistische Manifest genannt.

Lassalle had no doubt Bismarck had read it. He firmly believed that anyone literate during the aftermath of the 1848 revolution would have read some of it. But what astonished him was that Bismarck owned a copy, and judging by the wear on the booklet, he had read it more than once.

After a long moment, Lassalle returned the booklet to Bismarck and asked, "What do you think of it?"

"What do I think?" Bismarck took the booklet back and patted it affectionately. This question seemed more like a rhetorical musing; for a pragmatic thinker like Bismarck, "What do you think?" was far less crucial than "What do you do?"

Yet today's "What do you do?" depended precisely on "What do you think?" After a moment's thought, Bismarck replied, "Frankly, while there's much in it I can't agree with, it's filled with brilliant insights. For instance, its vision of the future state contains many ideas that have deeply moved me..."

As Bismarck continued, he occasionally looked Lassalle in the eye, lending his words an air of sincerity. Though Lassalle couldn't agree with all of Bismarck's viewpoints, it was clear that Bismarck had read and reflected on the booklet thoroughly. For a brief moment, Lassalle felt as if the man before him wasn't a rural Junker from Prussia but a steadfast revolutionary comrade. Yet as this illusion faded—especially under the stark clarity of the scar on Bismarck's face—the figure of Otto von Bismarck grew ever more distinct.

Bismarck concluded this portion of his remarks with:

"My junior at Berlin University was undoubtedly a brilliant man."

Lassalle, of course, knew who Bismarck meant—Karl Heinrich Marx. Bismarck, three years older and two years ahead at university, indeed had the right to call him a junior. Judging from Bismarck's remarks so far, he held Marx in relatively high regard.

Lassalle's own feelings about Marx were, however, complicated—just as Marx's were about him. Their ideological differences were by now stark, but they still recognized each other as friends and comrades, occasionally visiting one another. Yet their meetings often ended in disagreements, their sharp tongues sparking fierce debates.

Privately, though, Lassalle understood Marx's brilliance. While he sometimes vented anger by making unkind remarks about Marx, these were more emotional outbursts than genuine critiques. In calmer moments, Lassalle often reminisced about their earlier, closer days—when they not only exchanged ideas and tackled crises but also shared personal stories to lighten the mood.

Naturally, Marx had spoken about Bismarck, the towering Junker youth from Prussia who had been a campus celebrity at the time, a regular at parties and duels alike. Marx had regarded the younger Bismarck with disdain, describing him as a "brawling libertine." Lassalle found this accurate—but also recalled that Marx himself, during his time at Bonn University, had indulged in all-night drinking and even dueled with a young Prussian Junker over ideological differences.

Whenever Lassalle teased Marx, he'd think of these stories. But it was all in good humor—after all, who hadn't been young once?

"But," Bismarck interrupted Lassalle's reflections with a pivotal remark, "my clever junior made one grave mistake!"

Pointing to a passage in the booklet, Bismarck said, "Look here—'German workers,' 'German proletariat,' 'German bourgeoisie,' 'German revolution'—the text is full of 'Germany'!"

Then, with a sharp "snap," Bismarck closed the booklet and declared passionately, "Germany! Where is it? I can't find such a place!"

Lassalle seemed struck by something profound. Bismarck's exclamation, though uttered by him, echoed the words of the great poet Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller.

In the mid-19th century, Schiller was to the German people of various principalities what Lu Xun would be to the Chinese people of the 21st century. Virtually anyone who could read and write knew of Schiller, and it was rare to find someone who couldn't casually quote a few lines of his poetry. Hence, the quote from Schiller was one that Lassalle knew like the back of his hand.

Yet Bismarck was not inclined to stop there. He continued:

"There isn't a single city, not even a single place, where we can firmly declare: This is Germany. If we pose this question in Vienna, the answer is, This is Austria. If we ask it in Berlin, the answer is, This is Prussia. So, where is Germany?"

Lassalle's eyes reddened slightly. These were Goethe's words, and for Lassalle, they carried profound significance. In truth, both he and Bismarck's generation had grown up enlightened by the works of this great German poet and playwright—

Yes, where is Germany? If Germany does not exist, then where does one find the "German workers," the "German proletariat," the "German bourgeoisie"? Where does one ignite the spark of the "German revolution"?

Bismarck's eyes, too, turned red. In this moment, he seemed to step out of the shell of "Prussia" and become, temporarily, a "German nationalist." Rationally, he still understood that this was not entirely who he was, but who could say he wasn't expressing genuine emotion at this instant?

Suppressing the lump in his throat, Bismarck spoke in a voice no longer as sharp, his tone softened by emotion:

"Our grandparents couldn't find such a place, our parents couldn't find such a place, and we cannot allow our children to live without finding such a place! Before discussing any other questions, we must not forget: we are the only major power in continental Europe that has not achieved unification! We cannot leave this regret to our descendants!"

After pausing to steady his emotions, Bismarck continued:

"This is what I wanted to discuss with you. I believe we can have a conversation about this!"

"Not just a conversation, Herr Bismarck," Lassalle's voice was slightly hoarse.

"I believe we can work together for this goal!"

"I knew it! Herr Lassalle, I knew it!" Bismarck smiled. Though whether his plans would ultimately succeed remained uncertain, this beginning was undeniably smooth. Now, it was time for the next step.

"I think you and I will become friends," Bismarck said, shaking Lassalle's hand warmly. "And I believe that in the future, you will find we share more common ground. I know that many of your friends may be suffering from unjust treatment—"

"Not may be, they are undoubtedly suffering from unjust treatment!" Lassalle interrupted sharply.

Bismarck shrugged nonchalantly and continued as if unbothered: "Be that as it may, I am currently in no position to effect any fundamental changes to this situation. After all, I have only just returned to Berlin a few days ago. For the same reason, I also find it difficult to rescind the warrant against you…"

"There's no need for you to say more," Lassalle replied, his tone already returned to normal. Moments earlier, his rational mind had reasserted control, and he had anticipated what Bismarck was about to say, so he responded with nothing more than this casual remark.

"This is a small gesture I can offer," Bismarck said. The emotional performance and display of goodwill had concluded, and he knew it was time to move on to the next act. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two items and handed them to Lassalle:

"Here is a train ticket for tonight's journey to Switzerland and a check. My driver will take you to the station later this evening. No one will question you then. I hope the modest funds on this check will allow you to enjoy a few months of relaxation in Switzerland."

As he spoke, Bismarck patted Lassalle on the shoulder and said with genuine earnestness:

"It won't be long before you can return to Berlin openly and without fear!"