Nothing was now left for the aged Prussian king but to put upon his head the imperial crown of Germany, for all the German States were finally united under him.  The scene took place at Versailles in the Hall of Mirrors, in probably the proudest palace ever erected since the days of Nebuchadnezzar.  Surrounded by princes and generals, Chancellor Bismarck read aloud the Proclamation of the Empire, and the new German emperor gave thanks to God.  It was a fitting sequence to the greatest military success since Napoleon crushed the German armies at Jena and Austerlitz.  The tables at last were turned, and the heavy, phlegmatic, intelligent Teutons triumphed over the warlike and passionate Celts.  So much for the genius of the greatest general and the greatest diplomatist that Europe had known for half-a-century.

Bismarck’s rewards for his great services were magnificent, quite equal to those of Wellington or Marlborough.  He received another valuable estate, this time from his sovereign, which gift made him one of the greatest landed proprietors of Prussia; he was created a Prince; he was decorated with the principal orders of Europe; he had augmented power as chancellor of confederated Germany; he was virtual dictator of his country, which he absolutely ruled in the name of a wearied old man passed seventy years of age.  But the minister’s labors and vexations do not end with the Franco-German war During the years that immediately follow, he is still one of the hardest-worked men in Europe.  He receives one thousand letters and telegrams a day.  He has to manage an unpractical legislative assembly, clamorous for new privileges, and attend to the complicated affairs of a great empire, and direct his diplomatic agents in every country of Europe.  He finds that the sanctum of a one-man power is not a bed of roses.  Sometimes he seeks rest and recreation on one of his estates, but labors and public duties follow him wherever he goes.  He is too busy and preoccupied even for pleasure, unless he is hunting boars and stags.  He seems to care but little for art of any kind, except music; but once in his life has he ever visited the Museum of Berlin; he never goes to the theatre.  He appears as little as possible in the streets, but when recognized he is stared at as a wonder.  He lives hospitably but plainly, and in a palace with few ornaments or luxuries.  He enshrouds himself in mystery, but not in gloom.  Few dare approach him, for his manners are brusque and rough, and he is feared more even than he is honored.  His aspect is stern and haughty, except when he occasionally unbends.  In his family he is simple, frank, and domestic; but in public he is the cold and imperative dictator.  Even the royal family are uncomfortable in his commanding and majestic presence; everybody stands in awe of him but his wife and children.  He caresses only his dogs.  He eats but once a day, but his meal is enough for five men; he drinks a quart of beer or wine without taking the cup from his mouth; he smokes