the truest defenders of the State.  Let people not confuse patriotism and Liberalism.  Who had done more for the true political independence of the State, that independence without which all freedom was impossible, than the Prussian nobles?  At the end of the Seven Years’ War boys had stood at the head of the army, the only survivors of their families.  The privileges of the nobles had been taken from them, but they had not behaved like the democrats; their loyalty to the State had never wavered; they had not even formed a Fronde.  He was not ashamed of the name of Junker:  “We will bring the name to glory and honour,” were almost the last words he spoke in Parliament.

Bismarck soon became completely at home in the House.  Notwithstanding the strength of his opinions and the vigour with which he gave expression to them, he was not unpopular, even among his opponents.  He was always a gentleman and a man of the world; he did not dislike mixing with men of all classes and all parties; he had none of that stiffness and hauteur which many of his friends had acquired from their military pursuits.  His relations with his opponents are illustrated by an anecdote of which there are many versions.  He found himself one day while in the refreshment room standing side by side with d’Ester, one of the most extreme of the Republican party.  They fell into conversation, and d’Ester suggested that they should make a compact and, whichever party succeeded in the struggle for power, they should each agree to spare the other.  If the Republicans won, Bismarck should not be guillotined; if the monarchists, d’Ester should not be hung.  “No,” answered Bismarck, “that is no use; if you come into power, life would not be worth living.  There must be hanging, but courtesy to the foot of the gallows.”

If he was in after years to become known as the great adversary of Parliamentary government, this did not arise from any incapacity to hold his own in Parliamentary debate.  He did not indeed aim at oratory; then, as in later years, he always spoke with great contempt of men who depended for power on their rhetorical ability.  He was himself deficient in the physical gifts of a great speaker; powerful as was his frame, his voice was thin and weak.  He had nothing of the actor in him; he could not command the deep voice, the solemn tones, the imposing gestures, the Olympian mien by which men like Waldeck and Radowitz and Gagern dominated and controlled their audience.  His own mind was essentially critical; he appealed more to the intellect than the emotions.  His speeches were always controversial, but he was an admirable debater.  It is curious to see how quickly he adopts the natural Parliamentary tone.  His speeches are all subdued in tone and conversational in manner.  Many of them were very carefully prepared, for though he did not generally write them out, he said them over and over again to himself or to Kleist, with whom he lived in Berlin.  They are entirely unlike any other speeches—­he has, in fact, in them, as in his letters, added a new chapter to the literature of his country, hitherto so poor in prose.