“The foreign policy which the government has pursued since the end of the war rejects the idea of revenge. Its purpose is rather the achievement of a mutual understanding.”
~ Wilhelm Marx
The provisional American embassy in Berlin was a grand old building, inside and outside. It was the house of Alanson Houghton, the current American ambassador, though it seemed like he was living in someone else’s world. The gilded furnishings and pastille furniture seemed to reflect a bygone era, one in which Germans did not have to flog their old possessions to keep their families from starvation.
Robert Oaks tried to act as graciously as possible as the French and German delegations walked in, he tried and failed to start a conversation with the French ambassador, Monsieur dr Margerie, but the somewhat aristocratic old diplomat simply nodded to him before grinning at Robert’s superior. The snub meant nothing to the Virginian, trying to arrange this meeting had been a nightmare of backroom deals and late night arguments but finally the two parties were here that could finally take some burden off of Germany, and what report felt was his own responsibility to the nation.The sights on the streets, the hungry mobs, and the ever growing number of communists and other radicals promising salvation if only they would tear the whole system down, had been enough to disturb him recently. If German democracy failed, then the peace of Europe as a whole was at stake.
Ernst, the German Marxist who had approached him in the cabaret had left an impression. As Robert had been left to dwell on the idea of a new war breaking out, one that could be prevented before another Versailles, he had realised there was something that could be done. He did not know de Merger well, but Houghton had brought him round. It seemed the two had bonded sometime beforehand over an impressionist art exhibition. Houghton had been rather confused when Robert had told him about his encounter with the German deputy, but it hadn’t taken him long to contact his French counterpart to see if there was anything to it. The reply had been unresponsive, but de Merger hadn’t said no. He only said that the violence had to end before he could meet any German delegation.
Weeks of tension had passed but de Merger had remained adamant that there was nothing he could do until, almost overnight, the violence in the Ruhr settled down after all. The transition was so sharp as to almost be jarring, but perhaps that effect that had its benefits. The French ambassador had actually called the American embassy as the rumours began to circulate.
The supposed leader of the so-called ‘Red Front’, a man Robert had had the displeasure of listening to on the radio only a few weeks beforehand, had apparently been forced to flee the country. The rumours that he was now in Moscow had seemed to confirm the German case that he was a rabid communist that they were not responsible for. German relations with the Soviets were more cordial than most countries experiences with the new Russian regime, but the notion that he could have somehow organised the entire operation was absurd. It seemed the French had been inclined to agree, Robert couldn’t help but feel that all along they had been as desperate for a way out of the Ruhr fiasco as the Germans had been.
Stresemann had resigned as Chancellor the day after he had announced that Germany would resume reparations payments to the French, the French had arrived one week later. It was compared to another Christmas truce by some of the more sympathetic German journalists, whilst even the more critical elements admitted that after his only success, it made sense for the Chancellor to resign when the going was good. Stresemann had sworn to devote himself fully to resolving the lingering problems that had been caused by the chaos of the First World War, and newly installed as foreign secretary he could throw his heart and soul into building a solution. It was a mighty task, but Robert couldn’t but feel that the man looked like he had had a weight lifted from him as Houghton showed the respective delegations to their seats. With his official duty having been done, Robert left the meeting room and returned to the house’s large lobby, to meet the only German visitor who wasn’t there on an official capacity.
Ernst seemed to be as taken aback by the opulence as the French ambassador, though he seemed even more glad to see Robert walking towards him.
“I can’t begin to tell how relieved I am just now.” His excellent English was broken as he broke out into a small laugh. Robert couldn’t help but grin.
“I’d feel more confident if you were in there.” Ernst laughed again, waving his hand away dismissively. The Social Democrats were out of government with Stresemann’s departure, including Ernst.
“I will be back in government soon enough but I trust Stresemann not to bungle things in the meantime. Thanks to you, my friend,” He patted Robert on the shoulder before going on sincerely, “I feel like we can finally try and get some direction in the new Germany. No more scathing at the past and proposing radical solutions, now we can finally move forward in a new world.”
Robert couldn’t help but share Ernst’s optimism.
“There’s a certain poetry to all of this. Overthrowing your monarchy might have caused Germany some teething problems, but if the Republic can survive this crisis, then it will thrive in times of serenity.”
Ernst nodded vigorously, “You know, this really does feel more like the beginning of Spring than the beginning of Winter.”
Robert agreed, “I only hope it’s a long Spring.”
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The sun had already set in Doorn, as an orphaned son gazed eastward and contemplated his future.
From his exiled residence, the former Crown Prince Wilhelm had sat in the same humiliating comfort he had grown used to as he had heard the optimistic reports of receding crisis come in from his estate’s private radio. His Fatherland was apparently saved, as was the treacherous Republic that had driven his father to an early grave. At least for the moment.
It had seemed like this crisis would pass but how long would it be before the next one came up? He had already been visited by more than a few admirers but their begging for him to return to the throne was petty nostalgia. The house of Hohenzollern would not disgrace itself when he was the head, and showing up at every possible moment of opportunity would only have dragged his father’s name through the dirt.
It had been the last Kaiser’s dying wish that his son would not pursue a return to the throne, or any other political meddling in the new republic. Wilhelm had promised him that he would not do so, but the time would come when the peoples would beg for their rightful leaders to return and then he would answer their prayers. At the moment when the screams of desperation where so loud that they could be heard from Holland he would fulfill his reason for being.
For a son’s promise to a dying father was nothing in the face of a Kaiser’s divine duty.
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The painting is
The Dance of Life by Edvard Munch