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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · September 17, 1867

Austria and Prussia.

The following interesting view of the present situation of these two European powers, we copy from the Editorial correspondence of the Scientific American:—

BERLIN, July 23, 1867.

In the show window of one of the numerous shops in the beautiful street called “Unter den Linden,” is a characteristic double picture. One represents a solitary mounted figure clothed in the splendid uniform of an Austrian Hussar. Underneath are the words, “Who is Prussia?” The other represents two mounted cavaliers—one an Austrian, the other a Prussian. The latter answers laconically, “Here is Prussia,” having, in the mean time, drawn his sword and knocked off the Austrian's cap in the coolest manner possible.

Such, at this moment, is the situation of the two nations which the group represents. Austria seeking to control the destinies of the German Confederation, finds in Prussia a power to dispute her claims, and in the seven weeks' war of 1866, the former inquires “Where is Prussia?” One year ago, on the sanguinary fields of Koniggratz and Sadowa, the question was answered, “Here is Prussia.”

Germany has always puzzled me a good deal—and when the question has been asked, “Where is Germany?” the answer has been: Austria, Bohemia, Bavaria, Westphalia, Wurtemberg, Saxony, Prussia, Hanover, Hesse Cassel, Saxe-Coburg, Saxe Weimar, besides a score of other petty Dukedoms—a sort of mosaic work of little states—so that a traveler is fairly bewildered by their number. At one time the provinces of Rhenish-Prussia could not be reached from Berlin, in a direct route, without passing through territories governed by other rulers. The success of Prussia in war has altered this state of things, and now she has a free pass to go in a straight line. The king of Hanover has voluntarily exiled himself rather than to yield his regal rights, but his queen refuses to go, and is compelled to submit to the authority of the king of Prussia, who, it is said, appoints her household servants. The duke of Nassau, for the same reason, takes up his abode in the mountains of Switzerland, and reminds his people that for six years his father was wrongfully deprived of his ducal rights, and if need be, he can stay away as long. It must not be supposed that the success of Prussia in war has made a homogeneous people. On the contrary, while the population on the lower Rhine shout lustily, “God save the king and Bismark,” up the Rhine, and much nearer to this capital, there is a sullen bitterness of feeling which often vents itself in language of unmistakable disapprobation, and the presence of the most loyal troops are required to secure obedience.

Military surveillance, however, is not so rigidly exercised over the people in Prussia as it is in France. The Germans are a brave and well-educated people, and it would not be safe to undertake to reduce them to a position of military vassalage such as exists in Russia, Austria, and, to a great extent, in France, where the masses are unlearned, and by long habit have bowed the neck to the most grievous burdens.

It is said that every soldier in the Prussian army is able to read and write. By law all the children, male and female, between the ages of six and fourteen, are compelled to attend school. They are taught reading, writing, and the elementary studies generally, to which is also added singing and religious instruction. It is not at all strange, therefore, that in time of war an army so composed should be strong and reliable—a band of Spartans who fight for “God and Fatherland.” The whole population is trained for war, but not for the army, so that when the war-cry is sounded the people drop their implements of peace and seize the musket, to the use of which they are thoroughly well skilled. Two years ago king William and Bismark were very unpopular, but the events of 1866 have rendered them both objects of mingled pride and popularity. Had they failed, a fearful retribution would have covered them with oblivion and contempt.

King William is in one sense an accidental Sovereign, for although of the royal family, he succeeded to the throne in 1861 upon the death of his brother, who left no heirs. The show windows of Berlin testify to the general admiration in which the king is now held by the people. The photographic art seems to have exhausted itself in presenting him in almost every posture that befits his position, and the chisel is now being employed to mold the kingly features into comely form, though it must be confessed that His Majesty is by no means a poor subject. He has a somewhat commanding figure, a bright blue eye, with a smiling, open countenance, which reveals a great deal of the bon homme, while his habits are very simple and correct. At his summer residence of Babelsberg, in Potsdam, either himself or some one else has shown a great deal of excellent taste and good judgment. It is not exactly a palace; on the contrary, it has the outward air and style of a fine place upon our own romantic Hudson. The gardens are very beautiful and well kept, and but for a knowledge of the fact beforehand, nothing inside would indicate to the visitor that it might not be the residence of some private gentleman who had plenty of money to purchase fine pictures and other rare and beautiful objects of art and vertu.

The bed-chamber of the king is a curiosity, for instead of finding richly-carved furniture, garnished over with tinselry, the visitor sees a small, plain, cottage bedstead made of maple wood, and provided with a blue cotton chintz curtain and a leather pillow, while upon the walls of the room there are no ornaments other than some neatly-framed, steel engravings, chiefly of battle scenes. The sitting room adjoining is also quite simple, and with the exception of many beautiful small articles, it is less elaborate, and much more sensibly furnished than would satisfy some of our would-be nabobs who ape the manners and customs of aristocratic wealth. The king was at one time excessively fond of the chase, and the halls of Babelsberg, in the number of mounted stag and deers' heads, abundantly testify to the skill of the royal hand.

Bismark is the power behind the throne—“an iron man”—who, destitute of that magnetic influence which draws the multitude—insensible to fear, and courting not the eclat of popular applause—furnishes the State with cold, calculating brains. Gen. Moltke, a name but little known in our country, is regarded by the Prussians as entitled, more than any one else, to the credit of the military plans of the campaign of last year. The royal family, in the persons of the Crown Prince and Prince Frederick Charles, distinguished themselves as commanding generals. They both exhibited the characteristics of Frederick the Great, who could play the flute, write poetry, and fight a battle.

To speculate upon this future of the nation is useless; but certain it is, that the people so suddenly expanded are by no means free from apprehension that in some way a new war is approaching; but I trust that human sacrifice to elevate and maintain kings and emperors, who seem to be a great set of commercial and political robbers, may finally come to an end in the universal peace and brotherhood of nations. I cannot, however, dismiss this subject without expressing a word of commiseration in behalf of the present king of Saxony. He was just stupid enough to sympathise with Austria. The result has been, that though occupying his royal palace at Dresden, he has really none of the attributes of a king. His army is commanded by the king of Prussia, and he has not even the poor privilege of controlling his own telegraphs, post-offices, and railways, and even his custom-house appears to have disappeared, as no examination of baggage took place on the Saxon frontier. The Saxons say he is still king; but ask them how, and with a shrug and a grunt they answer, “we don't know.”