Chương 16: For the Children.jpg
"Save the children!"
This plea resonates profoundly with every parent and grandparent across the world. It stirs a primal, mammalian instinct to protect one's offspring.
Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, as individuals, were no exception to the emotional impact of such a cry. Yet, as seasoned politicians, they were acutely aware of the underlying implications when Prince Regent William voiced these words.
Bold optimism, rapid progress, and vibrant prosperity—these are the impressions many history textbooks convey about 19th-century Europe. Indeed, the period witnessed two major technological revolutions, significant strides in civil rights, and relentless struggles by revolutionaries. Viewed through this lens alone, it's no wonder the era often appears like an unstoppable march of progress.
However, this selective narrative overlooks the broader reality. The mid-19th century Europe was, in fact, defined by the bitter clashes between reactionary forces and progressive movements.
At the dawn of the century, Napoleon I crowned himself emperor, replacing the First Republic with the First French Empire. While Napoleon's empire could be described as a "bourgeois empire" and marked a step forward compared to the feudal Bourbon monarchy, its replacement of a republic represented a reactionary shift. Even Beethoven, who once fervently admired Napoleon, denounced him as a "petty tyrant trampling the people underfoot" upon hearing of his coronation.
The conclusion of the Napoleonic Wars saw an even fiercer backlash by conservative forces. The Bourbon monarchy was restored, and other European nations ruthlessly suppressed domestic progressives. The fleeting establishment of the Second French Republic and the uprisings of the 1848 revolutions soon succumbed to reactionary tides. Louis-Napoleon, a cunning manipulator of power, seized control to establish the Second French Empire. The once-resounding fervor of the 1848 revolutions was extinguished in mere months.
From then on, Europe was largely dominated by a patchwork of empires, kingdoms, and duchies. While these regimes, pressured by their people, reluctantly implemented political reforms, they remained fundamentally hostile to further progress. They seized any opportunity to reverse these changes and launch renewed counteroffensives.
One such wave of reaction came in the 1850s, following the 1848 revolutions. Across the European continent, so-called "hostile elements" were arrested or expelled en masse. Many revolutionary leaders found themselves forced to flee, taking refuge abroad to escape persecution.
The choice of exile destinations was limited. While the United States across the Atlantic was an attractive option, transatlantic travel was neither convenient nor affordable. For most, nearby Britain became the refuge of choice.
However, proximity was not the primary reason for choosing Britain. During the revolutionary fervor of 1848, Britain also experienced some unrest. Yet, due to proactive and effective reforms by both Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and the British government, the British Isles avoided large-scale internal conflict. Ireland did see a rebellion, but given Ireland's quasi-colonial status within the British Empire, this uprising was more about resisting oppressive British rule. Overwhelmed by the disparity in power, the Irish rebellion was swiftly suppressed. Thus, within the British Isles, the 1848 revolutionary wave left relatively little impact.
This relative stability in Britain created a comparatively relaxed political environment, and its tolerant stance towards refugees from continental Europe made it a haven for "hostile elements" from other nations.
However, the exiled revolutionaries who arrived in Britain were a mixed bag. Among them were great visionaries like Marx, but also anarchists and malefactors of various stripes. The influx was, in many ways, "a mixture of gold and sand." Over the ensuing decades, Europe saw an increase in kidnappings and assassinations, many linked to Britain's excessive leniency towards these individuals.
Prince Albert, aware of the diverse and complex backgrounds of these exiles, found his liberal convictions clashing with the challenges of governance. He believed in the ideals of liberty and was reluctant to impose strict scrutiny on every exile. Yet, the current situation was starkly different. The audacity of these individuals in targeting his infant grandson was utterly intolerable.
If attacks against despotic aristocrats could, however debatably, be cloaked in the guise of "resistance against tyranny," then targeting a newborn child—a symbol of pure innocence—was an indefensible act of terror.
"This is sheer terrorism!" Prince Albert declared, his voice brimming with righteous indignation. "I will not stand idly by and let such atrocities occur!"
Queen Victoria, observing her husband's intense reaction, reaffirmed her own stance. After nearly two decades of marriage, she understood his political ideals better than anyone. Albert aspired to build a moral society in Britain—one where ethics, beyond laws, parliament, and the police, served as an invisible, yet powerful, social contract. If Victoria had been familiar with Chinese culture, she might have summed up his aspirations with the phrase:
"To bring a Yao and Shun-like peace, and purify customs across the land."
She also knew that her "dearest Albert" was not merely a dreamer but a tireless reformer. He relentlessly educated her about the harsh realities beyond the gilded walls of Buckingham Palace—poverty, disease, harsh working conditions, and rampant crime. He fought tirelessly to address these societal ills.
Thus, Victoria was certain her husband would never turn a blind eye to "those wretches who would murder an innocent infant." In this matter, she stood by her husband without hesitation.
"We will push for legislation," Victoria said, shifting her gaze from Albert to her father-in-law, Prince Regent William. "If all goes well, the bill should pass within a month. From then on, we will enforce stricter scrutiny of foreigners entering Britain and conduct thorough reviews of those already here. Any individuals found problematic will be expelled immediately."
Hearing this, Prince Albert cast a grateful look at his wife. He knew that, despite being middle-aged, Victoria retained a youthful innocence and was intrinsically uninterested in statecraft. She fulfilled her monarchial duties more out of obligation than passion, often delegating key matters to him. That she now chose to personally join him in addressing this crisis spoke volumes.
"God bless us all!" he murmured.
Regent William struggled to keep his elation from showing too plainly. Since 1848, those pesky "radicals" had been hiding in Britain, colluding with remnants still concealed within Prussia. One day they'd issue a manifesto, the next they'd publish an editorial, occasionally causing violent incidents. Even before he became Regent, William had often been vexed by their antics. After taking up his role, these irritations turned into a constant source of frustration.
But frustration alone solved nothing. As Prussia's Regent, William merely acted on behalf of the king. He had no influence over the world's foremost power, the British Empire, let alone the means to meddle in its affairs. For years, he had no recourse.
Now, the situation was different. By a stroke of luck involving the near-tragic incident with his grandson Wilhelm, William had managed to secure a promise from the British royal couple. The prospect filled him with joy—though it didn't make Wilhelm's ordeal any less harrowing. William still gnashed his teeth at the memory of it, silently worrying about whether the ordeal might leave his grandson with some vague but lasting trauma.
Yet if this agreement came to fruition, the exiled radicals in Britain would have no choice but to flee to America. The distance between them and Prussia would stretch from a "mere narrow channel" to the vast, turbulent Atlantic Ocean. Their influence on Prussia would inevitably wane. The political benefits of this shift were enormous.
Still, it was gut-wrenching to think that his personal tragedy could translate into political gains. For a fleeting moment, William thought he might grasp why his royal brother had succumbed to mental illness—politics, after all, was a devil's trade.
But no matter his private turmoil, William needed to express gratitude to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. He knew these two were steadfast in their commitments. If they had confidence in broaching the subject with him, they likely had the ability to see it through—at least with a high probability of success. So, William expressed his thanks without hesitation:
"Thank you for everything! On behalf of young Willy, I must thank you both!"
"We're family; there's no need for thanks," Prince Albert replied.
"Besides," he continued, "this is all for the children! What we strive for today determines the kind of country they will grow up in."
"For the children!" Queen Victoria echoed in agreement.
After this exchange, events proceeded with little fanfare. The royal couple, still weary from travel, hurried back to London, and William returned to his other political duties. It seemed the matter had reached a conclusion.
But for many, this was only the beginning.
"Ah, Mr. Ferdinand Lassalle, what am I to do with you?"
In a temporary residence on Unter den Linden, reserved for returning diplomats, the towering and robust Otto von Bismarck sat in a chair, staring at the lanky man across from him on the sofa. His tone was laced with amusement.
"Clearly, you won't hand me over to the police," Lassalle replied with a shrug, his tone surprisingly light.
"If that were your intention, I wouldn't have been allowed to stay here for three days. So perhaps I should be the one asking the question, Mr. Otto von Bismarck: what do you plan to do with me?"
Bismarck smiled, though the meaning behind that smile was known only to him.
That day, Lassalle had escaped two Berlin secret police officers thanks to his unmatched speed. However, after running for hours in the snow, he was physically spent. Cold and starving, he had stumbled upon the door of Bismarck's temporary residence. At the time, Bismarck was away on official business. By some twist of fate, Bismarck's eldest son, Herbert, who had come to Berlin with his mother to greet his grandfather, answered the door and let Lassalle in.
It wasn't until the next day that Bismarck returned home to discover this unexpected guest.
Having personally witnessed the 1848 Revolution, Bismarck was no stranger to Lassalle. Though the two had never met, Bismarck had seen Lassalle's likeness many times—mostly on wanted posters. For his part, Lassalle was equally familiar with Bismarck, whose photos and illustrations often appeared in newspapers.
The moment they came face to face was, as one might imagine, incredibly awkward.
But Bismarck was, after all, Bismarck. His mind raced as he weighed the situation.
He could easily overpower Lassalle and deliver him to the secret police. However, complications abounded. Someone could seize on the fact that it was his son who opened the door and allowed Lassalle to stay the night, using it as a pretext to attack him. With his return to Berlin marking a critical juncture to assert his influence, a scandal like this could derail everything.
More troubling still, the Regent, William, already viewed Bismarck with suspicion. If rumors spread of him "colluding with radicals, only turning them in after negotiations failed," he might completely lose the Regent's trust. This could even jeopardize his son's future—a risk Bismarck could not afford.
After a moment's thought, Bismarck made his decision.
"It's settled, then," he muttered to himself. "For the sake of the children…"
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