'Good-bye, Captain,' Schlieffen answered. He had more than a little sympathy for Rosecrans' adjutant, a capable young man trapped in a position where his ability did his nation less good than it might have in the field.
The calendar said spring was only a few days away. Freezing rain pelted down in spite of what the calendar said. Schlieffen hardly noticed as he walked to the carriage waiting for him and climbed in. His mind was elsewhere. Napoleon or Clausewitz? Clausewitz or Napoleon? That he could not make a fact he knew spring up and stand to attention infuriated him.
'Back to the consul's establishment, Colonel?' the driver asked.
'Yes,' Schlieffen snapped. He paid no more attention to the driver's chattering teeth than he had to the weather that caused them. The wheels of the carriage slipped a little on the icy paving stones, but then the toe calks on the horse's shoes bit and the carriage began to roll.
Despite the weather, some sort of political demonstration was going on not far from the War Department building. Socialists, Schlieffen thought, seeing the red flags that hung sodden from their staffs. He'd seen more Socialist demonstrations than he liked back in Germany, but never till now one of this size in the United States.
When he reported what he had seen to Kurd von Schlozer, the German minister to the USA nodded. 'One faction of Blaine 's own party has made common cause with the Socialists,' Schlozer said.
'Really? I had not heard.' Save as they affected military affairs, Schlieffen paid little attention to politics.
Schlozer gave him a look that said he should have heeded them more closely. 'If we have no peace, soon we shall have fighting in the streets. With the Socialists now stronger, we may have revolution, Red revolution,' he said. 'This is a land of revolution, and the Socialists- the new Socialists, I mean-know it and exploit it.'
'God forbid,' Schlieffen said. 'If they try to raise a revolution, may they be met with iron and blood.' After using Bismarck 's famous phrase, he nodded to Schlozer. 'You know I feel the same about the Socialist movement in the Fatherland.'
'Oh, yes, my dear Colonel, of course,' Schlozer said. 'No man of property, no man of sense, could possibly say otherwise. But too many Americans, like too many Germans, have neither property nor sense. And the leaders of the Socialists here, like the leaders there, have an oversupply of cunning, if not of sense.'
'This has not been true in the United States,' Schlieffen said. 'So much I know-otherwise, the Socialists here would have stirred up far more trouble than they have.'
'Now, though, men who really know something of politics have started waving red flags for purposes of their own,' the German minister said. 'In matters of politics, Blaine is now as dead as a salt herring. Even if he could have been reelected before-which would have taken an act of God-he has no hope whatever with a large part of his party going over to the radicals. He must understand as much.'
'This is not good,' Schlieffen said, as he had to Rosecrans. 'A man without hope will do irrational things. Since Blaine did irrational things even when the situation for himself and his country looked better, who knows how crazy and wild he might become now?'
'We shall see.' Kurd von Schlozer sounded less gloomy than Schlieffen would have. Schlieffen wondered if his superior was deluding himself about how sensible President Blaine could be. From what the German military attache had seen, expecting common sense from Americans was like looking for water in a desert: you might find some, but, even if you did, it would be only an oasis in a vast stretch of hot, dry, burning sand.
'Napoleon!' he exclaimed suddenly, and felt much better about the world. Hot sand had made him think of Egypt, which had made him think of Bonaparte's campaign there, which in turn had reminded him of whose adage had crossed his mind during his conversation with Rosecrans.
Kurd von Schlozer gave him a curious look.
A couple of days later, after a cable from Berlin, Schlozer requested an audience with Blaine. When the request was granted, the German minister asked Schlieffen to accompany him. 'Of course, Your Excellency,' Schlieffen said, 'if you think my being there will do some good. If not, I have other matters to occupy my time.' He was still refining the plan for movement against France whose basic idea he'd borrowed from Lee's campaign in Pennsylvania. He'd had wires of his own from Berlin; the General Staff was enthusiastic about the outline he'd sent.
But Schlozer said, 'Military affairs are likely to be discussed, so your place is with me.' However much Schlieffen would have liked to go on burrowing through his books-inadequate though his research tools here in Philadelphia were-he could only obey. Hiding a sigh, he set down his pen and, carefully locking the door to his office behind him, followed Schlozer downstairs to the carriage.
Bright sunshine made him blink. The bad weather had blown past Philadelphia the day before; now he could believe spring was at hand. Soon-all too soon-summer would grip the eastern seaboard of the United States in its hot, sweaty fist.
Down from Germantown the carriage made its way, dodging among others like it, rumbling wagons, men on horseback, men on bicycles with improbably high front wheels, and swarms of men and women on foot. And then, as had happened to Schlieffen coming back from the War Department, a political rally snarled traffic that would have been bad without it. Now red flags rippled in a friendly breeze; now not only the most dedicated Socialists, those fearing neither catarrh nor pneumonia, assembled under the flags. Now nervous-looking soldiers helped police route buggies and horses and pedestrians around the streets the demonstrators clogged.
Schlieffen and Schlozer never came within two blocks of the rally. Even so, the Socialists' shouts rose above the clatter of horses' hooves, the rattle of iron tires on paving, and the squeals and groans of axles needing grease. 'Can you make out what they are saying, Your Excellency?'' Schlieffen asked.
'I believe the cry is, 'Justice!' ' Schlozer clicked his tongue between his teeth. 'If I were petitioning the Almighty, or even my government, I would sooner ask for mercy. But then, I am an old man, and well aware of how much I need it. Waving flags in the street is not an old man's sport.'
Because of the rally, they got to the Powel House fifteen minutes late. President Blaine brushed aside Kurd von Schlozer's apologies. 'Don't trouble yourself about it, Your Excellency,' Blaine said. 'I want to tell you that I received yesterday a telegram from the U.S. minister in Berlin informing me that his talks with Chancellor Bismarck continue to go well, and that prospects look bright for increased cooperation in all spheres between our two great countries.'
'I am delighted to hear this, Mr. President,' Schlozer said, and Schlieffen nodded, knowing all spheres included the military. But the German minister looked grim as he continued, 'I also received yesterday a telegram from Berlin, whose contents I wish to discuss with you now. I must tell you that the governments of Britain, France, and the Confederate States are most dissatisfied with the dilatory pace of negotiations with your government. Since Germany is neutral in this conflict, they have united in asking Chancellor Bismarck to make me the channel through which they express to you their dissatisfaction. If you refuse to meet their demands, I cannot answer for the consequences.'
Blaine flushed. His large, bulbous nose went redder than the rest of his face. 'Their demands are outrageous, impossible!' he shouted, as if he were on the rostrum rather than sitting in his office. 'How am I to yield so large a portion of my home state to the invaders? How am I to acquiesce in the Confederacy's acquisition of lands to which that nation has no right?'
'If you had yielded Sonora and Chihuahua before, you would not now the loss of part of Maine face,' Schlieffen said. 'You have lost the war. 'Vae victis,' as Brennus the Gaul said to the Romans he had beaten.'
Blaine glared at him. 'The Romans ended up whipping the Gauls, so that 'Woe to the conquered' applied to the conquerors. We can fight on, too.'
Sadly, Schlieffen shook his head. 'No, Your Excellency, not in this war. You are defeated.'
Kurd von Schlozer said, 'The reason we were tardy, Mr. President, was the large Socialists demonstration that forced traffic to make a detour around it.'
Blaine 's complexion darkened once more. 'Socialists!' he said, as if pronouncing an obscenity. 'Most of them are traitors to the Republican Party, nothing else.'
'As may be,' Schlozer said. 'Would you not agree, though, that they leave your own political future more… uncertain than it was before the schism in your party took place?'
Now Blaine had heard blunt talk from both the German attache and the German minister. 'You tread close to the edge, sir,' he growled. Schlozer sat impassive, waiting for a more responsive answer. At last, obviously hating every word, Blaine said, 'You may be right.'
That was the response for which Schlozer had waited. 'Being now without hope and so without fear, Your
