Blood and Iron by John Hubert Greusel
Blood and Iron by John Hubert Greusel
Hark, Hark! The giant's ponderous hammer rings on the anvil of destiny. Enter, thou massive figure, Bismarck, and in deadly earnest take thy place before Time's forge.
? It is, it must be, a large story-big with destiny! The details often bore with their monotony; they do not at all times march on; they drag, but they do indeed never halt permanently; ahead always is the great German glory.
? Forward march, under Prince Bismarck. He is our grim blacksmith, looming through the encircling dark, massive figure before Time's forge.
The sparks fly, the air rings with the rain of blows: he is in deadly earnest, this half-naked, brawny Prussian giant; magnificent in his Olympian mien; his bellows cracking, his shop aglow with cheery-colored sparks as the heavy hammer falls on the unshapen ores on the big black anvil.
? Thus, toiling hour after hour in the heat and sweat, our Pomeranian smith with ponderous hammer beats and batters the stubborn German iron into a noble plan-for a great Nation!
* * *
? From a human point, we do not always see the ultimate glory.
For that is obscured by dark clouds of party strife, extending over years, the caprices of men and the interplay of ambitions both within and without the distracted German lands. Russia, Austria, Italy, Great Britain, France, Spain, have their spies engaged in all the under-play of political intrigue; there are a thousand enemies at home and abroad, in camp, court and peasant's cottage.
? And at times, weary of it all, we throw down the book convinced that, in a welter of sordid ends, the cause is lost in shame.
But, somehow, some way, Germany does in truth ultimately emerge triumphant, in spite of her amazing errors and the endless plots of enemies.
She does indeed justify her manhood-and thus the Bismarck story is of imperishable glory.
* * *
? We say that Bismarck had to re-inspire the Germans to be a fighting nation.
What we mean is that the spirit of the ancient Teutons had to be aroused; for though it slumbered for centuries, it never died.
Rome found that out when she was still in her infancy; the Germans burnt the town by the Tiber; and the fearsome struggle between the Romans and the Germanic tribesmen lasted almost unbroken for nearly five centuries.
? The Romans regarded the Germans as the bravest people in the world.
The migrations of the Cimbri and Teutones, and the frightful struggles in which after superhuman endeavors the Roman Marius destroyed his German enemies is one of the heroic pages of all history. It was a hand-to-hand contest, and torrents of human blood ran that day. Menzel tells us, (Germany, p. 85), that the place of battle enriched by a deluge of blood and ultimately fertilized by heaps of the slain, became in after years the site of vineyards whose wines were eagerly sought by connoisseurs.
? The Cimbri were drawn up in a solid square, each side of which measured 7,000 paces. The foremost ranks were fastened together with chains, that the enemy might not readily break through. Even the German dogs that guarded the baggage train fought with animal ferocity. The battle went against the Germans and the slaughter was frightful. When all was lost, the Germans killed their women and children, rather than see them fall into the hands of the Romans. German courage inspired terror and created foreboding throughout the Roman world. It is a heroic story and sustains the German tradition that Germans born free under their ancient oaks never will be slaves, though the whole world is against them.
The success varied, but the Germans conquered, even in death, becoming lineal descendants of the Empire. And on the ruins were builded the German nation, as the successor of the old Holy Roman Empire.
* * *
? We picture to you these shadowy glimpses of remote battle-scenes to show you that Germans were ever fighting men, who preferred death to loss of liberty.
On the ruins of Roman imperial glory, Teutonic conquerors founded an Empire that defied time and chance for upwards of 1,000 years; then there crept in a peculiar dry rot. The ancient German oak died at the top. Along came Napoleon, hacking away the limbs and scarring the gnarled trunk with fire and sword. The ruin seemed complete. Dead at the top, dead at the root, men said. And what men say is true. There is no longer a Germany, except as a mere geographical designation; when you speak of the German Empire you recall merely the echo of a once mighty name.
It now becomes Bismarck's solemn duty, fortified by a noble appreciation of the ancient legend, to make the German oak green again in its immortal youth. And he watered the roots with blood.
? We cannot tell you the great story in a few baby-sentences; you must read and grasp the broad spirit as it gradually unfolds. Bismarck in the crudity of his early inspiration scarcely finds himself for years. But all the while he is holding fast to the idea that the Fatherland should under God be free and united, sustained by the ancient Teutonic brotherhood in arms.
We present him in part as a tyrant, a wild, intolerant spirit, working his own plans to be sure, but those plans in the end are to redound to the good of the nation he long and unselfishly serves.
We ask you to see him in his weakness and we hope with some of his strength, always with his high purpose.
We ask you to behold him as a man with all a strong man's frailties and faults. We do not spare him. We paint him black, now and then, deliberately, that you may know how very small ofttimes are the very great; also to realize that if we are to wait for perfect human beings to front our reforms then those reforms will never be made.
Bismarck is too great a man to be belittled by the glamour of spurious praise for spurious virtues.
It was not necessary for him to cease to be a human being in order to carry out his work. He remained, to the end, grossly human, for which the gods be praised.
Silvia lost everything in one night-her parents,her trust,and her mate. Coming home from their funeral,she found her "fated"partner,Zack,tangled with another she-wolf. "You'll always be my Luna... even if I need variety,"he said,smirking. Heartbroken but fierce,she rejected him-and turned to someone far more dangerous. "I need help,"she whispered. Sherman leaned closer,his voice like silk over steel. "I offer more than help,little wolf. I offer everything he couldn't give you." Now married to Zack's powerful half-brother,Silvia plays a deadly game of loyalty,vengeance,and survival. But Sherman Carter doesn't help for free-and as their bond deepens,truths unravel. Is Silvia just a pawn in Sherman's war? Or is she becoming the Queen who'll burn the whole pack down? When love,betrayal,and bloodlines collide,how far will one omega go to save her family-and destroy the mate who broke her soul?
"You need a bride, I need a groom. Why don't we get married?" Both abandoned at the altar, Elyse decided to tie the knot with the disabled stranger from the venue next door. Pitying his state, she vowed to spoil him once they were married. Little did she know that he was actually a powerful tycoon. Jayden thought Elyse only married him for his money, and planned to divorce her when she was no longer of use to him. But after becoming her husband, he was faced with a new dilemma. "She keeps asking for a divorce, but I don't want that! What should I do?"
After a one-night stand with a stranger, Roselyn woke up to find only a bank card without a PIN number. Still in a daze, she was detained on charges of theft. Just as the handcuffs were about to close, the mysterious man reappeared, holding her pregnancy report. "You're pregnant with my child," he said coldly. Shocked, Roselyn was whisked away in a helicopter to the presidential palace, where she learned the truth: the man from that night was none other than the country's most powerful and influential leader!
Allison lost the baby. She had loved Alpha Lucian for nine long years. To marry him,she fast-tracked her graduation,and for two years,she endured his coldness,his absences,and his indifference in silence. The day she miscarried,all she wanted was a sliver of comfort. Instead,he hung up on her. The next second she saw him,he was on national television-holding a funeral for his ex-girlfriend's dog. That was the moment Allison realized she had never been a wife in his eyes-only a pawn in their twisted game. Her heart shattered. She asked for a divorce. After walking away from her loveless marriage,Allison buried herself in work. Once mocked and looked down on,she rose like a phoenix-building an empire worth billions. But the divorce papers never came. And the man who had once treated her like a stranger? He started showing up everywhere-refusing to let go. After the charity gala,Allison was heading to her car when the once cold and untouchable Alpha suddenly cornered her against the wall,his eyes burning with desperation. "Baby,come home with me... please." Allison only smiled. "Alpha Lucian ,don't call me that. We're already divorced. I'm single now."
"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."
The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.
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