This whispered remark was heard loud and clear by Smith, who was cradled in Frederick's arms. While it is often said that "royalty is prone to callousness," Frederick clearly still harbored unresolved feelings about how his father had abandoned his wife and children to flee to London in 1848. To be fair, it was the kind of thing that naturally left a lasting sting.
However, the King of Prussia, Wilhelm, who was currently seated comfortably in his carriage, was unlikely to be aware of the resentment brewing in his son's heart. For Wilhelm, the opportunity to temporarily escape the burdens of state affairs, enjoy a full day of horseback riding, and witness the latest rifle demonstration was deeply gratifying. Even the thought of returning to Berlin to face the myriad complications awaiting him did not dampen his spirits.
Perhaps it was precisely due to this pleasant mood that he invited his Minister of War, Albrecht von Roon, to share his carriage. Of course, Wilhelm was fully aware that Roon would inevitably bring up state matters. After all, Roon had served under him since Wilhelm was merely a prince, and he knew the man's temperament all too well.
The same could be said for Roon—he understood his old superior just as well.
He still vividly recalled his first time working with Wilhelm. It was in 1848, when Roon, a young officer who had already made a name for himself within the General Staff and an ambitious reformer, finally received the appointment he had long dreamed of. That spring, he bid farewell to his student of four years, Prince Friedrich Karl, and traveled to Koblenz to assume the role of Chief of Staff of the Prussian 8th Army. At the time, he was merely a major.
No one can predict how fate will shape their path. Just as his spirited and ambitious student Friedrich Karl could not have foreseen that he would one day earn the fearsome moniker of "the Blood Prince" across Europe, Roon himself had no idea that his destiny would be forever altered in Koblenz.
Who could have imagined? Roon had originally arrived with the intent of spearheading military reforms.
He knew time was short. To the north of Prussia, in southern Jutland, the Schleswig War was raging—years later, this conflict would come to be known as the First Schleswig War. Though the 8th Army was not scheduled for immediate deployment, war was unpredictable. Worse yet, strikes and uprisings were surging across the German states like rolling spring thunder, and no one knew if the situation would spiral out of control.
So, on his second day at the 8th Army headquarters, Roon was eager to get started. "We must not waste a single minute!" were the first words he spoke to his adjutant that morning. He had planned to say much more, but he never got the chance.
A visitor appeared at his office door, knocking lightly before addressing him in a polite, composed manner:
"I presume you must be Major Albrecht von Roon, my Chief of Staff."
Roon turned to see Wilhelm, not yet king, standing in the doorway. His imposing frame nearly filled the entrance of the office, which had once seemed spacious. It was the first time Roon had truly studied the future monarch.
Wilhelm was then 51 years old, full of vitality and energy. His slightly balding head and thick, bushy beard gave him an air of rugged determination. The way he strode toward Roon exuded ambition and purpose.
"If a Prussian soldier had to choose a model to emulate, Prince Wilhelm would undoubtedly be the first choice!"
Roon had thought at the time. "If there were any superior who could best support my reform efforts, it would surely be Prince Wilhelm!"
But fate had its own designs. The dream of military reform was soon overshadowed by the brutal reality of suppressing civilian uprisings. As a Junker aristocrat, Roon had no sympathy for liberal revolutionaries, yet he did not believe that Prussia's military should be primarily tasked with internal suppression. Nevertheless, when Prince Wilhelm ordered artillery to be used against insurgents, Roon carried out the order without hesitation. He could still recall the sight of double-loaded canister shot tearing through the streets.
"After the metal storm, the streets ran red with blood." He had written these words in his journal that very night. Over time, however, he stopped keeping a journal—he could not even remember where his old diaries had ended up.
Not that it mattered—what serious person kept a diary anyway?
From that moment on, Roon became one of Wilhelm's staunchest allies and most loyal subordinates. This allegiance made it difficult for him to comment on his superior's later flight to London, but privately, he had once confided in Bismarck that Wilhelm was, to some extent, "too soft-hearted." This, as it happened, was also Bismarck's assessment of the king.
By now, Roon fully understood that his old superior, King Wilhelm, was not a seasoned politician. As a soldier, Wilhelm was impeccable, but in politics, he was always swayed by the most persuasive voice, regardless of whether that influence was beneficial or harmful.
Nevertheless, Roon considered himself first and foremost a soldier. He was, after all, Wilhelm's Minister of War. Just as he had done 14 years earlier, he still reported to the same bearded superior. In such circumstances, a subtle and steady approach was preferable to a stormy confrontation.
And so, Roon leisurely picked up the beautifully crafted rifle from its case—the very Dreyse 1862 breech-loading rifle that had so impressed the Hohenzollerns during the demonstration. He expertly worked the bolt, his fingers tracing over the chamber, which had long since cooled in the crisp Berlin spring air, leaving only the faintest scent of gunpowder.
"Look here, Your Majesty!" Roon cradled the rifle, his body gently swaying with the carriage's movement. The metal parts gleamed under the carriage lamps, naturally drawing Wilhelm's attention.
"A barrel and mechanisms made of cast steel—cheaper yet sturdier. A smaller, lighter bullet with increased velocity and power. Copper-cased cartridges that eliminate concerns over gas leaks and corrosion, making handling cleaner and safer. A shorter, thicker firing pin that won't break even after firing 2,000 rounds. Herr Dreyse and Herr Mauser are truly exceptional!"
"Indeed!" Wilhelm nodded in agreement, recalling the thrilling rifle demonstration earlier that day. "Who would have thought that our weapons development had advanced to such a degree!"
Roon had led Wilhelm exactly where he wanted him. He continued smoothly:
"Even more remarkable, Your Majesty, is that these rifles and their ammunition are quite affordable. Our previous Dreyse 1841 needle rifles cost 64 marks each, but according to Herr Dreyse, the new 1862 model is 4 marks cheaper—only 60 marks per rifle. The cost of ammunition is about the same as paper cartridges, roughly 80 marks per 1,000 rounds. So, if we equip each rifle with 1,000 rounds, the total cost per soldier is just 140 marks!"
Wilhelm nodded in approval at these calculations, his interest piqued...
King William listened quietly to Ron's speech. He had long understood that Ron would not limit the discussion to just the performance of weapons. However, throughout the conversation, Ron's wording had not caused him any displeasure. He was simply fulfilling his duty, just as he had done in his years as Chief of Staff."You might as well be more explicit," King William said, spreading his hands toward Ron. "How many of the latest Dreyse rifles do you think we need to procure? Or rather, how much money—equivalent to the cost of acquiring that many rifles—do we need to spend?"
Seeing that the King had actively steered the conversation toward money, Ron felt there was no longer a need to take a roundabout approach. He placed the rifle between his legs, twirled his beard with one hand, and gently stroked the "latest German technology" with the other. Taking his time, he said, "I believe we need to spend an amount equivalent to the cost of 500,000 rifles. Of these, 460,000 will be complete rifles along with their corresponding ammunition. The remaining amount, equivalent to 40,000 rifles and ammunition, will be used for spare parts. As for the total cost..."
Saying this, Ron carefully placed the rifle back into its case and leisurely continued, "It will be approximately 70 million marks."
Before his words had even fully settled, Ron could hear King William's breathing grow heavier.
Ron did not believe that his King was entirely unprepared for such a figure. Leaving aside his status as King, even as a competent general, he ought to have a clear understanding of the cost of equipping his army. True, under the Prussian military system, these matters could be entirely handled by the General Staff. When Ron served as Chief of Staff of the Eighth Army, he had also been the house steward for William, who was then still a prince. But delegating responsibility to others did not mean one could afford to be completely in the dark about such matters.
Clearly, the King's reaction had another reason.
Because this money had to come from Parliament.
As one of the King's closest confidants, Ron was well aware of the situation.
Since 1861, the relationship between Parliament and the King's Prussian government had been fraught with constant conflict. Matters had only worsened over time. At present, Parliament was outright refusing to approve the government's proposed budget. Theoretically, if a budget could not pass Parliament, then funding allocations could not proceed smoothly. In other words, the entire state machinery would suffer continuous financial bleeding. If this situation persisted, the nation could face collapse.
So how had King William responded to this?
Initially, he had appointed Karl Anton von Hohenzollern, a man with sympathies toward the liberals, as Prime Minister, clearly in hopes of reaching a peaceful resolution with Parliament. However, this man turned out to be all talk and no substance. Worse still, the ideological divide between the two sides was insurmountable. His position as Prime Minister had been shaky from the outset, and when he attempted to interfere in the matter of royal succession, he completely violated the King's prerogatives. His dismissal was, therefore, inevitable.
That marked the turning point. From then on, both the King and Parliament became completely entrenched in their positions, unwilling to yield an inch. The newly appointed Prime Minister, Prince of Ingelfingen, was an old general who had fought against Napoleon's invasion—a man even more of a pure soldier than the King himself. Ron had personally witnessed his speech in Parliament, where he wore his military uniform from the Napoleonic wars and passionately called for patriotic fervor. Ron had merely shaken his head. Such rhetoric might have worked in 1807 or 1815, but this was now 1862—Parliamentarians would not be swayed by such empty appeals.
From these events, Ron gained a clearer understanding of the King's true thoughts. In essence, the King was tired of trying to appease the liberals in Parliament to secure their cooperation—though he had never truly liked them in the first place. Yet, for various reasons, he also wished to avoid an outright confrontation with Parliament. After all, the 1848 Constitution was still legally valid.
So what could he do? He could only stall and endure.
However, both the government and the military needed funds for daily operations. Without solving the issue of funding sources, stalling was impossible. The only reason Prussia's state machinery had not yet collapsed was because King William had employed a clever trick: profiting from arms sales to the Americans, who were busy fighting their Civil War. This had temporarily kept the necessary funds flowing.
To Ron, this was a stroke of genius. The constitution did not explicitly permit such actions, but neither did it prohibit them. Was that not the very essence of the rule of law—"what is not forbidden by law is allowed"? Were the liberal Parliamentarians not the very ones who had long championed such arguments?
However, this clever maneuver could only provide a short-term fix. The profits from war were finite and unsustainable. If the Americans stopped their Civil War one day, Prussia's financial source would dry up, and the issue would still need resolution.
As a wise military man, Ron understood the principle of "victory is in swift resolution, not prolonged conflict." He believed that cutting through the problem decisively was far better than dragging it out. In this conflict with Parliament, he firmly held that an early resolution was better than a late one.
Yet, the greatest obstacle to such a resolution was not Parliament—it was King William himself. Whenever Ron thought about this, he felt frustrated. The King clearly understood that Parliament would never be won over through compromise, yet he simply could not bring himself to take a hardline approach against them. What was this if not excessive hesitation?
A ruler's misplaced mercy!
Thus, Ron decided to seize the right moment to push the King into action. Now was the perfect opportunity. The cost of rearming the entire army with the latest Dreyse rifles alone far exceeded the sum of the King's arms trade profits. Moreover, the need for this funding was urgent. Let's see how he would respond!
"Hmm..." King William murmured softly. He might not have fully grasped Ron's inner thoughts, but he viewed the issue as a problem that needed resolution in isolation.
"Perhaps we could start by rearming only the regular army... After all, with Dreyse's factory capacity, it would take at least 23 months just to equip the regular troops..." The King's voice carried hesitation. "If we also slightly reduce the purchase of spare parts—after all, as you said, many of these components will just sit in wax paper wraps, possibly never being used—we could cut the budget down to under 35 million marks."
While the King was unaware, a fleeting smirk of cunning appeared at the corner of Ron's lips. The King was about to take the bait.
"Your Majesty! I fully support making such adjustments to save costs, but the key is that these funds must be secured as soon as possible. Even if we only place an order for 230,000 rifles and their ammunition, we must still make an upfront payment of at least a quarter of the total cost as a deposit. Without it, the factory won't have the funds to purchase the necessary raw materials, machinery, or pay the workers!"
"I know, I know!" King William waved his hand impatiently. "Our finances are not abundant, my general. The money we earn from arms sales only sustains the basic operations of the government and the army. We cannot suddenly produce nearly 9 million marks in cash..."
"But our government continues to collect taxes diligently—we have a steady revenue stream!" Ron raised his left index finger resolutely. "We can use those funds!"
King William shrugged...