# St. Nicholas/Volume 32/Number 2/Last Cigar

* related authors: Władysław Teodor Benda.
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At the king’s staff-headquarters at Gitschin there was great activity. Aides-de-camp dashed back and forth with messages; groups of Prussian officers stood about talking earnestly; while all around were columns of marching infantry, struggling teams of artillery, and dashing squadrons of cavalry.
It was scarcely light, but his Majesty the King of Prussia was up and fully dressed. He was seated in his tent, closely studying a map. On one side of him sat a gaunt, clean-shaven man, his long bony finger indicating some spot on the chart. He was Field-Marshal Von Moltke, commander-in-chief of the Prussian armies in their campaign against the Austrians. Opposite the soldier sat an imposing and burly figure—that of Count Otto von Bismarck, then Prime Minister of Prussia, and later Chancellor of the German empire.
The three sat in consultation for some time, the soldier pointing out the the king the plan of attack, while the statesman ever and again flung out some suggestion or sought information.
It was the day of the battle of Königgrätz, ​and a crushing blow was to be delivered by the Prussian armies at their Austrian opponents,
At seven o’clock the council broke up, and king, soldier, and statesman came out from the tent. Just as the Prussian monarch prepared to mount his waiting horse, he turned toward Count Bismarck and in a tone of apology said: “Have you a cigar in your case?”
An onlooker might almost have detected a shade of disappointment pass across the face of the Iron Chancellor as he hastily drew out a well-worn leather cigar-case and handed it to his king.
“With pleasure, your Majesty,” he said.
The king opened the case, but the next moment closed it and returned it to his minister.
“I should do ill to deprive you of your last cigar,” he remarked. “I know only too well their value out here.”
In vain Bismarck pressed him to take it. He resolutely declined, and the case with its one lone cigar was returned to its owner's pocket.
The king’s servant, overhearing the conversation, endeavored to obtain a cigar from some of the staff, but without success. Among all the officers of the King of Prussia’s staff there was but one Cigar, and that lay in the case of the Iron Chancellor.
All through the day he guarded that cigar as a miser guards his gold, and looked forward in happy anticipation to the hour when he should enjoy it after victory.
Soon after eight o’clock the king and his staff reached the line of battle, and the cruel panorama of strife was spread before their anxious gaze.
At noon in the orchard near Sadowa the king and his officers were resting, and once more the thoughts of the Iron Chancellor turned toward his lone cigar. He drew it forth from the case, and lovingly turned it over and smelled of it. How he longed to light it and inhale its fragrant smoke!
A cry came ringing down the Prussian front:
“The Crown Prince! The Crown Prince!”
The long-anticipated hour had arrived, and reinforcements were at hand. The king remounted his horse, and, attended by his generals and minister, spurred forward to meet his son.
Forward, close behind the surging tide of battle, followed the staff-headquarters, and the Prussian leaders observed with growing satisfaction the staggering lines of the enemy. Long columns of Austrian prisoners began to pour past them, Captured cannons and standards followed. Victory was settling upon the German arms, and the Austrian retreat was fast becoming a rout.
“Forward! Forward!” were the orders, as position after position fell into the lands of the victorious troops; and at length Count Von Moltke turned to his royal master and calmly announced:
“Your Majesty, our triumph is assured, and our only thoughts need now be the pursuit. I beg of you to rest awhile.”
Wearied and exhausted, the little party turned their horses’ heads in the direction of a farmhouse which stood at the edge of the orchard, and the stern face of Count Bismarck lighted up with pleasure in anticipation of the treat that was now in store for him. His beloved, his last cigar, could now be enjoyed in the rest of the hour of victory. Eagerly he brought it forth and was about to place it in his cigar-holder, Just then an agonizing groan close at his side attracted his attention, and, looking down, he beheld a poor private of dragoons lying upon the ground wounded in both arms. He was begging for something to refresh him. Bismarck hastily felt in his pockets. He had a purse well filled with gold; a silver-mounted penknife; a match-safe; many papers and odds and ends; but, alas’ nothing that would be of aid to this poor fellow. As he yet lingered, wondering what he could do, he noticed the wounded man’s eyes rest with an almost appealing look upon the precious cigar he held as yet unlighted in his hand, In a moment the count understood. The poor fellow was longing for that cigar! Bismarck turned his head away to hide the struggle that was taking place within him, Conld he give it up? After all the long, weary, nerve-racking day, was he to be deprived of his treasured reward at the very moment of its enjoyment?
In an instant he was off his horse, and cutting off the end of the cigar he placed it between the soldier's teeth. Tenderly he raised him, and then ​bending over him he struck match after match in the strong wind that was then blowing before he succeeded in lighting the cigar. With a long-drawn-out sigh of satisfaction, the wounded man inhaled a draft of the soothing smoke, and then closed his eyes in quiet contentment to await the arrival of the surgeons and the ambulance.
“He struck match after match before he succeeded in lighting the cigar.”
Thus it came about that a few minutes later one of the king’s aides-de-camp found the Prime Minister walking slowly away from the wounded soldier, every now and then looking back with a mingled expression of sorrow for his wounds and sympathy with his enjoyment of the only cigar that could be found on that battle-field.