An Audience with the President
A staffer from the German Reichstag handed it over. "Congratulations on your election, Representative. Your pass has been issued. Just go through the verification process each time you arrive."
It was a thin booklet, like a passport—the entry pass for a member of the Reichstag, the lower house. The first page bore a photo, name, and basic personal details, stamped with overlapping seals from the parliament and his party affiliation. The ink hadn't fully dried yet; the edges were slightly smudged.
I gazed down at it for a moment. The name printed there wasn't that of a prince, but a representative. There was no denying it now. I folded the booklet and slipped it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket.
"Ah, Representative Joachim!"
As I turned to leave, a voice called out from afar.
"Representative Jarres."
Karl Jarres, number one on the East Prussia list—the rookie representative elected from the same district as me. He hurried over, looking somewhat tense.
I asked him, "Where do we go now?"
"First, to the party caucus meeting. No exclusive interviews with the press until that's done."
I nodded at his words and glanced sideways. At one side of the Reichstag entrance, reporters stood in a line. Some had already spotted me, craning their necks our way. One clutched a notepad; another aimed a camera, waiting for his chance. We were close enough that they might call my name any second. Sure enough, a few mouths began to gape.
I met their eyes for a beat, then looked away as if nothing were amiss.
"Let's go."
I said it curtly and started walking. Jarres stepped ahead to lead, and I followed him into the building.
As we passed through the corridors, I felt eyes on us. Some scrutinizing the unfamiliar face; others confirming a face they already knew. Ignoring them all, I walked on steadily.
Creak!
The meeting room door swung open, unleashing a cloud of cigarette smoke. The chatter inside cut off abruptly. Dozens of eyes snapped toward us.
Those mid-sentence paused; those flipping papers froze. All staring at me.
I stepped inside. Screech—the door shut behind, sealing out the outside noise.
The room was thicker with people than I'd imagined. Long tables pushed together, ringed by representatives whose cigarette haze clung to the ceiling. Piles of newspapers and documents everywhere, the air heavy with ink and tobacco.
"...Representatives Jarres and Joachim. Your seats are marked. Take them."
A low voice came from the center. I looked over. Paul Löbe's nameplate sat before him, and he offered a friendly smile.
I dipped my head. "Thank you."
As Jarres and I moved to our spots, the eyes that had been boring into me drifted away naturally. Conversations resumed among the groups.
Then Otto Wels and Hermann Müller entered from the front door, with someone I took for a secretary carefully closing it behind them.
"Everyone seated?" Wels asked, setting down his papers.
"Seated."
"All here."
"Ready to begin."
Short affirmations came from around the room. Wels nodded.
Jarres, who'd been watching quietly, stepped forward cautiously to his spot before the party leader, pulling out papers and a pen with practiced ease. A party secretary before his rookie term, he'd been at this longer than me. I eased into a chair at the edge of the unfamiliar room.
The chair scraped briefly against the floor.
That sound cued it: eyes shifted back to Wels. Müller sat casually beside him, lighting a cigarette.
Wels spoke again. "Then let's begin."
His words dropped, and the meeting's rhythm picked up seamlessly, as if nothing had happened. But a few gazes lingered on me—some blatant stares, others glancing casually. I didn't dodge them. Instead, I rested my hands on the table, faced forward. Legs crossed, chin propped, utterly relaxed.
Next time, I should bring a cigarette... The spot felt alien; no matter how hard I tried to play it cool, a bead of sweat trickled anyway.
"First, everyone here knows the Fehrenbach cabinet negotiations have collapsed."
Murmurs erupted at Wels's opening line. The mood was off from the start.
"Per party policy, joining the cabinet formation again..."
"Too dangerous!"
"I disagree!"
Rebuttals cut him off before he finished. The meeting looked set to drag on.
"Always like this?" I jerked my chin toward the grumbling group filing out behind us as we walked with Wels.
He shrugged. "Always. Some even walk out. The Independent Social Democrats do it too."
Inter-party fights were one thing; factional infighting never got easier. They held the line on party policy against outsiders, even with opposing views... Politicians were exhausting.
"Strong opposition to joining the cabinet," Löbe said, approaching Wels with a cigarette in hand.
"A poisoned chalice, isn't it?"
Löbe nodded with a wry chuckle, took a drag—then spotted me late and extended a hand.
"Representative Joachim? I've been eager to meet you."
I shook it amid his surprise. "No one calls me 'von Preußen Representative.' You're no exception, I see."
Löbe chuckled. It was a light jab at being the only one called by first name amid all the 'Herr von This'—and it landed, drawing his smile.
"With opposition this fierce, we might not discuss till after the Fehrenbach cabinet falls," Wels told the still-smiling Löbe.
"Tricky. His Excellency the President seems to want an SPD-led cabinet..."
"At least for now, the chancellorship isn't ours. No SPD rep will hold it soon after Müller."
Löbe nodded bitterly at Wels's words. Same party, but views everywhere—even obvious to an outsider like me.
Ebert wanted an SPD cabinet. Wels and Müller wanted SPD participation. Most of the party wanted none of it.
Three factions, none light choices.
"Representative Joachim, sorry. Conversation veered. I called you for something specific."
"Yes? What is it?"
Wels glanced around before answering. "His Excellency the President wishes to see you."
The air seemed to freeze. I blinked.
The President wanted to meet me? Friedrich Ebert?
Löbe and Wels exchanged looks and shrugs at my reaction—like it was no big deal. The republic's commander-in-chief summoning the ex-empire ruler's son? Tension was the sane response.
Creak—
"I heard Your Excellency wished to see me."
The door shut, leaving just us in the room. Friedrich Ebert looked up from his papers behind the desk, met my eyes, and rose slowly.
"Representative Joachim von Preußen."
He said my name like a confirmation, then gestured to the sofa before his desk. I sat without a word.
Silence hung briefly. He sized me up top to bottom, then spoke evenly.
"Prince of Prussia, the Emperor's youngest son—and now an SPD Reichstag representative."
He paced the office slowly. "Wels made quite the intriguing choice."
"I won't deny it."
He nodded at my curt reply.
"Yet you don't seem to think of yourself as a prince. I like that."
His eyes narrowed just a fraction—then relaxed.
"Good."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued. "Whether you're dangerous... or one of ours. I wanted to see for myself."
I said nothing. He watched me; his expression wasn't expectant. He'd already half-decided.
Straight-backed, I held his gaze. Short silence filled the office.
Ebert nodded lightly. "That's enough."
No more questions. Instead, he went on calmly.
"The party will try to control you."
"I know."
"And the military will try to use you."
I stayed silent. He met my eyes again, confirming.
"If you don't fully tilt either way between them..."
He paused.
"That could be troublesome too."
I exhaled shortly and met his stare squarely. "What does Your Excellency want?"
His lip twitched faintly.
"What I want..."
He paused, thoughtful. Then looked away, continuing.
"Stability. I hate chaos."
Short and simple. He placed a hand on my shoulder, voice low.
"Act as a representative. Joachim—no, Representative 'von Preußen.'"
I didn't reply. The office air grew heavier.
"Again: I want stability."
He paused.
"That was the official talk."
His gaze returned; he nodded to the empty sofa opposite and sat, lighting a cigarette. Then, eyeing me:
"From now on, let's talk like you've never heard before."
The real conversation was just beginning.