Joseph Wirth's Cabinet (2): Vice Foreign Minister – "I, Joseph Wirth, swear to uphold the constitution...."
As the Fehrenbach cabinet faded into twilight, Joseph Wirth, nominated by President Friedrich Ebert, stood at the Reichstag podium, taking his oath to herald the launch of the new cabinet. Yet no one watched with favor. No one in the assembly still harbored hope for a government doomed to vanish soon—and neither did I, who knew the future.
The day after the new chancellor took office, on May 11, Wirth promptly accepted London's ultimatum while announcing the Fulfillment Policy—a strategy aimed solely at averting the worst catastrophe. The SPD's mood toward it was one of approval.
"This is the best path right now. Even if it means bloodshed in the short term, in the long run, they'll all feel compassion."
Paul Löbe viewed it with cool positivity. I asked him,
"Won't the far-right or far-left factions rebel against it?"
Löbe halted his stride down the corridor at my question.
"They always rebel."
"But isn't it the people who elect them?"
When I pressed further, Löbe turned to face me. He said nothing for a long moment. Only the faint echo of footsteps in the corridor broke the silence.
"That's why politics is so difficult," he murmured lowly. "The people want results, not to understand the process. You get what I'm saying, right?"
I nodded quietly at Löbe's words. The masses are ignorant of politics. Or rather, they have no choice but to be. Politics might capture their interest, but they can't devote themselves to it at the expense of their livelihoods. That's why people focus not on vested interests or policies, but on who in our party criticized whom. It was the same in the distant future as now.
I could only bite my lip slightly at this bitter reality.
Why the hell am I even here...?
In the languid afternoon of mid-May, miscellaneous thoughts swirled as I climbed the stairs to the Chancellery. Chancellor Joseph Wirth had summoned me. I'd been on the sidelines, observing, but somehow I'd caught his eye, leading me here. It still didn't make sense even as I ascended the steps.
No way he's offering me a ministry position.
I knew this cabinet's fate. No matter my fame, they wouldn't hand a cabinet post to a first-term deputy like me. I clung to that belief.
"I'd like you to become Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs."
"...Pardon?"
I couldn't find words for a moment. Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. The term wouldn't settle in my mind. It wasn't a simple role. It was the front line of diplomacy—and in Germany's current straits, the most dangerous seat. One misstep, and it wouldn't end in diplomatic failure. Politically and personally, you could lose everything. And I knew how it would end.
Dismissing my thoughts, he continued.
"The Foreign Ministry is vacant right now. I'm planning to bring in Ambassador Friedrich Rosen, as you know, but he's in The Hague at the moment, so it's not going smoothly."
"...Y-yes, I see."
Who the hell is Friedrich Rosen?
I wanted to ask, but bit my lip instead, praying the offer wasn't real. His expression showed no sign of retraction, though—it seemed official.
"As you know, Ambassador Rosen served your father, the emperor, after the defeat. So he should maintain a good relationship with you."
"The former emperor... you mean?"
"Oh, you didn't know? Rosen attended His Majesty at Huis Doorn in The Hague."
I blinked. Wirth apparently didn't know. About my estrangement from Wilhelm II.
"Our cabinet's goal is a peace treaty with America. The U.S. Senate rejected Versailles, so we need a separate treaty between our nations."
"...But why me?"
"Germany has lost all trust right now. No one believes politicians like us. But you... they'll think, 'He's different,' and at least give you a hearing."
I just blinked. Knowing this cabinet's trajectory and end, accepting would lock me into an irreversible path.
But considering the chain of diplomatic crises about to erupt... If handled well, it was a golden chance to rise politically.
I asked him one last thing.
"...I'm not a republican. I'm an imperial legacy."
My words came out quieter than intended, but they sank the room's air heavily. Joseph Wirth paused. He neither refuted nor rushed to explain. He simply gazed at me.
"I suppose so."
After a moment, he spoke lowly.
"At least, you're not the person I want."
I looked up at his words. He was still watching me steadily.
"But the republic has lost trust."
He continued slowly.
"They don't believe diplomats, and politicians even less. Whatever we say, they'll dismiss it as excuses from a defeated nation."
I said nothing. He wasn't wrong. Germany was already treated not as a 'dialogue partner' but a 'problem' even at the negotiating table.
"But you're different. You're an imperial legacy—and now a republican deputy."
"..."
"That contradiction is Germany's only possibility right now."
I was speechless. No one knew better than I what he meant. He wasn't trying to persuade me; he'd already decided and was just confirming it.
"America doesn't trust us."
Wirth rose and walked to the window.
"But they haven't fully turned their backs yet."
Light from beyond the glass draped his shoulder. He returned slowly, pointing to the map behind the desk.
"Britain's the same. As a kingdom, they're sympathetic to royalty. We must convince those two nations to make 'our enemy' bend first."
"...So I'm the bargaining chip."
"More precisely, the face we put forward."
He turned and said,
"The title of Vice Foreign Minister is just necessary."
I exhaled shortly. The offer's essence was simple: exploitation, blatant at that.
"Most of the actual work will fall to Ambassador Rosen. He's experienced. You just need to be the face."
I tilted my head slightly.
"The face, huh..."
A chuckle escaped me involuntarily. He replied calmly.
"Germany needs a face right now."
I shut my mouth. My role was set: stand out front, take the abuse, shoulder the blame if it failed. The name would endure, but no guarantees on the end.
His words were coldly precise, making refusal harder.
Silence fell. The clock's second hand ticked faintly.
"If you refuse—"
He began, then looked at me. Regardless of his gaze, I closed my eyes briefly.
The Ruhr occupied, currency turning to scrap paper, people hauling cash by cart through streets. And in Munich, a young veteran leading a national socialist party that couldn't even enter parliament, sparking a putsch.
All flashed by. This seat, Wirth's cabinet, was the starting point.
Accepting pulled me into that current.
"..."
I opened my eyes slowly. Wirth still watched. He was waiting.
I spoke.
"...I have a condition."
His eyes flickered faintly—the first glimpse of emotion.
"Name it."
I stepped forward.
"If you're using me, at least let me set the direction."
The air grew heavier.
"I won't be just a symbol."
I met his eyes squarely.
"I mean it—I won't be passive."
Wirth said nothing for a while. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"...Very well. How could a mere chancellor block the resolve of the SPD's Red Prince?"
He chuckled softly.
Whether this choice became poison or holy grail depended on me, who knew the future.
I said no more. The decision was made.
Or perhaps... there'd never been a choice to begin with.
I'd simply placed my foot atop the oncoming tide.