Second Wirth Cabinet (1): The Upper Silesia Partition
“Vice Minister.”
Neurath spoke in a low voice.
“If this agreement passes, we’ll lose half our industrial base.”
I stared gravely at the diplomatic document written in French, weighing Neurath’s words. How was I supposed to relay this to the Foreign Minister—and then to the Chancellor?
In March, a plebiscite had been held among 1.1 million residents regarding Upper Silesia’s status, with 59.61% voting to remain with Germany—effectively sealing the decision. Yet just days ago, the conference in Paris had produced an agreement to cede a third of Upper Silesia to Poland.
The problem was that the ceded territory lay at the heart of the industrial zone.
I sighed and continued reading the document.
Accord de partage consécutif aux résultats du plébiscite en Haute-Silésie
Partition Agreement Following the Upper Silesia Plebiscite Results
Of course, countless Poles had still faced persecution, and those hate crimes had bred further revenge, turning Silesia into a hotbed of violence. That was why the plebiscite had been held in the first place.
But after the vote, the Third Silesian Uprising erupted in May, and under the banner of the League of Nations, they called this decision “mediation.”
“This is absurd…!”
Rosen clenched his fist the moment he read the papers, his hand trembling with rage.
“This can’t be allowed to stand! How can they demand we cede a region that democratically voted to stay—picking out the areas packed with coal mines and steelworks, no less!”
He hurled the documents across the room in a burst of fury. I’d never seen the usually composed man this enraged, so Neurath and I sat in awkward silence.
“Counselor, deliver these papers to the Chancellor personally—and make sure to tell him.”
“…Tell him what?”
“That I recommend the cabinet resign en masse.”
The office froze in an instant. Neurath paused mid-reach for the papers. I stared at Rosen in shock.
“The cabinet… resign en masse?”
“Yes. To show Germany that this isn’t a game, dissolving the cabinet is our only option.”
This wasn’t mere advice. It was a declaration of intent to step down—and Germany’s final statement that it could no longer accept this verdict.
With Germany lacking military, economic, or diplomatic leverage against the Allied powers, this was the strongest protest possible.
Rosen rose from his seat and turned to me.
“…And Vice Minister, inform your party as well. They’ll stand with us.”
True to his imperial-era roots, Rosen showed no hesitation in his resolve. Parliament, public opinion, international negotiations—they were all secondary to the nation in his eyes.
I pondered long and hard before replying.
“…Understood.”
“The cabinet hereby resigns en masse.”
Gathered before the President’s office, the ministers and Chancellor symbolically tendered their resignations to Friedrich Ebert.
Ebert stood in the packed room, his face etched with distress as each handed over their letter.
I watched the scene in silence.
It was a familiar pattern—the rhythm of a government’s collapse. External pressure, internal fractures, and the final choice.
So it’s come to this, after all.
I stood in the corridor, listening to the sounds from the office, sighing faintly as I thought of returning to my role as simply Reichstag Deputy Joachim of the German National People’s Party.
“Chancellor—no, Deputy Wirth.”
Ebert grabbed Wirth as he turned to leave.
“I request that you form a second cabinet. This is the President’s order.”
Ebert placed his neatly folded hands on the desk and spoke firmly.
Wirth, who had turned to exit, still faced away—but his expression visibly wavered.
He stood silent for a long moment. The office grew eerily quiet, the earlier clamor vanishing as if it had never been. Only the sound of heavy breathing echoed softly.
He remained with his back turned, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
“Mr. President.”
At last, he spoke. His voice was low, but cracked unmistakably.
“This cabinet can no longer hold. How much more humiliation do you intend for me?”
Ebert’s gaze fixed on him.
“I know. But form it again—that’s my order.”
Wirth’s shoulders slumped faintly. He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to face Ebert.
“…We may face the same outcome again.”
“Even so, you must.”
Ebert replied without a hint of doubt.
“Stepping down now isn’t an option. A vacuum will only breed greater chaos.”
From the corridor, through the open door, I watched it unfold. Wirth now faced away from me, toward the President’s desk. Though I couldn’t see his face, he braced himself against it with a hand and let out a deep sigh.
“As you command…”
Just one day after the cabinet’s mass resignation, the Foreign Office atmosphere had shifted noticeably. The people were the same, but the seats were empty—far too many of them.
“Minister Rosen has no intention of returning. He’s declared his retirement from all public office.”
I looked at Neurath.
“…Confirmed?”
“Yes. He formally conveyed his intent this morning.”
I fell silent for a moment. The Foreign Minister post was the most critical in this crisis—and the first to go vacant.
Screeech—
“Vice Minister, the Chancellor requests you at the Chancellery. You should go now.”
“The Chancellor himself?”
Puzzled, but it was the Chancellor’s summons, so I prepared to head there at once.
A few minutes passed.
When I knocked and entered the Chancellor’s office, Wirth was buried in a mountain of papers. Even after I arrived, he said nothing for a long while. His pen stopped moving only after several seconds.
“…You’re here.”
His voice sounded even more exhausted than before.
I bowed quietly.
“I heard you called for me.”
Wirth remained silent awhile. He slowly set down the pen in his hand, then pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes.
“…You know the situation.”
“Yes, I was there.”
He let out a long sigh.
“Coalition talks will drag on.”
I said nothing. I’d expected as much.
Even the moderate yet staunchly conservative People’s Party and Democratic Party had no desire to join a government that let the Upper Silesia affair slide.
“Fortunately, the SPD has agreed to join.”
“If you intend to offer me a ministry, I’ll decline first.”
I spoke preemptively, but Wirth chuckled wryly.
“A formal ministerial appointment now would carry too much political risk. Naming a Foreign Minister before coalition talks end would spark fresh conflict.”
I listened quietly.
“Besides, by my standards, you don’t yet meet the bar for minister.”
His gaze turned to me.
“That’s why I’m asking the Vice Minister.”
I tilted my head.
“What do you need from me?”
“The government can’t stop—not even for a moment.”
He looked me straight in the eye.
“Especially not the Foreign Office.”
I met his gaze steadily. I knew exactly what he meant, no explanation needed.
After some deliberation, I continued.
“We’re scouting independent deputies for the ministry talks, but it’s proving difficult. The vacancy may last quite a while.”
He spread his hands, pointing at me.
“I’ll officially serve as acting Foreign Minister, but during that time, you’ll act on his behalf.”
I stared at him steadily.
“And the real authority…?”
I trailed off.
Wirth regarded me a moment, then spoke.
“That’s as far as it goes.”
A curt reply—but its meaning was crystal clear. He’d grant power, but blur the lines of accountability.
I looked at him a beat longer, then nodded.
The minister’s seat empty, the Chancellor bearing responsibility, and me handling the work.
I adjusted my suit button and quietly left the Chancellor’s office.
There was still much to do.