I must tell you, on my own account, that I should think your admiration of the Prussian army and of the country itself was exaggerated if I did not know that you intentionally exaggerated your views of both a little, with an object which I understand—viz., to give France a good idea of the strength and vitality of those who may one day become our enemies, as to-day they are our adversaries. I believe everybody is in accord upon this point.... It has made us feel the necessity of making great efforts in order not to be outdistanced. These efforts have been made, and are being made every day.... We are ready for every event, big as it might be. That we have committed faults, no one, I think, will deny; that we have lacked foresight is not to be doubted; but from all that we have learnt a good lesson, and it is not to be believed that in future we shall leave even the smallest things to chance. If our diplomacy has not always been skilful, we must do it the justice of saying that for some time past it has not done badly by remaining tranquil and by giving way, while not losing sight of things, but observing them attentively. We have been out of luck up to now, and we must hope that fortune will not delay to turn, and that it will bring us some good coups, of which we shall have to take clever advantage.
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In the first week of December, 1868, the Court was at Compiègne. M. Pietri writes to Colonel Stoffel to say that at Compiègne everything was proceeding on traditional lines: hunting, shooting, rides and walks to Pierrefonds, and in the evening “monster dinners and dances.” One improvement had been made: the barrel-organ, which the Emperor sometimes “ground,” was replaced by a live pianist, M. Waldteuffel.
Writing from Paris on May 27, 1869, M. Pietri reproaches Stoffel for having left Paris without hearing Rossini’s Mass. “I like it less than the Stabat, but that did not prevent me from going to hear it three times.”
On December 10, in the same year, M. Pietri wrote to tell the Colonel that Paris was going through a crisis, and that men’s minds were unsettled. Matters had not improved at the date of the next letter (February 4, 1870). Victor Noir had been shot by Prince Pierre Bonaparte, and on the next day Rochefort published in the “Marseillaise” an appeal to the people. Thus what was destined to be the “Terrible Year” began most unfortunately.
I am told (writes M. Pietri) that the English Government will insist upon Prussia disarming. It is thought that nothing would come from such a step, and that it would be un coup d’épée dans l’eau.... What do you think of it? Do you think that it would be sufficient to say to the Federal Chancellor, “You must disarm,” to cause him to disarm? I should be curious to know what answer he would make to anybody who made such a proposition to him, and what he would really think and express privately. I am certain that he would make many promises without intending to keep one of them. No doubt you think as I do, and if you can find time (try to find it) tell me if I deceive myself.
In April, 1870, Colonel Stoffel was in Paris, and M. Pietri wrote on the 9th: “The Emperor wishes to see you to-morrow morning at ten. Be punctual, and come and breakfast with us.”
After that date there is a gap in the correspondence. In a long letter, dated March 5, 1871, M. Pietri says: “What sorrows since we parted! More than once I thought I should go mad, and that my heart would be unable to withstand so many troubles. To look on powerlessly at the cutting of the throat of one’s own country; to see all that one holds dearest ruined, destroyed; and, after the disasters caused by the foreigners, to foresee others
