Bismarck accompanied him to the ante-room, and then seated himself at his writing-table; for some moments he was lost in thought.
"They all, yes, all!" he suddenly cried at last, as he sprang from his chair and paced the room with hasty stops, "they all sing the same song; they all talk of the responsibility, of the danger, of the horrors of war. But do I not feel the responsibility? do I not see the danger? does not my heart grow cold at the thought of the horrors of war? But while I see the danger, I cannot withdraw from the necessity, and while I am convinced of the necessity, I must undertake the responsibility. I understand why most of them would withhold me from bold action, the Liberals in the parliament fear the clash of arms; yes, they dread even victory, and all those weak-minded creatures who prefer to cling in cowardly submission to the present rather than face the future, they are always the same through all the centuries of history: but he--he is a man of courage and action, he knows danger and does not fear it, yet he warns me back. This is serious; in comparison to a word from this man, all the privy councillors, diplomatists, and bureaucratists in the whole world are but a feather weight in the scale: and he desires me to prepare for a retreat!"
He stood still for a moment and looked thoughtfully on the ground.
"And is he not right?" he said, sadly and gloomily. "If success fails me, if the enemy is powerful enough to bow down, to break Prussia, what could I do? walk away, like a careless gambler, judged by all, handed down in all future history as a jest to the common herd; but then," he cried, casting a glowing look upwards, "there is the other side, to draw back, with a conviction of victory in my heart, to lose the opportunity, perhaps for ever, of accomplishing for Prussia the great and glorious future, which I see so brilliantly before me--
'The moment comes, but if it is not seized,
Not all eternity will bring it back.'"[[1]]
Again he stood still and gazed before him in deep thought.
"Oh, for light in this darkness!" he cried, "I must have the sky above me, and the fresh air must cool my blood." He seized his hat and left the room, descended the stair which led from his house to the courtyard, walked through the courtyard with long strides and plunged into the dark walks of a large garden, where trees of ancient growth shaded the back of the hotel and Office for Foreign Affairs.
* * * * *
The same evening, in the same building, in an elegant and cheerfully lighted drawing-room sat an elderly and a young lady, busied with some light feminine work. On one side stood the tea-table, and the tea-kettle sang that peculiar song, which is thought by the English, when joined by the chirping of the cricket, to be the music of the hearth, a greeting from home.
The two ladies were the wife and daughter of the president minister, and von Keudell the minister of legation, the most intimate friend of his chief, sat with them.