¶ “I can make you live to be ninety, Prince!”
¶ “Then get to work; spare no time; I am in bad shape!”
¶ Letters, telegrams, felicitations in the form of magnificently embossed diplomas, continue to come, day after day; Bismarck is given the freedom of cities; he is enrolled among engineers, carpenters, brewers, ship-masters, tailors; each guild demands that the Iron Chancellor’s name head the list of honorary officers of the Grand Lodge.
In one year the record shows 650,000 letters and 10,000 telegrams; and among these are begging letters asking a total of $2,500,000!
¶ Bismarck often grows tired of seeing visitors; he has built himself a secret spiral staircase, hidden in an unexpected place; and uses it against unwelcome callers.
Now and then, when his health permits, he is at his editorial work again, laboriously issuing his proclamations to the German people; he writes with a quill pen, and for a blotter prefers the old-time box of blue sand.
For scribbling hasty notes, he prefers huge lead pencils, such as he favored in parliamentary days; pencils 15 inches long, similar to those used by German carpenters.
He sits at an immense oak table, and his chair seems uncomfortable; it has no back.
At his side is his porcelain tobacco jar, two feet tall, and on the stand are innumerable pipes, which in turn are filled and smoked, all day long. He holds a sort of tobacco parliament every day. Visitors must smoke a pipe or cigars, drink wine, meet the dogs, and hear the old man inveigh against these degenerate times.