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556 nature, and especially for the forest. In many of his letters to his wife, dated from Biarritz, Fontarabia, San Sebastian, and other places, he speaks also with enthusiasm of the beauty of the sea. "My conscience smites me," he says in one of these letters, "for enjoying all this beauty by myself, − for seeing it without you."

When Bismarck is in the country, his greatest pleasure is to take long rides and walks in the thick forest, frequently quite alone; and those who live with him have observed that he is never in a gentler mood than when he returns from one of these visits to his oldest friends, as he calls the trees. When he is absent from home, overburdened with work and responsibility, his chief recreation is to get away from the town, to seek peace and rest in the nearest forest. In Berlin, at the Radziwill Palace, where the prince now lives − that same palace where the Congress has been holding its sittings − the prince's private office looks out upon a fine old park, extending behind the house. Bismarck likes to sit there alone after some hot political discussion, and in the soft music of the trees he seems to find a soothing balm for his over-excited nerves.

When he insisted last year on retiring from office, after many important concessions had been made to him, he made use of one argument, which it was not found easy to combat.

"Business will keep me in Berlin," he said. "I hate the Wilhelm Strasse. I have not many years to live; I would like to spend them near my trees."

The chancellor's tender of his resignation has often been sneered at by "knowing people." These know little of Bismarck's private character, or they would not doubt that he really yearns for peace and rest. He has been a very ambitious man; but his unclouded judgment, which the most astonishing success in life has not been able to obscure, tells him that he cannot go beyond, or rather above, the position which he has occupied since the close of the French war. The prince has no longer any personal interest in remaining in office; if he does so, it is chiefly out of love and respect for his royal master.

Foreigners can scarcely imagine how deeply loyalty towards the Hohenzollerns is rooted in old Prussian families like Bismarck's. This feeling has not been modified by modern influences — it belongs to the Middle Ages. The thorough-bred Prussian Junker — and Bismarck prides himself on being one — looks on his king as his sovereign by the grace of God, holding sway over the life and the blood of his loyal vassals. Very often Count Bismarck — as afterwards Prince Bismarck — has not agreed with the king; and, far oftener than the public fancies, Bismarck has been the one to yield. When he speaks of the king he says "his Majesty," — a term which is far from being in general use — and the words are never uttered save with the deepest respect.

"I can never forget," said Prince Bismarck one day, "that his Majesty, in following my advice, has twice imperilled his crown. He condescended to take my counsel before going to war with Austria, and, four years later, before going to war with France. He knew full well when he did so that all he valued in the world was at stake. But he trusted me implicitly. For that reason alone I would serve him to the best of my power, so long as my services may be required by him."

It was really in order to satisfy the old emperor that Prince Bismarck consented last year to remain in office. His health, however, forbade him to continue the work he had done up to that time. A long leave of absence was granted to him. Count Stolberg-Wernigerode was appointed vice-chancellor, and it was agreed that the management of all ordinary business should be left to experienced statesmen like Von Bulow and Camphausen. It was settled, however, that all exceptionally great questions were to be referred for decision to Bismarck himself. His promise to attend personally to important business was couched in the form of a curious apologue.

"When a man goes out shooting early in the morning," he said at one of his Parliamentary receptions, "he begins by firing away at all sorts of game, and is quite willing to walk a couple of miles over heavy ground in order to get a shot at some wild fowl. But when he has travelled the whole day long, when his game-bag is full, and he is nearing home hungry, thirsty, covered with dust, and tired to death all he asks for is rest. He shakes his head when the keeper tells him that he has only a few steps to take to get at some birds in the adjoining field, quite near the house. 'I have enough of that game,' he says. But let somebody come and tell him — 'There, in the thickest part of yonder forest, you can get at a boar,' and you will see that weary man, if he has the blood of a sportsman in his