of England and the support of Lord Salisbury were more important than Zanzibar or the whole of Africa.  He addressed a circular despatch to Prussian envoys to inform them that the utterances of Prince Bismarck were without any actual importance, as he was now only a private man.  This only made matters worse; for the substance of the despatch quickly became known (another instance of the lax control over important State documents which we so often notice in dealing with German affairs), and only increased the bitterness of Bismarck, which was shared by his friends and supporters.

For more than two years the miserable quarrel continued; Bismarck was now the public and avowed enemy of the Court and the Ministry.  Moltke died, and he alone of the great men of the country was absent from the funeral ceremony, but in his very absence he overshadowed all who were there.  His public popularity only increased.  In 1892, he travelled across Germany to visit Vienna for his son’s wedding.  His journey was a triumphal progress, and the welcome was warmest in the States of the South, in Saxony and Bavaria.  The German Government, however, found it necessary to instruct their ambassador not to be present at the wedding and to take no notice of the Prince; he was not even granted an audience by the Austrian Emperor.  It was held necessary also to publish the circular to which I have already referred, and thereby officially to recognise the enmity.

The scandal of the quarrel became a grave injury to the Government of the country.  A serious illness of Bismarck caused apprehension that he might die while still unreconciled.  The Emperor took the opportunity, and by a kindly message opened the way to an apparent reconciliation.  Then a change of Ministry took place:  General Caprivi was made the scapegoat for the failures of the new administration, and retired into private life, too loyal even to attempt to justify or defend the acts for which he had been made responsible.  The new Chancellor, Prince Hohenlohe, was a friend and former colleague of Bismarck, and had in old days been leader of the National party in Bavaria.  When Bismarck’s eightieth birthday was celebrated, the Emperor was present, and once more Bismarck went to Berlin to visit his sovereign.  We may be allowed to believe that the reconciliation was not deep.  We know that he did not cease to contrast the new marks of Royal favour with the kindly courtesy of his old master, who had known so well how to allow the King to be forgotten in the friend.

As the years went on, he became ever more lonely.  His wife was dead, and his brother.  Solitude, the curse of greatness, had fallen on him.  He had no friends, for we cannot call by that name the men, so inferior to himself, by whom he was surrounded—­men who did not scruple to betray his confidence and make a market of his infirmities.  With difficulty could he bring himself even to systematic work on the memoirs he proposed to leave.  Old age set its mark on him:  his beard had become white; he could no longer, as in former days, ride and walk through the woods near his house.  His interest in public affairs never flagged, and especially he watched with unceasing vigilance every move in the diplomatic world; his mind and spirit were still unbroken when a sudden return of his old malady overtook him, and on the last day of July, 1898, he died at Friedrichsruh.