Discretion is the first and last quality requisite in a diplomatist, and should still be observed by those who, like myself, have long passed from public into private life.  Yet moments sometimes occur in the history of nations when a calculated indiscretion proves of the highest public service, and it is for that reason that I have decided to make known the substance of a lengthy conversation which it was my recent privilege to have with his Majesty the German Emperor.  I do so in the hope that it may help to remove that obstinate misconception of the character of the Kaiser’s feelings towards England which, I fear, is deeply rooted in the ordinary Englishman’s breast.  It is the Emperor’s sincere wish that it should be eradicated.  He has given repeated proofs of his desire by word and deed.  But, to speak frankly, his patience is sorely tried now that he finds himself so continually misrepresented, and has so often experienced the mortification of finding that any momentary improvement of relations is followed by renewed out-bursts of prejudice, and a prompt return to the old attitude of suspicion.

As I have said, his Majesty honoured me with a long conversation, and spoke with impulsive and unusual frankness.  “You English,” he said,

“are mad, mad, mad as March hares.  What has come over you that you are so completely given over to suspicions quite unworthy of a great nation?  What more can I do than I have done?  I declared with all the emphasis at my command, in my speech at Guildhall, that my heart is set upon peace, and that it is one of my dearest wishes to live on the best of terms with England.  Have I ever been false to my word?  Falsehood and prevarication are alien to my nature.  My actions ought to speak for themselves, but you listen not to them but to those who misinterpret and distort them.  That is a personal insult which I feel and resent.  To be for ever misjudged, to have my repeated offers of friendship weighed and scrutinized with jealous, mistrustful eyes, taxes my patience severely.  I have said time after time that I am a friend of England, and your Press—­or, at least, a considerable section of it—­bids the people of England refuse my proffered hand, and insinuates that the other holds a dagger.  How can I convince a nation against its will?”

“I repeat,” continued his Majesty,

“that I am the friend of England, but you make things difficult for me.  My task is not of the easiest.  The prevailing sentiment among large sections of the middle and lower classes of my own people is not friendly to England.  I am, therefore, so to speak, in a minority in my own land, but it is a minority of the best elements, just as it is in England with respect to Germany.  That is another reason why I resent your refusal to accept my pledged word that I am the friend of England.  I strive without ceasing to improve relations, and you retort that I am your arch-enemy.  You make