the French ambassador again, and sent to tell him through the aide-de-camp on duty that his Majesty had nothing further to communicate to the ambassador.”  The difference in the effect of the abbreviated text of the Ems telegram as compared with that produced by the original was not the result of stronger words but of the form, which made this announcement appear decisive, while Abeken’s version would only have been regarded as a fragment of a negotiation still pending, and to be continued at Berlin.

After I had read out the concentrated edition to my two guests, Moltke remarked:  “Now it has a different ring; it sounded before like a parley; now it is like a flourish in answer to a challenge.”  I went on to explain:  “If in execution of his Majesty’s order I at once communicate this text, which contains no alteration in or addition to the telegram, not only to the newspapers, but also by telegraph to all our embassies, it will be known in Paris before midnight, and not only on account of its contents, but also on account of the manner of its distribution, will have the effect of a red rag upon the Gallic bull.  Fight we must if we do not want to act the part of the vanquished without a battle.  Success, however, essentially depends upon the impression which the origination of the war makes upon us and others; it is important that we should be the party attacked, and this Gallic overweening and touchiness will make us if we announce in the face of Europe, so far as we can without the speaking-tube of the Reichstag, that we fearlessly meet the public threats of France.”

This explanation brought about in the two generals a revulsion to a more joyous mood, the liveliness of which surprised me.  They had suddenly recovered their pleasure in eating and drinking and spoke in a more cheerful vein.  Roon said:  “Our God of old lives still and will not let us perish in disgrace.”  Moltke so far relinquished his passive equanimity that, glancing up joyously towards the ceiling and abandoning his usual punctiliousness of speech, he smote his hand upon his breast and said:  “If I may but live to lead our armies in such a war, then the devil may come directly afterwards and fetch away the ‘old carcass.’” He was less robust at that time than afterwards, and doubted whether he would survive the hardships of the campaign.

How keenly he wanted to put in practice his military and strategic tastes and ability I observed not only on this occasion, but also in the days before the outbreak of the Bohemian war.  In both cases I found my military colleague in the King’s service changed from his usual dry and silent habit; he became cheerful, lively, even merry.  In the June night of 1866, when I had invited him for the purpose of ascertaining whether the march of the army could not be begun twenty-four hours sooner, he answered in the affirmative and was pleasantly excited by the hastening of the struggle.  As he left my wife’s drawing-room