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,