Yes, Sire, they are instruments which God breaks as easily as He bends a
reed before the wind. He is pleased to humble the proud, and He reserves
defeat and death as the portion of the parricide.



August 29, 1891. [12]

Germany's luck is running out. . . .

The Emperor certainly lacks neither the youth nor the audacity to compel
fortune, but he drives her too hard, and ignores all her warnings. His
fall is a clear warning, which he appears to be quite unwilling to
notice; more mechanical than ever in his movements, he is now taking to
riding again. By his orders, his illness and even his fall are alike
contradicted. His reason for withdrawing himself so long from the gaze
of his adoring subjects is to let his beard grow, after the fashion of
Boulanger. But he hasn't wasted his time; his furious impatience under
activity has brought about a fresh attack.



September 11, 1891. [13]

William II makes every effort to keep the Triple Alliance on its legs (it
being as lame as himself) whilst he continues to give vent to his triple
_hoch!_ and resumes once more his rushing to and fro, so wearisome to his
faithful subjects, which compels the European Press to groan so loudly
that his pennon (Imperial in Austria, or Royal in Bavaria) waves madly