He thought M. Gallifet _dans sa logique_ in liking the Germans and hating Bismarck; for the Germans, in having their own way, would break up into as many fragments as the best Frenchman could desire, and Bismarck is the real suppressor of France. Throughout the Franco-Prussian war he sided strongly with the Prussians, refusing to dine in houses where the prevailing sympathy with France would make him unwelcome as its declared opponent; but he felt “as a nightmare” the attack on prostrate Paris, “as a blow” the capitulation of Metz; denouncing Gambetta and his colleagues as meeting their disasters only with slanderous shrieks, “possessed by the spirit of that awful Popish woman.” Bismarck as a statesman he consistently admired, and deplored his dismissal. I see, he said, all the peril implied by Bismarck’s exit, and the advent of his ambitious young Emperor. It is a transition from the known to the unknown, from wisdom, perhaps, to folly. His Crimean volumes continued to appear; in 1875, 1880, finally in 1887; while the Cabinet Edition was published in 1887–8. This last contained three new Prefaces; in Vol. I. as we have seen, the memorial of Nicholas Kiréeff; in Vol. II. the latter half of the original Preface to Vol. I., cancelled thence at Madame Novikoff’s request, though now carefully modified so as to avoid anything which might irritate Russia at a moment when troubles seemed to be clearing away. In his Preface to Vol. VII. he had three objects, to set right the position of Sir E. Hamley, who had been neglected in the despatches; to demolish his friend Lord Bury, who had “questioned my omniscience” in the “Edinburgh Review”; and to exonerate England at large from absurd self-congratulations about the “little Egypt affair,” the blame of such exaggeration resting with those whom he called State Showmen. Silent to acquaintances about the progress of his work, he was communicative to his few intimates, though never reading aloud extracts or allowing them to be seen. In 1872 he would speak pathetically of his “Crimean muddle,” perplexed, as he well might be, by the intricacies of Inkerman. Asked if he will not introduce a Te Deum on the fall of Louis Napoleon, he answered that to write without the stimulus of combat would be a task beyond his energy; “when I took the trouble to compose that fourteenth chapter, the wretched Emperor and his gang were at the height of their power in Europe and the world; but now!” He was insatiate as to fresh facts: utilized his acquaintance with Todleben, whom he had first met on his visit to England in 1864; sought out Prince Ourusoff at a later time, and inserted particulars gleaned from him in Vol. IX., Chapter V.