The Minister’s writing-table, which our descendants will doubtless find in some historical museum, occupies nearly the middle of the room. It is about two and a half metres long by two in width, and is so placed that the person sitting at it has his face turned towards the wall with the oil painting which I have just described. Over it hangs a red woollen bell pull, which many a time and oft has called the Chancery attendant before the door, in order to summon me to make my appearance before the Chief. On such occasions one hurried upstairs instantly, leaving everything just as it happened to lie, stood before the Chief at attention like a lieutenant before his general, all ear and memory, and then rushed off again to his place to commit the orders received to paper as speedily as possible. It was not permissible to misunderstand; and questions as to what had been said were, for the most part, also excluded, while the suggestion that something could not be done met with an angry retort. It had to be done, and as a matter of fact was done in most cases. A severe school, but he who would enjoy the honour of having direct intercourse with a great man, of serving him and his country, and of learning from him, must be able to overlook a certain hardness in his nature. In the present instance this was all the easier, as the Chancellor never bore a grudge, and could be most amiable when off duty. Moreover, others, and some of very high position, fared no better. “I am always frightened when I am obliged to go up to him,” said his Excellency von Thile to me one evening.