I thereupon announced that I should arrive at Friedrichsruh on the 12th of November. I started on the 11th, and, travelling _viâ_ Berlin, reached Friedrichsruh shortly after 12 o’clock on the following day. I was met at the station by a servant, who accompanied me to the Prince’s house and showed me to my room. Shortly afterwards I was called downstairs, where I had a friendly reception from the Chancellor and his wife. We then took lunch, Rantzau being also present, and immediately afterwards the Prince went with me into his study in order to discuss the matter that had brought me hither. He first gave expression to his indignation at Grunow’s letter, in which connection I also came in for my share. Among other things which he said was: “You have turned me into a bookseller’s hack; I am to be exploited like a Christmas speculation, and harnessed to his cart, the impudent fellow! He should have known nothing whatever of my assistance!” I explained to him that I had to inform Grunow owing to the possibility of a considerable delay in the return of my proofs, that I had previously mentioned this to him, the Chancellor, and that he had agreed, and that the same course had been adopted in the case of the first book. In his excitement he appeared to have overlooked what I had said, as he went on as follows: “That must remain between ourselves. I can trust you. You may write to me. But he! What right has a bookseller got to correspond with me, to warn and threaten me?” I tried in vain to appease him, endeavouring to show that the passage quoted by Rantzau when read in connection with the remainder of the letter was perhaps not a threat, but only a strong and not particularly felicitous expression of Grunow’s difficulty and embarrassment. The latter was a man of straightforward character, who knew how to keep his own counsel, and who was incapable of wishing to bring pressure of a threatening character to bear upon the Chancellor, for whom he entertained the highest regard. He then rang for Rantzau, and asked him to bring Grunow’s letter, which he handed to me to read. I could not see that it contained anything more than a cry of distress on the part of the publisher, who had promised the booksellers that a certain book would appear at a fixed date, and who feared he could not keep his word nor find any sufficient excuse to give them. I was as little affected by this embarrassment as I was by any loss which Grunow might suffer in case the book was not published at Christmas. I could have waited for a long time, and even if that were not the case it would never have occurred to me to press him. He said: “You acted in a perfectly proper way when the matter was postponed, and I had not expected anything different from you. But all the same that remains a threat on his part, and a piece of presumption, and I hesitated whether I should not decline to have anything further to do with the book, and afterwards publicly contradict erroneous passages in it.