The German Emperor composed for himself a prayer, which he is accustomed to have said in his presence, and in which God is implored "to grant His protection to the Emperor William, to give him health and inspiration for the fulfilment of his mission _towards the nations_." To-day, reduced to inactivity by his illness and by the consequences of his folly, he has ample leisure to reflect on the psalm which he is so fond of singing, with the mitre of the _summus episcopus_ on his head: "The kings of the earth are the instruments of God." 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 about his excited person. Meanwhile the Emperor Alexander III, calm in the serenity of his nature, takes his rest in the pleasant retreat of Fredensborg, where he finds contented virtues and the joys of family life.