at his soul, he drags at everything he experiences. He digests his events badly; he never gets “done” with them; and German depth is often only a difficult, hesitating “digestion.” And just as all chronic invalids, all dyspeptics like what is convenient, so the German loves “frankness” and “honesty”; it is so convenient to be frank and honest!⁠—This confidingness, this complaisance, this showing-the-cards of German honesty , is probably the most dangerous and most successful disguise which the German is up to nowadays: it is his proper Mephistophelean art; with this he can “still achieve much”! The German lets himself go, and thereby gazes with faithful, blue, empty German eyes⁠—and other countries immediately confound him with his dressing-gown!⁠—I meant to say that, let “German depth” be what it will⁠—among ourselves alone we perhaps take the liberty to laugh at it⁠—we shall do well to continue henceforth to honour its appearance and good name, and not barter away too cheaply our old reputation as a people of depth for Prussian “smartness,” and Berlin wit and sand. It is wise for a people to pose, and let