There has always been something common to civilised men, whether they called it being merely a citizen; or being merely a sinner.  There has always been something which your ancestors called Verecundia; which is at once humility and dignity.  Whatever our faults, we do not do exactly as the Prussians do.  We do not bellow day and night to draw attention to our own stern silence.  We do not praise ourselves solely because nobody else will praise us.  I, for one, say at the end of these letters, as I said at the beginning; that in these international matters I have often differed from my countrymen; I have often differed from myself.  I shall not claim the completeness of this silly creature we discuss.  I shall not answer his boasts with boasts; but with blows.

My front-door is beaten in and broken down suddenly.  I see nothing outside, except a sort of smiling, straw-haired commercial traveller with a notebook open, who says, “Excuse me, I am a faultless being, I have persuaded Poland; I can count on my respectful Allies in Alsace.  I am simply loved in Lorraine. Quae reggio in terris ...  What place is there on earth where the name of Prussia is not the signal for hopeful prayers and joyful dances?  I am that German who has civilised Belgium; and delicately trimmed the frontiers of Denmark.  And I may tell you, with the fulness of conviction, that I have never failed, and shall never fail in anything.  Permit me, therefore, to bless your house by the passage of my beautiful boots; that I may burgle the house next door.”

And then something European that is prouder than pride will rise up in me; and I shall answer:—­

“I am that Englishman who has tortured Ireland, who has been tortured by South Africa; who knows all his mistakes, who is heavy with all his sins.  And he tells you, Faultless Being, with a truth as deep as his own guilt, and as deathless as his own remembrance, that you shall not pass this way.”