one single Englishman, who shrinks from no expedient that may advance his ends.  Morality for him reduces itself to one precept:  Safeguard at any cost the interest of England.”

Like all foreigners he takes Ireland as the one conspicuous and flaming failure of England.  In that instance she has muddled, as usual, but she has not muddled through.

“The Anglo-Saxons, those great colonisers of far-off lands, have in their own United Kingdom succeeded only in inflicting a long martyrdom on Ireland.  The insular situation of England had for pendant the insular situation of Ireland; the two islands lie there face to face.  The English and the Irish, although intellectually very much alike, have preserved different characters.  And this difference cannot be due essentially to the racial element, for nearly half Ireland is Germanic.  It is due to traditions and customs developed by English oppression.”

Having summarised the main lines of British policy in Ireland, he concludes: 

     “It is not easy to detect here any sign of the ’superiority of the
     Anglo-Saxons.’”

With Fouillee we may associate Emile Boutmy.  In his “Political Psychology of the English” he declares that the haughty, taciturn, solitary, unassimilative temperament of England, so admirable from the point of view of self-development, shows its worst side and comes to a malign florescence in the history of Ireland.  It explains why

     “the relations of Ireland with England have been, for so many
     centuries, those of a captive with his jailer, those of a victim
     with his torturer.”

I pass over De Beaumont, Von Raumer, Perraud, Paul-Dubois, Filon, Bonn.  The considerations already adduced ought to be enough to lead the English reader to certain conclusions which are fundamental.  For the sake of clearness they may be repeated in all their nudity: 

England has failed in Ireland.

Her failure has been due to defects of her own character, and limitations of her outlook.  The same defects which corrupted her policy in the past distort her vision in the present.

Therefore, if she is to understand and to solve the Irish Question, she must begin by breaking the hard shell of her individualism, and trying to think herself into the skin, the soul, and the ideals of the Irish nation.

Now the English reader is after all human.  If he has endured so far the outrage on his most sacred prejudices perpetrated in this chapter he must at this moment be hot with resentment.  He must feel as if, proposing to his imagination Pear de Melba, he had in truth swallowed sand.  Let me end with a more comfortable word.  We have seen that Irish history is what the dramatists call an internal tragedy, the secular disclosure and slow working-out of certain flaws in the English character.  I am not to be understood as ascribing horns to England and a halo to Ireland.  We Irish are not only imperfect but even modest; for every beam that we detect in another eye we are willing to confess a mote in our own.  The English on the other hand have been not monsters or demons, but men unstrung.