alizing, however bitter the wisdom,
that the Empire which the sword and the death-defiant valour of the
past have upraised can be maintained only by the sword and a valour not
less death-defiant, a self-renunciation not less heroic. Such
manifestations of heroism and of a zealous ardour, unexampled in its
extent and its intensity, offer assuredly, I repeat, some augury, some
earnest of that which is to come, some pledge to the new century rising
like a planet tremulous on the horizon's verge.

But a widespread error still confounds this imperial patriotism with
Cosmopolitanism, this resolution of a great people with Jingoism. Now
what is Cosmopolitanism? It is an attitude of mind purely negative; it
is a characteristic of protected nationalities, and of decayed races.
It passes easily into political indifference, political apathy. It is
the negation of patriotism; but it offers no constructive ideal in its
stead. Imperialism is active, is constructive.[6] It is the passion
of Marathon and Trafalgar, it is the patriotism of a de Montfort or a
Grenville, at once intensified and heightened by the aspirations of
humanity, by the ideals of a Shelley, a Wilberforce, or a Canning. But
between mere war-fever, Jingoism, and such free, unfettered enthusiasm,
a nation's unaltering loyalty in defeat or in triumph to an ideal born
of its past, and its joy in the actions in which this ideal is
realized, the gulf is wide. Napoleon knew this. Nothing in history is
more illuminating than the bitter remark with which he turned away from
the sight of the enthusiasm with which Vienna welcomed its defeated
sovereign, Francis II. All his victories could not purchase him _that_!

Would the critics of "music-hall madness" prefer to see a city stand
sullen, silent, indifferent, cursing in the bitterness of its heart the
government, the army, the empire? Or would they have it like the Roman
mob of the first Caesars, cluster in crowds, careless of empire,
battles, or the glory of Rome's name, shouting for a loaf of bread and
a circus ticket? Between the cries, the laughter, the tears of a mob
and the speech or the silence of a statesman there is a great space;
but it were rash to assume that the dissonant clamour of the crowds is
but an ignorant or a transient frenzy. In religion itself have we not
similar variety of expression? Those faces gathered under the trees or
in a public thoroughfare--the expression of emotion there is not