"Nietzsche."

The professor looked at him pityingly. Nietzsche had said to mankind,
"Be harsh!" affirming that "a righteous war sanctifies every cause."
He had exalted Bismarck; he had taken part in the war of '70; he was
glorifying Germany when he spoke of "the smiling lion," and "the blond
beast." But Argensola listened with the tranquillity of one sure of his
ground. Oh, hours of placid reading near the studio chimney, listening
to the rain beating against the pane! . . .

"The philosopher did say that," he admitted, "and he said many other
very different things, like all great thinkers. His doctrine is one of
pride, but of individual pride, not that of a nation or race. He always
spoke against 'the insidious fallacy of race.'"

Argensola recalled his philosophy word for word. Culture, according
to Nietzsche, was "unity of style in all the manifestations of life."
Science did not necessarily include culture. Great knowledge might be
accompanied with great barbarity, by the absence of style or by the
chaotic confusion of all styles. Germany, according to the philosopher,
had no genuine culture owing to its lack of style. "The French," he had
said, "were at the head of an authentic and fruitful culture, whatever
their valor might be, and until now everybody had drawn upon it." Their
hatreds were concentrated within their own country. "I cannot endure
Germany. The spirit of servility and pettiness penetrates everywhere.
. . . I believe only in French culture, and what the rest of Europe calls
culture appears to me to be a mistake. The few individual cases of lofty
culture that I met in Germany were of French origin."

"You know," continued Argensola, "that in quarrelling with Wagner about
the excess of Germanism in his art, Nietzsche proclaimed the necessity
of mediterraneanizing music. His ideal was a culture for all Europe, but
with a Latin base."

Julius von Hartrott replied most disdainfully to this, repeating the
Spaniard's very words. Men who thought much said many things. Besides,
Nietzsche was a poet, completely demented at his death, and was no
authority among the University sages. His fame had only been recognized
in foreign lands. . . . And he paid no further attention to the youth,
ignoring him as though he had evaporated into thin air after his
presumption. All the professor's attention was now concentrated on
Desnoyers.

"This country," he resumed, "is dying from within. How can you doubt
that r