ents of 1870 have by no
means cured me of my pessimism. They taught me the high value of
evil, and that the cynical disavowal of all sentiment, generosity
and chivalry gives pleasure to the world at large and is invariably
successful. Egotism is the exact opposite of what I had been
accustomed to regard as noble and good. We see that in this world
egotism alone commands success. England has until within the last
few years been the first nation in the world because she was the most
selfish. Germany has acquired the hegemony of the world by repudiating
without scruple the principles of political morality which she once so
eloquently preached.

This is the explanation of the anomaly that having on several
occasions been called upon to give practical advice in regard to
the affairs of my country, this advice has always been in direct
contradiction with my artistic views. In so doing, I have been
actuated by conscientious motives. I have endeavoured to evade the
ordinary cause of my errors; I have taken the counterpart of my
instincts and been on guard against my idealism. I am always afraid
that my mode of thought will lead me wrong and blind me to one side of
the question. This is how it is that, much as I love what is good,
I am perhaps over indulgent for those who have taken another view of
life, and that, while always being full of work, I ask myself very
often whether the idlers are not right after all.

So far as regards enthusiasm, I have got as much of it as any one;
but I believe that the reality will have none of it, and that with the
reign of men of business, manufacturers, the working class (which is
the most selfish of all), Jews, English of the old school and Germans
of the new school, has been ushered in a materialist age in which it
will be as difficult to bring about the triumph of a generous idea as
to produce the silvery note of the great bell of Notre Dame with one
cast in lead or tin. It is strange, moreover, that while not pleasing
one side I have not deceived the other. The bourgeois have not been
the least grateful to me for my concessions; they have read me better
than I can read-myself, and they have seen that I was but a poor sort
of Conservative, and that without the most remote intention of acting
in bad faith, I should have played them false twenty times over out of
affection for the ideal, my ancient mistress. They felt that the hard
things which I said to her were only superficial, and that