Certain well-meaning, end-of-the century sceptics may be able lightly to
throw off that past in which they have (or believe they have) lost
nothing, whilst we of the "mid-century" are borne down under its heavy
burden. These people neglect no occasion to advise us to forget and they
do it gracefully, lightly showing us how much more modern it is to crown
oneself with roses than to continue to wear tragically our trailing
garments of affliction and mourning.

I should be inclined to judge with more painful severity those witty
writers who advise us to light-hearted friendship with Bismarck the
"great German," with William the "sympathetic Emperor", with Richard
Wagner "the highest expression of historical poetry and musical art,"
those men who prepared and who perpetuate Prussia's victories--I should
judge them differently, I say, were it not that I remember my former
anger against the young decadents and the older _roués_ in the last days
of the Empire.

All of them used to make mock of patriotism in a jargon mixed with slang
which greatly disturbed the minds of worthy folk, who became half ashamed
at harbouring, in spite of themselves, the ridiculous emotions "of
another age."

But these same decadents and _roués_, after a period of initiation
somewhat longer than that which falls to the lot of ordinary mortals,
behaved very gallantly in the Terrible Year.

True, in order to convince them that they had been wrong in regarding the
theft of Schleswig-Holstein as a trifle, wrong in applauding the victory
of Sadowa, and declaring that each war was the last, it required such