not so much as see the infamous temptation appear above the horizon of
his most instinctive fears; he does not even suspect that it is able
to exist; and he will never perceive it, whatever sacrifices may yet
await him. We are not, therefore, speaking of a heroism that would be
but the last resource of despair, the heroism of the animal driven to
bay and fighting blindly to delay death's coming for a moment. No, it
is heroism freely donned, deliberately and unanimously hailed, heroism
on behalf of an idea and a sentiment, in other words, heroism in its
clearest, purest and most virginal form, a disinterested and
whole-hearted sacrifice for that which men regard as their duty to
themselves, to their kith and kin, to mankind and to the future. If
life and personal safety were more precious than the idea of honour,
of patriotism and of fidelity to tradition and the race, there was, I
repeat, and there is still a choice to be made; and never perhaps in
any war was the choice easier, for never did men feel more free, never
indeed were they more free to choose.

But this choice, as I have said, did not dare show its faintest shadow
on the lowest horizons of even the most ignoble consciences. Are you
quite sure that, in other times which we think better and more
virtuous than our own, men would not have seen it, would not have
spoken of it? Can you find a nation, even among the greatest, which,
after six months of a war compared with which all other wars seem
child's-play, of a war which threatens and uses up all that nation's
life and all its possessions, can you find, I say, in history, not an
instance--for there is no instance--but some similar case which allows
you to presume that the nation would not have faltered, would not at
least, were it but for a second, have looked down and cast its eyes
upon an inglorious peace?