eat nation. All
Europe is awake to new life, thanks to these Crusaders of Liberty. . . .
The nations call to mind certain images. If I think of Greece, I see the
columns of the Parthenon; Rome, Mistress of the World, is the Coliseum
and the Arch of Trajan; and revolutionary France is the Arc de
Triomphe."

The Arch was even more, according to the Russian. It represented a
great historical retaliation; the nations of the South, called the
Latin races, replying, after many centuries, to the invasion which had
destroyed the Roman jurisdiction--the Mediterranean peoples spreading
themselves as conquerors through the lands of the ancient barbarians.
Retreating immediately, they had swept away the past like a tidal
wave--the great surf depositing all that it contained. Like the waters
of certain rivers which fructify by overflowing, this recession of the
human tide had left the soil enriched with new and generous ideas.

"If THEY should return!" added Tchernoff with a look of uneasiness.
"If they again should tread these stones! . . . Before, they were
simple-minded folk, stunned by their rapid good-fortune, who passed
through here like a farmer through a salon. They were content with money
for the pocket and two provinces which should perpetuate the memory
of their victory. . . . But now they will not be the soldiers only
who march against Paris. At the tail of the armies come the maddened
canteen-keepers, the Herr Professors, carrying at the side the little
keg of wine with the powder which crazes the barbarian, the wine
of Kultur. And in the vans come also an enormous load of scientific
savagery, a new philosophy which glorifies Force as a principle and
sanctifier of everything, denies liberty, suppresses the weak and places
the entire world under the charge of a minority chosen by God, just
because it possesses the surest and most rapid methods of slaughter.
Humanity may well tremble for the future if again resounds under this
archway the tramp of boots following a march of Wagner or any other
Kapellmeister."

They left the Arch, following the avenue Victor Hugo. Tchernoff
walking along in dogged silence as though the vision of this imaginary
procession had overwhelmed him. Suddenly he continued aloud the course
of his reflections.

"And if they should enter, what does it matter? . . . On that account,
the cause of Right will not die. It suffers eclipses, but is born again;
it may be ignored and trampled under foot,