lain shortly afterwards, in his famous Leicester speech, stated publicly, that 'England and the German Empire are natural allies.' At the special desire of the Kaiser, he incorporated a friendly reference to the United States in this allusion. Our London embassy believed for a moment that the thing would succeed. But it had not taken into account the character of Wilhelm II, the wilful perversity of German diplomacy, and the political stupidity of the German people. Pro-Boer agitation was at its height. The Tirpitz newspapers were raging more scandalously than ever. Neither Bülow nor Wilhelm were able to check the antiEnglish campaign which they themselves had started, now that it had been taken up by Tirpitz and his organizations. Bülow bowed to the storm, and delivered a speech of almost unbelievable surliness in reply to Chamberlain. The seizure of the German vessel Bundesrat threw oil into the flames. Wilhelm had fallen completely under the influence of the military and naval fire-eaters. After his return to Berlin, he threatened England with a forty-eight hour ultimatum on account of the seizure of this vessel. So within a few weeks the former tension between the two countries was renewed.

That was next to the last act before the final tragedy. The last act was played during the first six months of 1901. England was seriously disturbed by Germany's wavering policy, and was considering the possibility of an alliance with Russia and France much more earnestly than hitherto. This time, also, Joseph Chamberlain took the lead. Conversing with his colleague, the Duke of Devonshire, in the library of Chatsworth Castle, in January, 1901, he summarized his views as follows: 'England's period of splendid isolation is over. England is ready to reach an agreement upon all

pending diplomatic questions, particu larly those relating to Morocco and East Asia, with either one of the present continental alliances now in existence. Already, the idea of England's joining the Franco-Russian Entente has open champions in the cabinet. We, however, belong to the party which would prefer joining with Germany and the Triple Alliance. Should it prove, that association with Germany is impossible, we must consider coöperating with France and Russia. even though that may cost great sacrifices in Morocco, Persia, and China.'

Soon after this conversation, Queen Victoria died. Negotiations were broken off for a period. Berlin's view of the case is perhaps best indicated by the fact that Bülow and Holstein made every effort to impress upon the Kaiser the importance of not mentioning the new proposal, when he went to England to attend the funeral. Notwithstanding this, the Kaiser seems to have been moved by the spirit of the occasion to adopt a more friendly attitude than hitherto toward England's

overtures.

Unhappily, what occurred in 1899 was repeated. Wilhelm had scarcely got back to Berlin before he again fell completely under the influence of the prevalent anti-English sentiment. In place of the Bundesrat incident, the German government was now busied with the claims of certain German firms in South Africa for damages, and the question of a Chinese war indemnity. Instead of resuming the negotiations started by Chamberlain, the German Foreign Office, to the intense delight of Russia and France, became engaged in a violent controversy with England over minor questions which were mere bagatelles in comparison with the great question of Germany's general foreign policy. Our people thought they could venture on this

course because they considered an understanding between England and Russia inconceivable. Chamberlain became nervous: 'We would gladly make extensive concessions to Germany, affording that country at least equal advantages, and perhaps greater advantages, than we ourselves would receive. Since we know, however, that every communication which Berlin receives from us is at once forwarded to St. Petersburg, it can surprise no one if we hereafter exercise the greatest reserve in our communications to Berlin.' However, his views remained the same as when he expressed them to the Kaiser and Bülow at Windsor Castle a year before. But he did not intend to burn his fingers a second time.

As a result, despite the impetuous and erratic diplomacy of Berlin, negotiations were actually resumed the following March. They looked toward a German-English alliance to which Japan might become a party. On March 25, our London embassy had agreed with Lord Lansdowne upon the possible alliance. Then, suddenly, 'the Kaiser's irritation at England's delay in the matter of the Chinese war indemnity' (Holstein's telegram of March 25)—again upset things.

Our London embassy was almost beside itself with anger at 'the fool's paradise in Berlin.' The German government sent a special commissioner to London to insist on a speedy settlement of the indemnity question. Just at this time, Wilhelm's notorious letter to King Edward was received, in which he referred to the members of the English cabinet as 'arch blockheads.' The negotiations were carried on a little longer in this stupid, diplomatic anarchy. They were not terminated until they were transferred from London to Berlin. Alfred Rothschild, who labored constantly for a better understanding between the two coun

tries, described the final and farcical stage of these proceedings, of which Wilhelm did not keep himself informed, as follows: 'The negotiations in London were a serious business; but what is now going on in Berlin is simply faking. No serious British statesman attaches the slightest importance to Bülow's fair-spoken, non-committal phrases. The English ambassador laughs over the blunders and tactlessness of Berlin officials. Furthermore, the government, apparently, does not know, even to-day, what it really wants.'

That was written in June, 1901. Germany did not wish such an alliance. It showed the same cold aversion which it had exhibited toward a general understanding with England, toward another British proposal, made in July, for joint action in Morocco, independently of France. Our Foreign Office ridiculed the idea of an Anglo-French alliance as much as it did that of an Anglo-Russian alliance. So history took its course. The following October, Chamberlain replied to Germany's attack upon England's military policy in South Africa, with his famous challenging speech in Edinburgh. Balfour followed him. In 1903, England and France began to negotiate, and in 1904 they signed a secret preliminary arrangement regarding Egypt and Morocco. The Anglo-Japanese alliance had been concluded in 1902. After Russia's defeat, England and Russia began negotiations which found their first public expression in the agreement of 1907. With this act, the encirclement of Germany began. The growing tension between Germany and England made Italy a useless member of the Triple Alliance. Thereupon began the final, fatal, diplomatic struggle between the disintegrating Triple Alliance and the integrating Triple Entente. Germany plunged headlong

toward the abyss. The efforts made shortly before the war, by BethmannHollweg and Lichnowsky, to come to a belated understanding with England, were a death-bed repentance which did no good. The catastrophe which was to overwhelm us brought their efforts to naught.

At outs with England, hopelessly separated from France, disliked by Italy, Wilhelm II kept seeking the support from Russia which he might have had from England, but frivolously threw away. He continued to appeal, and to implore the Tsar. Finally, when after protracted efforts and unending concessions he did get what he thought was a treaty with Russia and Björkö, in 1905, it proved to be a worthless will-o'-the-wisp thing. It has never been revealed who, besides Wilhelm II signed this treaty for Germany. The Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs never signed it. The Russian Minister of the Navy signed in his place, at the side of the Tsar's signa

ture, actually without taking the trouble to read the document, as Count Witte tells us in his memoirs — and Russia denounced the treaty almost as soon as it was signed.

This is, briefly, the history of diplomatic relations between Germany and England. Let me repeat: Theoretically, a continental policy against England might have succeeded. But so long as the indispensable preliminary conditions for such a policy were absent, it was in actual practise doomed to failure. Without the continent solidly behind Germany, the German navy was helpless. Wilhelm II built that navy, and thus led Germany to its destruction between two fires. A foreign minister with such a catastrophe on his conscience would deserve to be called before the nation's judgment seat for his acts. The German people should study their history. The question of restoring the monarchy should be pondered in the light of an historical inquiry into what it has done.

IMMEDIATELY after the Socialist Party split at the congress of Tours, the Communists joyfully announced that Anatole France had become a convert. They made a great ado over their new adherent.

I admire the genius of Anatole

France. His character is another matter. The political opinions of a writer are determined by his character. They have nothing to do with his genius.

What benefit will the Communist Party receive from the assistance of this distinguished author? Let me, first of all, show how easy it is to refute Anatole France, the Communist,

by citing Anatole France, the writer. Let us refer to his books. Note the vigorous terms in which the author of the Jardin d'Epicure denounced and condemned beforehand the folly and illusion of the Third International. 'Men prophesy, and even fancy they already witness, great social changes. That is the eternal error of the prophetic mind. Change is beyond question the first law of life; all that lives is in a ceaseless state of transformation. It varies insensibly and almost without our knowledge. All progress, whether toward better things or worse is slow and steady. But there will be no great changes; there never have been. I mean by this, sudden and radical revolutions. Economic evolution follows the slow processes of natural law. Whether for good or evil, as we see things, society is always what it must be.'

When the writer of these words made his noisy advent into the Communist Party, did he know what he was doing? To what extent was he sincere?

For the truth is that Anatole France has always been the opposite of a popular writer, and even more markedly the opposite of a revolutionist. His taste, his mentality, his style, all withdraw him from the crowd, from its passions and its exaggerations. His genius rests on measure and tradition.

Can this enemy of whatever offends artistic proportion be converted, suddenly and sincerely, into a real extremist? Some explain his action by his advanced age. That is unworthy of him. Anatole France has lost nothing of his clarity of mind with passing years.

Arriving at the period when his genius was rather at its climax than in its period of decline,' he discovered that in spite of himself, he was a bourgeois, or worse than that, an aristocrat. He is an aristocrat by virtue of his literary style, which bears

the features of noble ancestors, and by virtue of an exquisiteness of taste which is the gift of inherited and ancient culture. He is an aristocrat in the refinement of his perceptions, in his love of luxury, of beautiful books, and of rare bindings. His mind, above all, is that of an aristocrat. His skeptical smile, his graceful nihilism, his superior irony are the tokens.

But people do not sway mobs by irony. Anatole France knows that well. He knows it as well as did Voltaire, who observed: 'Irony does not arouse passions it does not touch the heart.'

Anatole France, who possesses charm rather than kindly sympathy, who not holding the direct route to the heart still knows every path which leads to the intelligence, has conceived the ambition, the dream, of carrying with him the mob, the ardent and passionate multitude.

He knows that he will always have the bourgeoisie with him, fascinated by the subtle charm of his writings. But to win the multitude, for whom his genius is a sealed book, he joins their ranks. What does he risk by this?

Possibly, he does not risk enough. Possibly, it is fear of taking risks which moves him-and this is a little irritating. Are we to believe that when the venerable author plays the part of patriarch of anarchy and mutters dark prophecies of the doom of the present order, he is really dreaming of that great day of judgment?

I recall some years ago a presentation of Armide et Gildis at the Odéon. It was a metrical drama in the severest style. But inasmuch as the author, Camille de Sainte-Croix, had a strong Socialist following, and was dramatic critic for a Socialist Party organ, his comrades sent an important contingent of enthusiastic spectators, who listened with pathetic attention and good faith

However, that did not discourage the faithful political fellows of the author, who streamed through the lobbies between the acts with a serious air, regarding with distrustful hostility the frivolous throng of ordinary Parisian theatre-goers, and muttering to themselves: 'now we are going to see who are the real people.'

It is hard for me to imagine that Anatole France, sagacious and world wise as he is, seeks the suffrage of such amateurs. I can imagine the painful surprise of the latter, were they to search for the pure doctrine in a book as reactionary as his Les Dieux ont Soif, or as recondite as La Révolte des Anges.

However, no one supposes that Anatole France has put his best work, the work that bears the tokens of his genius, in the few tracts, public letters, interviews, and manifestoes, which he has issued over his name; and which we can best describe, perhaps, by saying that they bear no resemblance whatever to the characteristic writings of their author.

It would be as though we tried to judge Renan's work from his campaign literature in 1869, when he was candidate for Seine-et-Marne. Curiosity once moved me to hunt through the archives of the prefecture of Melun for the election documents of this illustrious candidate. I found posters and circulars, signed Ernest Renan. Their style was commonplace, their thought

was mediocre. I fairly shuddered when I read them.

Anatole France contributes no more to the cause of his Communist comrades than Renan bestowed upon the voters of La Brie.

That is why I continue to believe that Anatole France is a convert who adds but little to the strength of the Communist Party. As a party member he is simply Monsieur France, not Anatole France. It is not the great master hand of France's literature who shines in their ranks. In reality, it means only one Communist more, a Communist who is not our Anatole France, but simply Comrade Thibaut to revert to his ancestral name.

II

ALL his many days he has savored life with a fine enjoyment, this greatest satirist of our age; delicately, but with gusto, and always with that hidden but tender laughter, as at some halfdivined jest of Fate. And now, when his years are heavy upon him, he still looks at life through his clear, appraising eyes, like an old connoisseur of wines looking through his glass at the light above the dinner table. A great subject for a great painter of portraits, like all the faces of noble men in their old age, with his deep eyes and highdomed brow full of a wisdom almost Oriental in its clear quality; broad shoulders, with the scholar's stoop, and spade beard sparkling silver in the lamplight.

I talked with Anatole France in a great hotel that confronts proudly, from its high, out-jutting Cape, the hidden African continent across the intervening blue of the Mediterranean.

'I am a very old man, and aloof from many things,' said this greatest of the intellectuals within the fold of the Communist International. ‘But I look out from my retreat upon the