I have found an echo of the thought of Machiavelli in the book of Maeterlinck, the great Belgian poet, the poet who, perhaps, more than any of his contemporaries, has given expression to the most delicate and complex movements of the human soul. Maeterlinck in his book _Wisdom and Destiny_ admits the existence of a mechanical, external fate, but says that a human being can react against it. “An event in itself,” he says in chapter viii. of this book, “is pure water which the fountain pours out over us, and which has not generally in itself either taste, colour or perfume. It becomes beautiful or sad, sweet or bitter, life-giving or mortal, according to the soul which receives it. Thousands of adventures, all of which seem to contain the seeds of heroism, continually happen to those who surround us, whilst no heroism arises when the adventure is over. But Christ met a group of children in his path, an adulteress, a Samaritan, and three times in succession humanity rose to divine heights.” The war has been as a jet of pure water for our nation. It has been deadly for Spain, for instance, but life-giving to us. We desired it. We chose. Before making our choice we argued and struggled, and the struggle sometimes assumed the aspect of violence; but we won, and now we are proud of those days, and are glad to think that the memory of the crowds which filled the streets and squares of our cities disturbs those who were defeated and those who even to-day, by the most insidious means, try to extinguish the sacred flame and the faith of our people. They accepted this war as one accepts a heavy burden, and their leader, followed by the curses of the people, withdrew, like an old feudal lord, to his remote native country, and we can only wish that he will always remain there. _Enough of Old Age!_ But, as I am never tired of repeating, we young men made one fatal mistake then, which we have paid for bitterly; we entrusted this ardent youth of ours to the most grievous old age. When I say old age, I do not establish merely a chronological fact. I think some people are born old, that there are those at twenty who are in a mental and physical decline, whereas some men—the marvellous Tiger of France, for instance—at seventy have all the vibration and fire of virile youth. I speak of the old men who are old men, who are behind the times, who are encumbrances. They neither understood nor realised the fundamental truths underlying the war.