THE PROPHETIC INSIGHT OF RENAN.

1:1HE second of Renan's two sequels to The Tempest is entitled L'Eau de Jouvence—The Water of Youth. In his Preface Renan explains how this final episode in the history of Prospero and Caliban came to be written. The poet evidently felt that it would be impossible, a violation of all the laws of art and probability, to leave Prospero enthroned in his " ridiculous little duchy of Milan," an unwilling and unwanted Sovereign. Rather he preferred to perpetuate the memory of he errant Duke under the guise of " the eternal magician," pandering through all time and all worlds in pursuit of the .kerets of science. In L'Eau de Jouvence, therefore, Renan presents Prospero as an alchemist at the Papal Court of Avignon. There the magician has become famous on account of a magic water which he makes. This water has great virtue, and gives to those who drink it dreams of desire. They drink and dream, and in their visions they grasp, if but for a moment, the fulfilment of all that they hold best in life. There are many who travel from far to test the mysterious properties of the water, and among them conies a Prussian noble, one Siffroi, an emissary of the Emperor. He arrives with a great show of pomp and circumstance, and, after the manner of his kind, at once seizes all of the availablb elixir and drinks it off at a draught. He then begins to dream, and in the unfolding of Siffroi's vision Renan has drawn a perfect picture of the soul of Prussian militarism as the twentieth-century world was to come to know it. In every detail the portrait is accurate. The psychological insight which inspired it is never at fault. How much of the wonderful truth of this exposition of Prussianism is due to the eternal and unchanging nature of racial characteristics, how much to the prophetic insight of Renan, it would be hard to say. The reader may, however, decide on this point for himself when he has read the following quotation from Act IV. of L'Eau de Jouvence, which contains the account of Siffroi's dream. In any case, and judged in the light of recent experience, it is a terrible indictment : " [Srrraor; who has been snoring all this time, wakes up.] Victory ! Victory ! Hang, burn, shoot ! We are the masters. Everything is permissible to us in order to make them do what we wish. Generosity ! Sentimentality ! Pure folly.! Desolation ! The soldiers are too kind-hearted ; our men know how to kill but not how to shoot.. We must burn all the villages, hang all the male inhabitants ; that will hinder them in defending themselves. Ha ! ha ! [He bursts out laughing.] Prisoners ! Do you realize that they are making prisoners of people who defend themselves ? They ought all to be shot. 0 kind Sir, have mercy on my husband, who has threatened a Hussar with his spade ! Very well, my good woman, you may feel perfectly certain that your husband [he passes his finger round his neck] will be hung ! ' [He bursts out laughing.]

The thing I like about the Bavarian is the readiness with which he shoots. He meets some one, he doesn't wait to see whether they're going to fire on him, he shoots first.

One must be as polite as possible right up to the last step of the gallows ; [He laughs pleasantly] but one must hang.

Oh, how soft our soldiers are ! If I had a command I know what I should do. If some refugees happened to fall into my hands, I should relieve them of their cow and everything else that they wanted to carry away, and accuse them of having stolen the things and hidden them in the woods.

War must be made as cruel as possible. Feeling ! What. a ridiculous idea !

We'll shoot, we'll hang, we'll burn. When that has happened a few times the inhabitants will behave more reasonably— especially if our shells have already conveniently disposed of them.

What a delicious scent ! It smells like fried onions. Some peasants have just been roasted in their houses.

Out of a hundred and seventy, a hundred and fifty have been put to the sword. Why have you spared the rest, you rascals ! Don't you know that sentiment is an absurdity ? A letter from my dear angel !

[A movement of attention among the audience.]

PROSPERO.

Listen ! His angel is going to address him. We are now going to see something of his amorous side.

SIFFROI.

Ah, good counsel, dear and gentle friend ! Have all the

French shot, cut to pieces, even the little children.' I am afraid there aren't any Bibles in France. See, here is the Book of Psalms, which I am sending you so that you may read there this prophecy against the French : I tell thee, the wicked must be cut off.'

Thanks, gentle wife, thanks !

Why are they delaying the bombardment ? They will miss the psychological moment. Oh, the sensitive soul of woman t It is said that but for two women the bombardment would have already begun. Ah, that I were the master ! I should not be afraid of being hard. Two million men dying of hunger Well, they asked for it

Look at those people there, picking up potatoes. They don't fire upon them. Oh, the humanity of the soldiers ! There are some people who spoil everything because they want to be praised for their humanity. And it is said that these humbugs don't look as if they liked having us amongst them ! Pure affectation !

The French are a barbarous nation, without the polish of civilization. We are the men ; they are the women. Women ! ah, for shame ! Goodwill to all, that is justice,' so one of their simpletons has said. Oh, indeed ! In the world as I have seen it, illwill, that is justice. Hermann de . . . , a base intriguer ! Henri de . . . , a wicked man ! Gauthier de . . . , an ignoramus, a fool, a rogue ! And the Emperor, my master ! . . . Old . . : but no, hush ! I have too much intelligence."