into the comic posture of annexing the people for being German and then persecuting them for being French.  The French Teutons who built Rheims must surrender it to the South German Teutons who have partly built Cologne; and these in turn surrender Cologne to the North German Teutons, who never built anything, except the wooden Aunt Sally of old Hindenburg.  Every Teuton must fall on his face before an inferior Teuton; until they all find, in the foul marshes towards the Baltic, the very lowest of all possible Teutons, and worship him—­and find he is a Slav.  So much for Pan-Germanism.

But though Teutonism is indefinable, or at least is by the Teutons undefined, it is not unreal.  A vague but genuine soul does possess all peoples who boast of Teutonism; and has possessed ourselves, in so far as we have been touched by that folly.  Not a race, but rather a religion, the thing exists; and in 1870 its sun was at noon.  We can most briefly describe it under three heads.

The victory of the German arms meant before Leipzic, and means now, the overthrow of a certain idea.  That idea is the idea of the Citizen.  This is true in a quite abstract and courteous sense; and is not meant as a loose charge of oppression.  Its truth is quite compatible with a view that the Germans are better governed than the French.  In many ways the Germans are very well governed.  But they might be governed ten thousand times better than they are, or than anybody ever can be, and still be as far as ever from governing.  The idea of the Citizen is that his individual human nature shall be constantly and creatively active in altering the State.  The Germans are right in regarding the idea as dangerously revolutionary.  Every Citizen is a revolution.  That is, he destroys, devours and adapts his environment to the extent of his own thought and conscience.  This is what separates the human social effort from the non-human; the bee creates the honey-comb, but he does not criticise it.  The German ruler really does feed and train the German as carefully as a gardener waters a flower.  But if the flower suddenly began to water the gardener, he would be much surprised.  So in Germany the people really are educated; but in France the people educates.  The French not only make up the State, but make the State; not only make it, but remake it.  In Germany the ruler is the artist, always painting the happy German like a portrait; in France the Frenchman is the artist, always painting and repainting France like a house.  No state of social good that does not mean the Citizen choosing good, as well as getting it, has the idea of the Citizen at all.  To say the Germanies are naturally at war with this idea is merely to respect them and take them seriously:  otherwise their war on the French Revolution would be only an ignorant feud.  It is this, to them, risky and fanciful notion of the critical and creative Citizen, which in 1870 lay prostrate under United Germany—­under the undivided hoof.