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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd74320 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65907 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65907) diff --git a/old/65907-0.txt b/old/65907-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9c0bd59..0000000 --- a/old/65907-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10627 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wounded Souls, by Philip Gibbs - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Wounded Souls - -Author: Philip Gibbs - -Release Date: July 24, 2021 [eBook #65907] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOUNDED SOULS *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -WOUNDED SOULS - -PHILIP GIBBS - - - - -BY PHILIP GIBBS - -WOUNDED SOULS -THE STREET OF ADVENTURE -THE INDIVIDUALIST -HELEN OF LANCASTER GATE -A MASTER OF LIFE -THE WAY TO VICTORY. _2 Vols._ -THE STRUGGLE IN FLANDERS -THE BATTLES OF THE SOMME -THE SOUL OF THE WAR -ETC., ETC. - - - - -WOUNDED SOULS - -BY - -PHILIP GIBBS - -AUTHOR OF “THE STREET OF ADVENTURE,” -“THE INDIVIDUALIST,” ETC. - - -NEW YORK - -[Illustration: Logo] - -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1920, -BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -CONTENTS - - -BOOK ONE - - PAGE -THE END OF THE ADVENTURE 9 - - -BOOK TWO - -THROUGH HOSTILE GATES 143 - - -BOOK THREE - -BUILDERS OF PEACE 241 - - - - -BOOK ONE: THE END OF THE ADVENTURE - - - - -WOUNDED SOULS - - - - -BOOK ONE: THE END OF THE ADVENTURE - - - - -I - - -It is hard to recapture the spirit of that day we entered Lille. -Other things, since, have blurred its fine images. At the time, I -tried to put down in words the picture of that scene when, after four -years’ slaughter of men, the city, which had seemed a world away, was -open to us a few miles beyond the trenchlines, the riven trees, the -shell-holes, and the stench of death, and we walked across the canal, -over a broken bridge, into that large town where--how wonderful it -seemed!--there were roofs on the houses, and glass in the windows and -crowds of civilian people waiting for the first glimpse of British -khaki. - -Even now remembrance brings back to me figures that I saw only for -a moment or two but remain sharply etched in my mind, and people I -met in the streets who told me the story of four years in less than -four minutes and enough to let me know their bitterness, hatred, -humiliations, terrors, in the time of the German occupation.... I have -re-read the words I wrote, hastily, on a truculent typewriter which I -cursed for its twisted ribbon, while the vision of the day was in my -eyes. They are true to the facts and to what we felt about them. Other -men felt that sense of exaltation, a kind of mystical union with the -spirit of many people who had been delivered from evil powers. It is of -those other men that I am now writing, and especially of one who was my -friend--Wickham Brand, with the troubled soul, whom I knew in the years -of war and afterwards in the peace which was no peace to him. - -His was one of the faces I remember that day, as I had a glimpse of it -now and then, among crowds of men and women, young girls and children, -who surged about him, kissing his hands, and his face when he stooped a -little (he was taller than most of them) to meet the wet lips of some -half-starved baby held up by a pallid woman of Lille, or to receive -the kiss of some old woman who clawed his khaki tunic, or of some girl -who hung on to his belt. There was a shining wetness in his eyes, and -the hard lines of his face had softened as he laughed at all this -turmoil about him, at all these hands robbing him of shoulder-straps -and badges, and at all these people telling him a hundred things -together--their gratitude to the English, their hatred of the Germans, -their abominable memories. His field-cap was pushed back from his high -furrowed forehead from which at the temples the hair had worn thin, -owing to worry or a steelhat. His long lean face deeply tanned, but -powdered with white dust, had an expression of tenderness which gave -him a kind of priestly look, though others would have said “knightly” -with perhaps equal truth. Anyhow I could see that for a little while -Brand was no longer worrying about the casualty-lists and the doom of -youth and was giving himself up to an exultation that was visible and -spiritual in Lille in the day of liberation. - -The few of us who went first into Lille while our troops were in a wide -arc round the city, in touch more or less with the German rearguards, -were quickly separated in the swirl of the crowd that surged about -us, greeting us as conquering heroes, though none of us were actual -fighting-men, being war-correspondents, Intelligence officers (Wickham -Brand and three other officers were there to establish an advanced -headquarters), with an American doctor--that amazing fellow “Daddy” -Small--and our French liaison officer, Pierre Nesle. Now and again we -met in the streets and exchanged words. - -I remember the Doctor and I drifted together at the end of the -Boulevard de la Liberté. A French girl of the middle-class had tucked -her hand through his right arm and was talking to him excitedly, -volubly. On his other arm leaned an old dame in a black dress and -bonnet who was also delivering her soul of its pent-up emotion to a man -who did not understand more than a few words of her French. A small boy -dressed as a Zouave was walking backwards, waving a long tricolour flag -before the little American, and a crowd of people made a close circle -about him, keeping pace. - -“Assassins, bandits, robbers!” gobbled the old woman. “They stole all -our copper, monsieur. The very mattresses off our beds. The wine out of -our cellars. They did abominations.” - -“Month after month we waited,” said the girl with her hand through -the Doctor’s right arm. “All that time the noise of the guns was loud -in our ears. It never ceased, monsieur, until to-day. And we used to -say, ‘To-morrow the English will come!’ until at last some of us lost -heart--not I, no, always I believed in victory!--and said, ‘The English -will never come.’ Now you are here, and our hearts are full of joy. It -is like a dream. The Germans have gone!” - -The Doctor patted the girl’s hand, and addressed me across the -tricolour waved by the small Zouave. - -“This is the greatest day of my life! And I am perfectly ashamed -of myself. In spite of my beard and my gig-lamps and my anarchical -appearance, these dear people take me for an English officer and a -fighting hero! And I feel like one. If I saw a German now I truly -believe I should cut his throat. Me--a noncombatant and a man of peace! -I’m horrified at my own bloodthirstiness. The worst of it is I’m -enjoying it. I’m a primitive man for a time, and find it stimulating. -To-morrow I shall repent. These people have suffered hell’s torments. -I can’t understand a word the little old lady is telling me, but I’m -sure she’s been through infernal things. And this pretty girl. She’s a -peach, though slightly tuberculous, poor child. My God--how they hate! -There is a stored-up hatred in this town enough to burn up Germany by -mental telepathy. It’s frightening. Hatred and joy, I feel these two -passions like a flame about us. It’s spiritual. It’s transcendental. -It’s the first time I’ve seen a hundred thousand people drunk with joy -and hate. I’m against hate, and yet the sufferings of these people make -me see red so that I want to cut a German throat!” - -“You’d stitch it up afterwards, Doctor,” I said. - -He blinked at me through his spectacles, and said: - -“I hope so. I hope my instinct would be as right as that. The world -will never get forward till we have killed hatred. That’s my religion.” - -“Bandits! assassins!” grumbled the old lady. “Dirty people!” - -“_Vivent les Anglais!_” shouted the crowd, surging about the little man -with the beard. - -The American doctor spoke in English in a large explanatory way. - -“I’m American. Don’t you go making any mistake. I’m an Uncle Sam. The -Yankee boys are further south and fighting like hell, poor lads. I -don’t deserve any of this ovation, my dears.” - -Then in French, with a strong American accent, he shouted: - -“_Vive la France!_ ’Rah!’Rah!’Rah!” - -“_Merci, merci, mon Général!_” said an old woman, making a grab at the -little doctor’s Sam Brown belt and kissing him on the beard. The crowd -closed round him and bore him away.... - -I met another of our crowd when I went to a priest’s house in a -turning off the Rue Royale. Pierre Nesle, our liaison officer--a nice -simple fellow who had always been very civil to me--was talking to -the priest outside his door, and introduced me in a formal way to a -tall patrician-looking old man in a long black gown. It was the Abbé -Bourdin, well known in Lille as a good priest and a patriot. - -“Come indoors, gentlemen,” said the old man. “I will tell you what -happened to us, though it would take four years to tell you all.” - -Sitting there in the priest’s room, barely furnished, with a few oak -chairs and a writing-desk littered with papers, and a table covered -with a tattered cloth of red plush, we listened to a tragic tale, told -finely and with emotion by the old man into whose soul it had burned. -It was the history of a great population caught by the tide of war -before many could escape, and placed under the military law of an -enemy who tried to break his spirit. They failed to break it, in spite -of an iron discipline which denied them all liberty. For any trivial -offence by individuals against German rule the whole population was -fined or shut up in their houses at three in the afternoon. There were -endless fines, unceasing and intolerable robberies under the name of -“perquisitions.” That had not broken the people’s spirit. There were -worse things to bear--the removal of machinery from the factories, the -taking away of the young men and boys for forced labour, and, then, -the greater infamy of that night when machine-guns were placed at the -street corners and German officers ordered each household to assemble -at the front door and chose the healthy-looking girls by the pointing -of a stick and the word, “You!--you!--” for slave-labour--it was -that--in unknown fields far away. - -The priest’s face blanched at the remembrance of that scene. His voice -quavered when he spoke of the girls’ screams--one of them had gone -raving mad--and of the wailing that rose among their stricken families. -For a while he was silent, with lowered head and brooding eyes which -stared at a rent in the threadbare carpet, and I noticed the trembling -of a pulse on his right temple above the deeply-graven wrinkles of his -parchment skin. Then he raised his head and spoke harshly. - -“Not even that could break the spirit of my people. They only said, -‘We will never forget, and never forgive!’ They were hungry--we did -not get much food--but they said, ‘Our sons who are fighting for us -are suffering worse things. It is for us to be patient.’ They were -surrounded by German spies--the secret police--who listened to their -words and haled them off to prison upon any pretext. There is hardly -a man among us who has not been in prison. The women were made to do -filthy work for German soldiers, to wash their lousy clothes, to scrub -their dirty barracks, and they were insulted, humiliated, tempted, by -brutal men.” - -“Was there much of that brutality?” I asked. - -The priest’s eyes grew sombre. - -“Many women suffered abominable things. I thank God that so many kept -their pride, and their honour. There were, no doubt, some bad men and -women in the city--disloyal, venal, weak, sinful--may God have mercy -on their souls--but I am proud of being a Frenchman when I think of how -great was the courage, how patient was the suffering of the people of -Lille.” - -Pierre Nesle had listened to that monologue with a visible and painful -emotion. He became pale and flushed by turns, and when the priest -spoke about the forcible recruitment of the women a sweat broke out -on his forehead, and he wiped it away with a handkerchief. I see his -face now in profile, sharply outlined against some yellowing folios -in a bookcase behind him, a typical Parisian face in its sharpness of -outline and pallid skin, with a little black moustache above a thin, -sensitive mouth. Before I had seen him mostly in gay moods--though I -had wondered sometimes at the sudden silences into which he fell and at -a gloom which gave him a melancholy look when he was not talking, or -singing, or reciting poetry, or railing against French politicians, or -laughing, almost hysterically, at the satires of Charles Fortune--our -“funny man”--when he came to our mess. Now he was suffering as if the -priest’s words had probed a wound--though not the physical wound which -had nearly killed him in Souchez Wood. - -He stood up from the wooden chair with its widely-curved arms in which -he had been sitting stiffly, and spoke to the priest. - -“It is not amusing, _mon père_, what you tell us, and what we have all -guessed. It is one more chapter of tragedy in the history of our poor -France. Pray God the war will soon be over.” - -“With victory!” said the old priest. “With an enemy beaten and bleeding -beneath our feet. The Germans must be punished for all their crimes, or -the justice of God will not be satisfied.” - -There was a thrill of passion in the old man’s voice and his nostrils -quivered. - -“To all Frenchmen that goes without saying,” said Pierre Nesle. “The -Germans must be punished, and will be, though no vengeance will repay -us for the suffering of our _poilus_--nor for the agony of our women -behind the lines, which perhaps was the greatest of all.” - -The Abbé Bourdin put his claw-like old hands on the young man’s -shoulders and drew him closer and kissed his Croix de Guerre. - -“You have helped to give victory,” he said. “How many Germans have you -killed? How many, eh?” - -He spoke eagerly, chuckling, with a kind of childish eagerness for good -news. - -Pierre Nesle drew back a little and a faint touch of colour crept into -his face, and then left it whiter. - -“I did not count corpses,” he said. He touched his left side and -laughed awkwardly. “I remember better that they nearly made a corpse of -me.” - -There was a moment’s silence, and then my friend spoke in a casual kind -of way. - -“I suppose, _mon père_, you have not heard of my sister being in Lille? -By any chance? Her name was Marthe. Marthe Nesle.” - -The Abbé Bourdin shook his head. - -“I do not know the name. There are many young women in Lille. It is a -great city.” - -“That is true,” said Pierre Nesle. “There are many.” He bowed over the -priest’s hand, and then saluted. - -“_Bon jour, mon père, et merci mille fois._” - -So we left, and the Abbé Bourdin spoke his last words to me: - -“We owe our liberation to the English. We thank you. But why did you -not come sooner? Two years sooner, three years. With your great army?” - -“Many of our men died to get here,” I said. “Thousands.” - -“That is true. That is true. You failed many times, I know. But you -were so close. One big push--eh? One mighty effort? No?” - -The priest spoke a thought which I had heard expressed in the crowds. -They were grateful for our coming, immensely glad, but could not -understand why we had tried their patience so many years. That had been -their greatest misery, waiting, waiting. - -I spoke to Pierre Nesle on the doorstep of the priest’s house. - -“Have you an idea that your sister is in Lille?” - -“No,” he said. “No. At least not more than the faintest hope. She is -behind the lines somewhere--anywhere. She went away from home before -the war--she was a singer--and was caught in the tide.” - -“No news at all?” I asked. - -“Her last letter was from Lille. Or rather a postcard with the Lille -stamp. She said, ‘I am amusing myself well, little brother.’ She and I -were good comrades. I look for her face in the crowds. But she may be -anywhere--Valenciennes, Maubeuge--God knows!” - -A shout of “_Vive la France!_” rose from a crowd of people surging up -the street. Pierre Nesle was in the blue uniform of the _chasseur à -pied_, and the people in Lille guessed it was theirs because of its -contrast to our khaki, though the “_horizon bleu_” was so different -from the uniforms worn by the French army of ’14. To them now, on the -day of liberation, Pierre Nesle, our little liaison officer, stood for -the Armies of France, the glory of France. Even the sight of our khaki -did not fill them with such wild enthusiasm. So I lost him again as I -had lost the little American doctor in the surge and whirlpool of the -crowd. - - - - -II - - -I was building up in my mind the historic meaning of the day. Before -nightfall I should have to get it written--the spirit as well as the -facts, if I could--in time for the censors and the despatch-riders. -The facts? By many scraps of conversation with men and women in the -streets I could already reconstruct pretty well the life of Lille in -time of war. I found many of their complaints rather trivial. The -Germans had wanted brass and had taken it, down to the taps in the -washing-places. Well, I had seen worse horrors than that. They had -wanted wool and had taken the mattresses. They had requisitioned all -the wine but had paid for it at cheap rates. These were not atrocities. -The people of Lille had been short of food, sometimes on the verge of -starvation, but not really starved. They complained of having gone -without butter, milk, sugar; but even in England these things were -hard to get. No, the tragedy of Lille lay deeper than that. A sense of -fear that was always with them. “Every time there was a knock at the -door,” said one man, “we started up in alarm. It was a knock at our -hearts.” At any time of the day or night they were subject to visits -from German police, to searches, arrests, or orders to get out of their -houses or rooms for German officers or troops. They were denounced by -spies, Germans, or debased people of their own city, for trying to -smuggle letters to their folk in other towns in enemy occupation, for -concealing copper in hiding-places, for words of contempt against the -Kaiser or the Kommandantur, spoken at a street-corner between one -friend and another. That consciousness of being watched, overheard, -reported and denounced, poisoned the very atmosphere of their lives, -and the sight of the field-grey men in the streets, the stench of -them--the smell was horrible when German troops marched back from the -battlefields--produced a soul-sickness worse than physical nausea. I -could understand the constant fret at the nerves of these people, the -nagging humiliation,--they had to doff hats to every German officer -who swaggered by--and the slow-burning passion of people, proud by -virtue of their race, who found themselves controlled, ordered about, -bullied, punished for trivial infractions of military regulations, -by German officials of hard, unbending arrogance. That must have -been abominable for so long a time; but as yet I heard no charges of -definite brutality, or of atrocious actions by individual enemies. -The worst I had heard was that levy of the women for forced labour in -unknown places. One could imagine the horror of it, the cruelty of it -to girls whose nerves were already unstrung by secret fears, dark and -horrible imaginings, the beast-like look in the eyes of men who passed -them in the streets. Then the long-delayed hope of liberation--year -after year--the German boasts of victory, the strength of the German -defence that never seemed to weaken, in spite of the desperate attacks -of French and British, the preliminary success of their great offensive -in March and April when masses of English prisoners were herded through -Lille, dejected, exhausted, hardly able to drag their feet along -between their sullen guards--by Heaven, these people of Lille had -needed much faith to save them from despair. No wonder now, that on -the first day of liberation, some of them were wet-eyed with joy, and -others were lightheaded with liberty. - -In the Grande Place below the old balustraded Town Hall I saw young -Cyril Clatworthy, one of the Intelligence crowd, surrounded by a -group of girls who were stroking his tunic, clasping his hands, -pushing each other laughingly to get nearer to him. He was in lively -conversation with the prettiest girl whom he kept in front of him. It -was obvious that he was enjoying himself as the central figure of this -hero-worship, and as I passed the boy (twenty-four that birthday, he -had told me a month before), I marvelled at his ceaseless capacity for -amorous adventure, with or without a moment’s notice. A pretty girl, if -possible, or a plain one if not, drew him like a magnet, excited all -his boyish egotism, called to the faun-spirit that played the pipes of -Pan in his heart. It was an amusing game for him with his curly brown -hair and Midshipman Easy type of face. For the French girls whom he had -met on his way--little Marcelle on Cassel Hill, Christine at Corbie on -the Somme, Marguérite in the hat-shop at Amiens (what became of her, -poor kid?), it was not so amusing when he “blew away,” as he called it, -and had a look at life elsewhere. - -He winked at me, as I passed, over the heads of the girls. - -“The fruits of victory!” he called out. “There is a little Miss -Brown-Eyes here who is quite enchanting.” - -It was rather caddish of me to say: - -“Have you forgotten Marguérite Aubigny?” - -He thought so too, and reddened, angrily. - -“Go to blazes!” he said. - -His greatest chum, and one of mine,--Charles Fortune--was standing -outside a café in the big Place, not far from the Vieille Bourse with -its richly-carved Renaissance front. Here there was a dense crowd, but -they kept at a respectful distance from Fortune who, with his red tabs -and red-and-blue arm-band and row of ribbons (all gained by heroic -service over a blotting-pad in a Nissen hut) looked to them, no doubt, -like a great General. He had his “heroic” face on, rather mystical and -saintly. He had a variety of faces for divers occasions--such as the -“sheep’s face” in the presence of Generals who disliked brilliant men, -the “intelligent” face--bright and enquiring--for senior officers who -liked easy questions to which they could give portentous answers, the -noble face for the benefit of military chaplains, foreign visitors -to the war-zone, and batmen before they discovered his sense of -humour; and the old-English-gentleman face at times for young Harding, -who belonged to a county family with all its traditions, politics, -and instincts, and permitted Fortune to pull his leg, to criticise -Generals, and denounce the British Empire, as a licensed jester. - -Fortune was addressing four gentlemen of the Town Council of Lille who -stood before him, holding ancient top-hats. - -“Gentlemen,” said Charles Fortune in deliberate French, with an -exaggerated accent, “I appreciate very much the honour you have just -paid me by singing that heroic old song, ‘It’s a long, long way to -Tipperary.’ I desire, however, to explain to you that it is not as -yet the National Anthem of the British People, and that personally I -have never been to Tipperary, that I should find some difficulty in -finding that place on the map, and that I never want to go there. This, -however, is of small importance, except to British Generals, to whom -all small things are of great importance--revealing therefore their -minute attention to detail, even when it does not matter--which, I -may say, is the true test of the military mind which is so gloriously -winning the war, after many glorious defeats (I mean victories) -and----” (Here Fortune became rather tangled in his French grammar, but -rescued himself after a still more heroic look) “and it is with the -deepest satisfaction, the most profound emotion, that I find myself in -this great city of Lille on the day of liberation, and on behalf of the -British Army, of which I am a humble representative, in spite of these -ribbons which I wear on my somewhat expansive chest, I thank you from -my heart, with the words, _Vive la France!_” - -Here Fortune heaved a deep sigh, and looked like a Field Marshal while -he waited for the roar of cheers which greeted his words. The mystical -look on his face became intensified as he stood there, a fine heroic -figure (a trifle stout, for lack of exercise), until he suddenly caught -sight of a nice-looking girl in the crowd nearest to him, and gave her -an elaborate wink, as much as to say, “You and I understand each other, -my pretty one! Beneath this heroic pose I am really human.” - -The effect of that wink was instantaneous. The girl blushed vividly and -giggled, while the crowd shouted with laughter. - -“_Quel numéro! Quel drôle de type!_” said a man by my side. - -Only the four gentleman of the Town Hall, who had resumed their -top-hats, looked perplexed at this grotesque contrast between the -heroic speech (it had sounded heroic) and its anti-climax. - -Fortune took me by the arm as I edged my way close to him. - -“My dear fellow, it was unbelievable when those four old birds sang -‘Tipperary’ with bared heads. I had to stand at the salute while they -sang three verses with tears in their eyes. They have been learning it -during four years of war. Think of that! And think of what’s happening -in Ireland--in Tipperary--now! There’s some paradox here which contains -all the comedy and pathos of this war. I must think it out. I can’t -quite get at it yet, but I feel it from afar.” - -“This is not a day for satire,” I said. “This is a day for sentiment. -These people have escaped from frightful things----” - -Fortune looked at me with quizzical grey eyes out of his handsome, -mask-like face. - -“Et tu, Brute? After all our midnight talks, our laughter at the -mockery of the gods, our intellectual slaughter of the staff, our -tearing down of all the pompous humbug which has bolstered up this -silly old war!” - -“I know. But to-day we can enjoy the spirit of victory. It’s real, -here. We have liberated all these people.” - -“We? You mean the young Tommies who lie dead the other side of the -canal? We come in and get the kudos. Presently the Generals will come -and say, ‘We did it. Regard our glory! Fling down your flowers! Cheer -us, good people, before we go to lunch.’ They will not see behind -them the legions they sent to slaughter by ghastly blunders, colossal -stupidity, invincible pomposity.” - -Fortune broke into song. It was an old anthem of his: - - - “Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche.” - - -He had composed it after a fourth whiskey on a cottage piano in his -Nissen hut. In crashing chords he had revealed the soul of a General -preparing a plan of battle--over the telephone. It never failed to make -me laugh, except that day in Lille when it was out of tune, I thought, -with the spirit about us. - -“Let’s put the bitter taste out of our mouth to-day,” I said. - -Fortune made his sheep-face, saluted behind his ear, and said, “Every -inch a soldier--I don’t think!” - - - - -III - - -It was then we bumped straight into Wickham Brand, who was between a -small boy and girl, holding his hands, while a tall girl of sixteen or -so, with a yellow pig-tail slung over her shoulder, walked alongside, -talking vivaciously of family experiences under German rule. Pierre -Nesle was on the other side of her. - -“In spite of all the fear we had--oh, how frightened we were -sometimes!--we used to laugh very much. _Maman_ made a joke of -everything--it was the only way. _Maman_ was wonderfully brave, except -when she thought that Father might have been killed.” - -“Where was your father?” asked Brand. “On the French side of the lines?” - -“Yes, of course. He was an officer in the artillery. We said good-bye -to him on August 2nd of the first year, when he went off to the depôt -at Belfort. We all cried except _maman_--father was crying too--but -_maman_ did not wink away even the tiniest tear until father had gone. -Then she broke down so that we all howled at the sight of her. Even -these babies joined in. They were only babies then.” - -“Any news of him?” asked Brand. - -“Not a word. How could there be? Perhaps in a few days he will walk -into Lille. So _maman_ says.” - -“That would be splendid!” said Brand. “What is his name?” - -“Chéri. M. le Commandant Anatole Chéri, 59th Brigade artillerie -lourde.” - -The girl spoke her father’s name proudly. - -I saw a startled look come into the eyes of Pierre Nesle as he heard -the name. In English he said to Brand: - -“I knew him at Verdun. He was killed.” - -Wickham Brand drew a sharp breath, and his voice was husky when he -spoke, in English too. - -“What cruelty it all is!” - -The girl with the pig-tail--a tall young creature with a delicate face -and big brown eyes--stared at Pierre Nesle and then at Wickham Brand. -She asked an abrupt question of Pierre. - -“Is my father dead?” - -Pierre Nesle stammered something. He was not sure. He had heard that -the Commandant Chéri was wounded at Verdun. - -The girl understood perfectly. - -“He is dead, then? _Maman_ will be very sorry.” - -She did not cry. There was not even a quiver of her lips. She shook -hands with Brand and said: - -“I must go and tell _maman_. Will you come and see us one day?” - -“With pleasure,” said Brand. - -“Promise?” - -The girl laughed as she raised her finger. - -“I promise,” said Brand solemnly. - -The girl “collected” the small boy and girl, holding their heads close -to her waist. - -“Is father dead?” said the small boy. - -“Perhaps. I believe so,” said the elder sister. - -“Then we shan’t get the toys from Paris?” said the small girl. - -“I am afraid not, _coquine_.” - -“What a pity!” said the boy. - -Pierre Nesle took a step forward and saluted. - -“I will go with you, if you permit it, mademoiselle. It is perhaps in a -little way my duty, as I met your father in the war.” - -“Thanks a thousand times,” said the girl. “_Maman_ will be glad to know -all you can tell her.” - -She waved to Brand a merry _au revoir_. - -We stood watching them cross the Grande Place, that tall girl and the -two little ones, and Pierre. - -Fortune touched Brand on the arm. - -“Plucky, that girl,” he said. “Took it without a whimper. I wonder if -she cared.” - -Brand turned on him rather savagely. - -“Cared? Of course she cared. But she had expected it for four years, -grown up to the idea. These war children have no illusions about the -business. They knew that the odds are in favour of death.” - -He raised his hands above his head with a sudden passionate gesture. - -“Christ God!” he said. “The tragedy of those people! The monstrous -cruelty of it all!” - -Fortune took his hand and patted it, in a funny affectionate way. - -“You are too sensitive, Wicky. ‘A sensitive plant in a garden grew’--a -war-garden, with its walls blown down, and dead bodies among the little -daisies-o. I try to cultivate a sense of humour, and a little irony. -It’s a funny old war, Wicky, believe me, if you look at it in the right -light.” - -Wickham groaned. - -“I see no humour in it, nor light anywhere.” - -Fortune chanted again the beginning of his Anthem: - - - “Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche.” - - -As usual, there was a crowd about us, smiling, waving handkerchiefs -and small flags, pressing forward to shake hands and to say, “_Vivent -les Anglais!_” - -It was out of that crowd that a girl came and stood in front of us, -with a wave of her hand. - -“Good morning, British officers! I’m English--or Irish, which is good -enough. Welcome to Lille.” - -Fortune shook hands with her first and said very formally, in his -mocking way: - -“How do you do? Are you by chance my long-lost sister? Is there a -strawberry-mark on your left arm?” - -She laughed with a big, open-mouthed laugh, on a contralto note that -was good to hear. - -“I’m everybody’s sister who speaks the English tongue, which is fine -to the ears of me after four years in Lille. Eileen O’Connor, by your -leave, gentlemen.” - -“Not Eileen O’Connor of Tipperary?” asked Fortune gravely. “You know -the Long, Long Way, of course?” - -“Once of Dublin,” said the girl, “and before the war of Holland Street, -Kensington, in the village of London. Oh, to hear the roar of ’buses in -the High Street and to see the glint of sunlight on the Round Pond!” - -She was a tall girl, shabbily dressed in an old coat and skirt, with a -bit of fur round her neck and hat, but with a certain look of elegance -in the thin line of her figure and the poise of her head. Real Irish, -by the look of her dark eyes and a rather irregular nose, and humourous -lips. Not pretty, in the English way, but spirited, and with some queer -charm in her. - -Wickham Brand was holding her hand. - -“Good Lord! Eileen O’Connor? I used to meet you, years ago, at the -Wilmots--those funny tea-parties in Chelsea.” - -“With farthing buns and cigarettes, and young boys with big ideas!” - -The girl laughed with a kind of wonderment, and stood close to Wickham -Brand, holding his Sam Brown belt, and staring up into his face. - -“Why, you must be--you must be---- You are--the tall boy who used to -grow out of his grey suits, and wrote mystical verse and read Tolstoy, -and growled at civilisation and smoked black pipes and fell in love -with elderly artists’ models. Wickham Brand!” - -“That’s right,” said Brand, ignoring the laughter of Fortune and -myself. “Then I went to Germany and studied their damned philosophy, -and then I became a briefless barrister, and after that took to writing -unsuccessful novels. Here I am, after four years of war, ashamed to be -alive when all my pals are dead.” - -He glanced at Fortune and me, and said, “Or most of ’em.” - -“It’s the same Wicky I remember,” said the girl, “and at the sight of -you I feel I’ve gone back to myself as a tousled-haired thing in a -short frock and long black stockings. The good old days before the war. -Before other things and all kinds of things.” - -“Why on earth were you in Lille when the war began?” asked Brand. - -“It just happened. I taught painting here. Then I was caught with the -others. We did not think They would come so soon.” - -She used the word They as we all did, meaning the grey men. - -“It must have been hell,” said Brand. - -“Mostly hell,” said Miss O’Connor brightly. “At least, one saw into -the gulfs of hell, and devilishness was close at hand. But there were -compensations, wee bits of heaven. On the whole I enjoyed myself.” - -“Enjoyed yourself?” - -Brand was startled by that phrase. - -“Oh, it was an adventure. I took risks--and came through. I lived all -of it--every minute. It was a touch-and-go game with the devil and -death, and I dodged them both. _Dieu soit merci!_” - -She laughed with a little throw-back of the head, showing a white full -throat above the ragged bit of fur. A number of Frenchwomen pressed -about her. Some of them patted her arms, fondled her hands. One woman -bent down and kissed her shabby jacket. - -“_Elle était merveilleuse, la demoiselle_,” said an old Frenchman by my -side. “She was marvellous, sir. All that she did for the wounded, for -your prisoners, for many men who owe their lives to her, cannot be told -in a little while. They tried to catch her. She was nearly caught. It -is a miracle that she was not shot. A miracle, monsieur!” - -Other people in the crowd spoke to me about “_la demoiselle_.” They -were mysterious. Even now they could not tell me all she had done. But -she had risked death every day for four years. Every day. Truly it was -a miracle she was not caught. - -Listening to them I missed some of Eileen O’Connor’s own words to -Brand, and saw only the wave of her hand as she disappeared into the -crowd. - -It was Brand who told me that he and I and Fortune had been invited to -spend the evening with her, or an hour or so. I saw that Wicky, as we -called him, was startled by the meeting with her, and was glad of it. - -“I knew her when we were kids,” he said. “Ten years ago--perhaps more. -She used to pull my hair! Extraordinary, coming face to face with her -in Lille, on this day of all days.” - -He turned to Fortune with a look of command. - -“We ought to get busy with that advanced headquarters. There are plenty -of big houses in these streets.” - -“_Ce qu’on appelle unembarras de choix_,” said Fortune with his rather -comical exaggeration of accent. “And Blear-eyed Bill wants us to go on -beating the Boche. I insist on a house with a good piano--German for -choice.” - -They went off on their quest, and I to my billet, which had been found -by the Major of ours, where I wrote the story of how we entered Lille, -on a typewriter with a twisted ribbon which would not write quickly -enough all I wanted to tell the world about a day of history. - - - - -IV - - -I had the luck to be billeted in Lille at the house of Madame Chéri, in -the rue Esquermoise. - -This lady was the mother of the girl with the pig-tail and the two -children with whom Wickham Brand had made friends on this morning of -liberation--the wife of that military officer whom Pierre Nesle had -known at Verdun and knew to be killed. It was my luck, because there -were children in the house--the pig-tailed girl, Hélène, was more a -woman than a child, though only sixteen--and I craved for a touch -of home-life and children’s company, after so long an exile in the -war-zone always among men who talked of war, thought of it, dreamed of -it, year in, year out. - -Madame Chéri was, I thought when I saw her first, a beautiful woman, -not physically--because she was too white and worn--but spiritually, -in courage of soul. Pierre Nesle, our liaison officer, told me how she -had received the news of her husband’s death--unflinchingly, without -a cry. She knew, she said, in her heart, that he was dead. Some queer -message had reached her one night during the Verdun battles. It was -no ghost, or voice, but only a sudden cold conviction that her man -had been killed. For the children’s sake she had pretended that their -father might come back. It gave them something to look forward to. The -little ones were always harping on the hope that when peace came this -mysterious and glorious man whom they remembered only vaguely as one -who had played bears with them, and had been the provider of all good -things, would return with rich presents from Paris--tin soldiers, -Queen-dolls, mechanical toys. Hélène, the elder girl, was different. -She had looked curiously at her mother when the children prattled -like that, and Madame Chéri had pretended to believe in the father’s -home-coming. Once or twice the girl had said, “Papa may be killed,” in -a matter-of-fact way. Yet she had been his devoted comrade. They had -been such lovers, the father and daughter, that sometimes the mother -had been a little jealous, so she said in her frank way to Pierre -Nesle, smiling as she spoke. The war had made Hélène a realist, like -most French girls to whom the idea of death became commonplace, almost -inevitable, as the ceaseless slaughter of men went on. The German -losses had taught them that. - -I had the Colonel’s dressing-room--he had attained the grade of Colonel -before Verdun, so Pierre told me--and Madame Chéri came in while I -was there to see that it was properly arranged for me. Over his iron -bedstead (the Germans had taken the woollen mattress, so that it had -been replaced by bags of straw) was his portrait as a lieutenant -of artillery, as he had been at the time of his marriage. He was a -handsome fellow, rather like Hélène, with her delicate profile and -brown eyes, though more like, said Madame Chéri, their eldest boy -Edouard. - -“Where is he?” I asked, and that was the only time I saw Madame Chéri -break down, utterly. - -She began to tell me that Edouard had been taken away by the Germans -among all the able-bodied men and boys who were sent away from Lille -for digging trenches behind the lines, in Easter of ’16, and that he -had gone bravely, with his little pack of clothes over his shoulder, -saying, “It is nothing, maman. My Father taught me the word _courage_. -In a little while we shall win, and I shall be back. Courage, courage!” - -Madame Chéri repeated her son’s words proudly, so that I seemed to see -the boy with that pack on his shoulder, and a smile on his face. Then -suddenly she wept bitterly, wildly, her body shaken with a kind of -ague, while she sat on the iron bedstead with her face in her hands. - -I repeated the boy’s words. - -“Courage, courage, madame!” - -Proudly she wailed out in broken sentences: - -“He was such a child!... He caught cold so easily!... He was so -delicate!... He needed mother-love so much!... For two years no word -has come from him!” - -In a little while she controlled herself and begged me to excuse her. -We went down together to the dining-room, where the children were -playing, and Hélène was reading; and she insisted upon my drinking a -glass of wine from the store which she had kept hidden from the Germans -in a pit which Edouard had dug in the garden, in the first days of the -occupation. The children were delighted with that trick and roared with -laughter. - -Hélène, with a curl of her lip, spoke bitterly. - -“The Boche is a stupid animal. One can dupe him easily.” - -“Not always easily,” said Madame Chéri. She opened a secret cupboard -behind a bookcase standing against the panelled wall. - -“I hid all my brass and copper here. A German police officer came and -said, ‘Have you hidden any copper, madame?’ I said, ‘There is nothing -hidden.’ ‘Do you swear it?’ he asked. ‘I swear it,’ I answered very -haughtily. He went straight to the bookcase, pushed it on one side, -tapped the wall, and opened the secret cupboard, which was stuffed -full of brass and copper. ‘You are a liar, madame,’ he said, ‘like -all Frenchwomen.’ ‘And you are an insolent pig, like all Germans,’ I -remarked. That cost me a fine of ten thousand francs.” - -Madame Chéri saw nothing wrong in swearing falsely to a German. I think -she held that nothing was wrong to deceive or to destroy any individual -of the German race, and I could understand her point of view when -Pierre Nesle told me of one thing that had happened which she never -told to me. It was about Hélène. - -A German captain was billeted in the house. They ignored his presence, -though he tried to ingratiate himself. Hélène hated him with a cold -and deadly hatred. She trembled if he passed her on the stairs. His -presence in the house, even if she did not see him, but only heard him -move in his room, made her feel ill. Yet he was very polite to her and -said, “_Guten Tag, gnädiges Fräulein_” whenever they met. To Edouard -also he was courteous and smiling, though Edouard was sullen. He was a -stout little man with a round rosy face and little bright eyes behind -big black-rimmed glasses, an officer in the Kommandantur, and formerly -a schoolmaster. Madame Chéri was polite to him but cold, cold as ice. -After some months she found him harmless, though objectionable because -German. It did not seem dangerous to leave him in the house one evening -when she went to visit a dying friend--Madame Vailly. She was later -than she meant to be--so late that she was liable to arrest by the -military police if they saw her slip past in the darkness of the unlit -streets. When she came home she slipped the latch-key into the door and -went quietly into the hall. The children would be in bed and asleep. At -the foot of the stairs a noise startled her. It was a curious creaking, -shaking noise as of a door being pushed by some heavy weight, then -banged by it. It was the door at the top of the stairs, on the left. -Hélène’s room. - -“_Qu’est-ce que tu fais là?_” said Madame Chéri. - -She was very frightened with some unknown fear, and held tight to the -bannister, as she went upstairs. There was a glimmer of light on the -landing. It was from a candle which had almost burnt out, and was -guttering in a candlestick placed on the topmost stair. A grotesque -figure was revealed by the light--Schwarz, the German officer, in his -pyjamas, with a helmet on his head and unlaced boots on his feet. The -loose fat of the man no longer girded by a belt made him look like a -mass of jelly, as he had his shoulder to the door, shoving and grunting -as he tried to force it open. He was swearing to himself in German, -and now and then called out softly in French, in a kind of drunken -German-French: - -“_Ouvrez, kleines Mädchen, ma jolie Schatz. Ouvrez donc._” - -Madame Chéri was paralysed for a moment by a shock of horror; quite -speechless and motionless. Then suddenly she moved forward and spoke in -a fierce whisper. - -“What are you doing, beast?” - -Schwarz gave a queer snort of alarm. - -He stood swaying a little, with the helmet on the back of his head. The -candlelight gleamed on its golden eagle. His face was hotly flushed, -and there was a ferocious look in his eyes. Madame Chéri saw that he -was drunk. - -He spoke to her in horrible French, so Pierre Nesle told me, imitating -it savagely, as Madame Chéri had done to him. The man was filthily -drunk and declared that he loved Hélène and would kill her if she did -not let him love her. Why did she lock her door like that? He had been -kind to her. He had smiled at her. A German officer was a human being, -not a monster. Why did they treat him as a monster, draw themselves -away when he passed, become silent when he wished to speak with them, -stare at him with hate in their eyes? The French people were all -devils, proud as devils. - -Another figure stood on the landing. It was Edouard--a tall, slim -figure with a white face and burning eyes, in which there was a look of -fury. - -“What is happening, _maman_?” he said coldly. “What does this animal -want?” - -Madame Chéri trembled with a new fear. If the boy were to kill that -man, he would be shot. She had a vision of him standing against a -wall.... - -“It is nothing,” she said. “This gentleman is ill. Go back to bed, -Edouard. I command you.” - -The German laughed, stupidly. - -“To bed, _shafskopf_. I am going to open your sister’s door. She loves -me. She calls to me. I hear her whisper, ‘_Ich liebe dich!_’” - -Edouard had a stick in his hand. It was a heavy walking-stick which -had belonged to his father. Without a word he sprang forward, raised -his weapon, and smashed it down on the German’s head. It knocked off -Schwarz’s helmet, which rolled from the top to the bottom of the -staircase, and hit the man a glancing blow on the temple. He fell like -a log. Edouard smiled and said, “_Très bien_.” Then he rattled the lock -of his sister’s door and called out to her: - -“Hélène.... Have no fear. He is dead. I have killed him.” - -It was then that Madame Chéri had her greatest fear. There was no sound -from Hélène. She did not answer any of their cries. She did not open -the door to them. They tried to force the lock, as Schwarz had done, -but though the lock gave at last the door would not open, kept closed -by some barricade behind it. Edouard and his mother went out into the -yard and the boy climbed up to his sister’s window and broke the glass -to go through. Hélène was lying in her nightdress on the bedroom -floor, unconscious. She had moved a heavy wardrobe in front of the -door, by some supernatural strength which came from fear. Then she had -fainted. To his deep regret Edouard had not killed the German. - -Schwarz had crawled back to his bedroom when they went back into the -house, and next morning wept to Madame Chéri, and implored forgiveness. -There had been a little banquet, he said, and he had drunk too much. - -Madame Chéri did not forgive. She called at the Kommandantur where the -General saw her, and listened to her gravely. He did not waste words. - -“The matter will be attended to,” he said. - -Captain Schwarz departed that day from the house in the rue -Esquermoise. He was sent to a battalion in the line and was killed -somewhere near Ypres. - - - - -V - - -Wickham Brand paid his promised visit to the Chéri family, according to -his pledge to Hélène, whom he had met in the street the previous day, -and he had to drink some of the hidden wine, as I had done, and heard -the story of its concealment and of Madame’s oath about the secret -hoard of copper. I think he was more disconcerted than I had been by -that avowal and told me afterwards that he believed no Englishwoman -would have sworn to so deliberate a lie. - -“That’s because the English are not so logical,” I said and he puzzled -over that. - -He was greatly taken with Hélène, as she with him, but he risked their -friendship in an awkward moment when he expressed the hope that the -German offer of peace (the one before the final surrender) would be -accepted. - -It was Madame Chéri who took him up on that, sharply, and with a kind -of surprised anguish in her voice. She hoped, she said, that no peace -would be made with Germany until French and British and American -troops had smashed the German armies, crossed the German frontier, and -destroyed many German towns and villages. She would not be satisfied -with any peace that came before a full vengeance, so that German women -would taste the bitterness of war as Frenchwomen had drunk deep of it, -and until Germany was heaped with ruins as France had been. - -Wickham Brand was sitting with the small boy on his knees, and stroked -his hair before answering. - -“_Dites, donc!_” said Hélène, who was sitting on the hearthrug looking -up at his powerful profile, which reminded me always of a Norman -knight, or, sometimes, of a young monk worried about his soul and the -Devil. - -He had that monkish look now when he answered. - -“I don’t know,” he said. “I have felt like that often. But I have come -to think that the sooner we get blood out of our eyes the better for -all the world. I have seen enough dead Germans--and dead English and -dead French--to last a lifetime. Many of the German soldiers hate the -war, as I know, and curse the men who drove them on to it. They are -trapped. They cannot escape from the thing they curse, because of their -discipline, their patriotism----” - -“Their patriotism!” said Madame Chéri. - -She was really angry with Brand, and I noticed that even Hélène drew -back a little from her place on the rug and looked perplexed and -disappointed. Madame Chéri ridiculed the idea of German patriotism. -They were brutes who liked war except when they feared defeat. They had -committed a thousand atrocities out of sheer joy in bestial cruelty. -Their idea of patriotism was blood-lust and the oppression of people -more civilised than themselves. They hated all people who were not -savages like themselves. - -Wickham Brand shook his head. - -“They’re not all as bad as that. I knew decent people among them before -the war. For a time, of course, they went mad. They were poisoned by -the damnable philosophy of their leaders and teachers.” - -“They liked the poison,” said Madame Chéri. “They lapped it up. It is -in their blood and spirits. They are foul through and through.” - -“They are devils,” said Hélène. She shuddered as though she felt very -cold. - -Even the small boy on Brand’s knees said: - -“_Sales Boches!_” - -Brand groaned, in a whimsical way. - -“I have said all those things a thousand times! They nearly drove me -mad. But now it’s time to stop the river of blood--if the German army -will acknowledge defeat. I would not go on a day after that, for our -own sakes--for the sake of French boys and English. Every day more of -war means more dead of ours, more blind, more crippled, and more agony -of soul. I want some of our boyhood to be saved.” - -Madame Chéri answered coldly. - -“Not before the Germans have been punished. Not before that, if we all -die.” - -Hélène sprang up with a passionate gesture. - -“All German babies ought to be strangled in their cradles! Before they -grow up to be fat, beastly men.” - -She was thinking of Schwarz, I imagine. It was the horror of -remembrance which made her so fierce. Then she laughed, and said: - -“O là là, let us be glad because yesterday we were liberated. Do not -quarrel with an English officer, _maman_. He helped to save us.” - -She put her hands on Wickham Brand’s shoulders and said: - -“_Merci, mon capitaine!_” - -So the conversation turned and Wickham won them back by his courtesy, -and by a tribute to the courage of French civilians behind the lines, -of whom he told many haunting stories. - -But when I walked round with him to his mess--we were going round later -to see Eileen O’Connor--he referred back to the incident. - -“Daddy Small is right.” (He referred to the little American doctor.) -“The hatred of these people is transcendental. It is like a spiritual -flame. It is above all self-interest, kindly, human instincts, life -itself. That woman would sacrifice herself, and her children, as -quietly as she heard the death of her husband, rather than grant the -Germans peace without victory and vengeance. How can there be any -peace, whatever treaty is signed? Can Europe ever get peace, with all -this hatred as a heritage?” - - - - -VI - - -We walked silently towards the Boulevard de la Liberté, where Brand’s -little crowd had established their headquarters. - -“Perhaps they’re right,” he said presently. “Perhaps the hatred is -divine.... I may be weakening, because of all the horror.” - -Then he was silent again, and while I walked by his side I thought back -to his career as I had known it in the war, rather well. He had always -been tortured by agonised perplexities. I had guessed that by the -look of the man and some of his odd phrases, and his restlessness and -foolhardiness. It was in the trenches by Fricourt that I had first seen -him--long before the battles of the Somme. He was sitting motionless on -a wooden box, staring through a periscope towards the mine craters and -the Bois Français in No Man’s Land. The fine hardness of his profile, -the strength of his jaw, not massive, but with one clean line from -ear to chin, and something in the utter intensity of his attitude, -attracted my attention, and I asked the Colonel about him. - -“Who is that fellow--like a Norman knight?” - -The Colonel of the King’s Royal Rifles laughed as we went round the -next bay, ducking our heads where the sandbags had slipped down. - -“Further back than Norman,” he said. “He’s the primitive man.” - -He told me that Wickham Brand--a lieutenant then--was a young barrister -who had joined the battalion at the beginning of ’15. He had taken up -sniping and made himself a dead shot. He had the hunter’s instinct and -would wait hours behind the sandbags for the sight of a German head -in the trenches opposite. He seldom missed his man, or that part of -his body which showed for a second. Lately he had taken to the habit -of crawling out into No Man’s Land and waiting in some shell-hole for -the dawn, when Germans came out to mend their wire or drag in a dead -body. He generally left another dead man as a bait for the living. Then -he would come back with a grim smile and eat his breakfast wolfishly, -after cutting a notch in one of the beams of his dug-out. - -“He’s a Hun-hater, body and soul,” said the Colonel. “We want more of -’em. All the same, Brand makes me feel queer by his ferocity. I like a -humourous fellow who does his killing cheerfully.” - -After that I met Brand and took a drink with him in his dug-out. He -answered my remarks gruffly for a time. - -“I hear you go in for sniping a good deal,” I said, by way of -conversation. - -“Yes. It’s murder made easy.” - -“Do you get many targets?” - -“It’s a waiting game. Sometimes they get careless.” - -He puffed at a black old pipe, quite silent for a time. Presently he -told me about a “young’un” who popped his head over the parapet, twice, -to stare at something on the edge of the mine-crater. - -“I spared him twice. The third time I said, ‘Better dead,’ and let go -at him. The kid was too easy to miss.” - -Something in the tone of his voice told me that he hated himself for -that. - -“Rather a pity,” I mumbled. - -“War,” he said. “Bloody war.” - -There was a candle burning on the wooden bench on which he leaned his -elbow, and by the light of it I saw that his eyes were bloodshot. There -was a haggard look on his face. - -“It must need some nerve,” I said, awkwardly, “to go out so often in No -Man’s Land. Real pluck.” - -He stared at me, as though surprised, and then laughed harshly. - -“Pluck? What’s that? I’m scared stiff, half the time. Do you think I -like it?” - -He seemed to get angry, was angry, I think. - -“Do any of us like it? These damn things that blow men to bits, make -rags of them, tear their bowels out, and their eyes? Or to live on top -of a mine-crater, as we are now, never knowing when you’re going up in -smoke and flame? If you like that sort of thing yourself you can take -my share. I have never met a man who did.” - -Yet when Brand was taken out of the trenches--by a word spoken over the -telephone from corps Headquarters--because of his knowledge of German -and his cousinship to a lady who was a friend of the Corps Commander’s -niece, he was miserable and savage. I met him many times after that as -an Intelligence officer at the corps cages, examining prisoners on days -of battle. - -“An _embusqué_ job!” he said. “I’m saving my skin while the youngsters -die.” - -He stood outside his hut one day on a morning of battle in the Somme -fields--up by Pozières. No prisoners had yet come down. He forgot my -presence and stood listening to the fury of gun-fire and watching the -smoke and flame away there on the ridge. - -“Christ!” he cried. “Why am I here? Why aren’t I with my pals up there, -getting blown to blood and pulp? Blood and pulp! Blood and pulp!” - -Then he remembered me, and turned in a shamefaced way, and said, -“Sorry!... I feel rather hipped to-day.” - -I was present sometimes at his examination of prisoners--those poor -grey muddy wretches who come dazed out of the slime and shambles. -Sometimes he bullied them harshly, in fluent German, and they trembled -at his ferocity of speech, even whimpered now and then. But once or -twice he was in quite a different mood with them and spoke gently, -assenting when they cursed the war and its misery and said that all -they wanted was peace and home again. - -“Aren’t you fellows going to revolt?” he asked one man--a _Feldwebel_. -“Aren’t you going to tell your war lords to go to Hell and stop all -this silly massacre before Germany is _kaput_?” - -The German shrugged his shoulders. - -“We would if we could. It is impossible. Discipline is too strong for -us. It has enslaved us.” - -“That’s true,” said Brand. “You are slaves of a system.” - -He spoke a strange sentence in English as he glanced over to me. - -“I am beginning to think we are all slaves of a system. None of us can -break the chains.” - -It was after that day that Brand took a fancy to me, for some reason, -inviting me to his mess, where I met Charles Fortune and others, and it -was there that I heard amazing discussions about the philosophy of war, -German psychology, the object of life, the relation of Christianity to -war, and the decadence of Europe. Brand himself sometimes led these -discussions, with a savage humour which delighted Charles Fortune, -who egged him on. He was always pessimistic, sceptical, challenging, -bitter, and now and then so violent in his criticisms of England, the -Government, the Army Council, the Staff, and above all of the Press, -that most of his fellow-officers--apart from Fortune--thought he went -“a bit too far.” - -Dear old Harding, who was Tory to the backbone, with a deep respect -for all in authority, accused him of being a “damned revolutionary” -and for a moment it looked as though there would be hot words, until -Brand laughed in a good-natured way and said, “My dear fellow, I’m -only talking academic rot. I haven’t a conviction. Ever since the war -began I have been trying to make head or tail of things in a sea-fog of -doubt. All I know is that I want the bloody orgy to end; somehow and -anyhow.” - -“With victory,” said Harding solemnly. - -“With the destruction of Prussian philosophy everywhere,” said Brand. - -They agreed on that, but I could see that Brand was on shifting ground -and I knew, as our friendship deepened, that he was getting beyond a -religion of mere hate, and was looking for some other kind of faith. -Occasionally he harked back, as on the day in Lille when I walked by -his side. - - - - -VII - - -I dined with him in his mess that evening, before going on with him -to spend an hour or two with Eileen O’Connor, who had a room in -some convent on the outskirts of Lille. The advanced headquarters -of this little group of officers had been established in one of -those big private houses which belong to the rich manufacturers and -business people of Lille (rich before the war, but with desolate -factories stripped of all machinery during the German occupation, -and afterwards), with large, heavily-furnished rooms built round a -courtyard and barred off from the street by the big front door. There -was a motor lorry inside the door, which was wide open, and some -orderlies were unloading camp-beds, boxes of maps, officers’ kit, a -mahogany gramophone, and other paraphernalia, under the direction of a -young Cockney sergeant who wanted to know why the blazes they didn’t -look slippy. - -“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” he asked a stolid old soldier--one -of the heroes of Mons--who was sitting on a case of whiskey, with a -wistful look, as though reflecting on the unfair privileges of officers -with so much wealth of drink. - -“War’s all right if you’re not too close to it,” said the Mons hero. -“I’ve seen enough. I’ve done my bleeding bit for Kin and Country. South -Africa, Egypt----” - -“Shut your jaw,” said the sergeant. “’And down that blarsted -gramophone.” - -“Ah!” said the Mons hero. “We didn’t ’ave no blarsted gramophones in -South Africa. This is a different kind of war. More comfort about it, -if you’re not in the trenches.” - -Wickham Brand took me through the courtyard and mentioned that the -Colonel had come up from St. Omer. - -“Now we’re sure to beat the Boche,” he said. “Listen!” - -From a room to the left of the courtyard came the sound of a flute -playing one of Bach’s minuets, very sweetly, with an old-fashioned -grace. - -“A wonderful Army of ours!” said Brand. “I can’t imagine a German -colonel of the Staff playing seventeenth-century music on a bit of -ivory, while the enemy is fighting like a tiger at bay.” - -“Perhaps that’s our strength,” I answered. “Our amateurs refuse to take -the war too seriously. I know a young Gunner Major who travels a banjo -in his limber, and at Cambrai I saw fellows playing chuck-penny within -ten yards of their pals’ dead bodies--a pile of them.” - -The Colonel saw us through his window and waved his flute at us. When -I went into the room, after a salute at the doorway, I saw that he had -already littered it with artistic untidiness--sheets of torn music, -water-colour sketches, books of poetry, and an array of splendid -shining boots; of which a pair stood on the mahogany sideboard. - -“A beautiful little passage this,” said Colonel Lavington, smiling at -me over the flute, which he put to his lips again. He played a bar or -two of old world melody, and said, “Isn’t that perfect? Can’t you see -the little ladies in their puffed brocades and high-heeled shoes!” - -He had his faun-like look, his clean-shaven face with long nose and -thin, humorous mouth, lighted up by his dark smiling eyes. - -“Not a bad headquarters,” he said, putting down the flute again. “If -we can only stay here a little while, instead of having to jog on -again. There’s an excellent piano in the dining-room--German, thank -goodness--and Charles Fortune and I can really get down to some serious -music.” - -“How’s the war?” I asked. - -“War?” he said, absent-mindedly. “Oh, yes, the war! That’s going on all -right. They’ll be out of Tournai in a few days. Perhaps out of Maubeuge -and Mons. Oh, the game’s up! Very soon the Intellectuals will be -looking round for a living in dear old London. My goodness, some of us -will find peace a difficult job! I can see Boredom approaching with its -colossal shadow.... After all, it has been a great game, on the whole.” - -I laughed, but something stuck in my throat. Colonel Lavington -played the flute, but he knew his job, and was in touch with General -Headquarters and all its secret information. It was obvious that he -believed the war was going to end--soon. Soon, O Lord, after all the -years of massacre. - -I blurted out a straight question. - -“Do you think there’s a real chance of Peace?” - -The Colonel was reading a piece of music, humming it with a _la_, _la_, -_la_. - -“Another month, and our job’s done,” he said. “Have you heard that bit -of Gluck? It’s delicious.” - -I stayed with him a little while and did not follow a note of his -music. I was excited by the supreme hope he had given me. So there was -to be an end of massacre, and my own hopes had not been false. - -At the mess table that night, Charles Fortune was in good form. We -sat in a room which was rather handsomely furnished, in a heavy way, -with big bronzes on the mantelpiece (ticketed for exemption from -requisition as family heirlooms), and even rather good portraits of a -French family--from the eighteenth century onwards--on the panelled -walls. The concierge had told us that it had been the mess of a German -headquarters and this gave Fortune his cue, and he entertained us with -some caricatures of German generals and officers, amazingly comic. He -drank his soup in the style of a German general and ate his potato -pie as a German Intelligence officer who had once been a professor of -psychology at Heidelberg. - -The little American doctor, “Daddy” Small as we called him, had been -made an honorary member of the mess, and he smiled at Fortune through -his spectacles with an air of delighted surprise that such things -should be. - -“You English,” he said in his solemn way, “are the most baffling people -in the world. I have been studying you since I came to France, and all -my preconceived ideas have been knocked on the head. We Americans think -you are a hard, arrogant, selfish people, without humour or sympathy, -made in set moulds, turned out as types from your University and public -schools. That is all wrong. I am beginning to see that you are more -human, more various, more whimsical than any race in the world. You -decline to take life seriously. You won’t take even death seriously. -This war--you make a joke of it. The Germans--you kill them in great -numbers, but you have a secret liking for them. Fortune’s caricatures -are very comical--but not unkind. I believe Fortune is a pro-German. -You cannot laugh at the people you hate. I believe England will forgive -Germany quicker than any other nation--far quicker than the Americans. -France, of course, will never forgive.” - -“No,” said Pierre Nesle, who was at the end of the table. “France will -never forgive.” - -“We are an illogical people,” said the Colonel. “It is only logical -people who can go on hating. Besides, German music is so good! So -good!” - -Harding, who read no paper but the _Morning Post_, said that as far as -he was concerned he would never speak to a German again in his life. He -would like to see the whole race exterminated. But he was afraid of the -Socialists with their pestilential doctrine of “brotherhood of man.” -Lloyd George also filled him with the gravest misgivings. - -Dr. Small’s eyes twinkled at him. - -“There is the old caste that speaks. Tradition against the new world -of ideas. Of course there will always be _that_ conflict.... That is -a wonderful phrase, ‘the pestilential doctrine of the brotherhood of -man.’ I must make a note of it.” - -“Shame on you, Doctor,” said Fortune. “You are always jotting down -notes about us. I shall find myself docketed as ‘English gentleman -grade 3; full-blooded, inclined to obesity, humourous, strain of -insanity due to in-breeding, rare.’” - -Dr. Small laughed in a high treble, and then was serious. - -“I’m noting down everything. My own psychology, which alarms me; facts, -anecdotes, scenes, words. I want to find a law somewhere, the essential -thing in human nature. After the war--if there is any afterwards--I -want to search for a way out of the jungle. This jungle civilisation. -There must be daylight somewhere for the human race.” - -“If you find it,” said Brand, earnestly, “tell me, Doctor.” - -“I will,” said Dr. Small, and I remembered that pledge afterwards, when -he and Brand were together in a doomed city, trying to avert the doom, -because of that impulse which urged them to find a little daylight -beyond the darkness. - -Young Clatworthy jerked his chair on the polished boards and looked -anxiously at the Colonel, who was discoursing on the origins of art, -religion, sex, the perception of form. - -Colonel Lavington grinned at him. - -“All right, Cyril. I know you have got a rendezvous with some girl. -Don’t let us keep you from your career of infamy.” - -“As a matter of fact, sir, I met a sweet little thing yesterday----” -Clatworthy knew that his reputation as an amorist did not displease the -Colonel, who was a romantic, and loved youth. - -In a gust of laughter the mess broke up. Charles Fortune and the -Colonel prepared for an orgy of Bach over the piano in the drawing-room -of that house in Lille. Those who cared to listen might--or not, as -they pleased. Brand and I went out into the streets, pitch-dark now, -unlit by any glimmer of gas, and made our way to the convent where the -girl Eileen O’Connor lodged. We passed a number of British soldiers -in the Boulevard de la Liberté, wearing their steel hats and carrying -their packs. - -A group of them stopped under a doorway to light cigarettes. One of -them spoke to his pals. - -“They tell me there’s some bonny wenches in this town.” - -“Ay,” said another, “an’ I could do wi’ some hugging in a cosy billet.” - -“Cosy billet!” said the third, with a cockney voice. “Town or trenches, -the poor bloody soldier gets it in the neck. Curse this pack! I’m fed -up with the whole damn show. I want Peace.” - -A hoarse laugh answered him. - -“Peace! You don’t believe that fool’s talk in the papers, chum? It’s a -hell of a long way to the Rhine, and you and I’ll be dead before we -get there.” - -They slouched off into the darkness, three points of light where their -cigarettes glowed. - -“Poor lads!” said Brand. - - - - -VIII - - -We fumbled our way to a street on the edge of the canal, according to -Brand’s uncanny sense of direction and his remembrance of what the -Irish girl had told him. There we found the convent, a square box-like -building behind big gates. We pulled a bell which jangled loudly, and -presently the gate opened an inch, letting through the light of a -lantern which revealed the black-and-white coif of a nun. - -“_Qui va là?_” - -Brand told her that we had come to see Miss O’Connor, and the gate was -opened wider and we went into the courtyard, where a young nun stood -smiling. She spoke in English. - -“We were always frightened when the bell rang during the German -occupation. One never knew what might happen. And we were afraid for -Miss O’Connor’s sake.” - -“Why?” asked Brand. - -The little nun laughed. - -“She did dangerous work. They suspected her. She came here after her -arrest. Before then she had rooms of her own. Oh, messieurs, her -courage, her devotion! Truly she was heroic!” - -She led us into a long corridor with doors on each side, and out of one -door came a little group of nuns with Eileen O’Connor. - -The Irish girl came towards us with outstretched hands which she gave -first to Brand. She seemed excited at our coming and explained that the -Reverend Mother and all the nuns wanted to see us, to thank England by -means of us, to hear something about the war and the chance of victory -from the first English officers they had seen. - -Brand was presented to the Reverend Mother, a massive old lady with a -slight moustache on the upper lip and dark luminous eyes, reminding me -of the portrait of Savonarola at Florence. The other nuns crowded round -us, eager to ask questions, still more eager to talk. Some of them were -quite young and pretty, though all rather white and fragile, and they -had a vivacious gaiety, so that the building resounded with laughter. -It was Eileen O’Connor who made them laugh by her reminiscences of -girlhood when she and Brand were “_enfants terribles_,” when she used -to pull Brand’s hair and hide the pipe he smoked too soon. She asked -him to take off his field-cap so that she might see whether the same -old unruly tuft still stuck up at the back of his head, and she and all -the nuns clapped hands when she found it was so, in spite of war-worry -and steel hats. All this had to be translated into French for the -benefit of those who could not understand such rapid English. - -“I believe you would like to give it a tug now,” said Brand, bending -his head down, and Eileen O’Connor agreed. - -“And indeed I would, but for scandalising a whole community of nuns, to -say nothing of Reverend Mother.” - -The Reverend Mother laughed in a curiously deep voice, and a crowd of -little wrinkles puckered at her eyes. She told Miss O’Connor that even -her Irish audacity would not go as far as that, which was a challenge -accepted on the instant. - -“One little tug, for old times’ sake,” said the girl, and Brand yelped -with pretended pain at the vigour of her pull, while all the nuns -screamed with delight. - -Then a clock struck and the Reverend Mother touched Eileen (as -afterwards I called her) on the arm and said she would leave her with -her friends. One by one the nuns bowed to us, all smiling under their -white _bandeaux_, and then went down the corridor through an open door -which led into a chapel, as we could see by twinkling candlelight. -Presently the music of an organ and of women’s voices came through the -closed doors. - -Eileen O’Connor took us into a little parlour where there were just -four rush-chairs and a table, and on the clean whitewashed walls a -crucifix. - -Brand took a chair by the table, rather awkwardly, I thought. - -“How gay they are!” he said. “They do not seem to have been touched by -the horrors of war.” - -“It is the gaiety of faith,” said Eileen. “How else could they have -survived the work they have done, the things they have seen? This -convent was a shambles for more than three years. These rooms were -filled with wounded, German wounded, and often English wounded, who -were prisoners. They were the worst cases for amputation, and butcher’s -work, and the nuns did all the nursing. They know all there is to know -of suffering and death.” - -“Yet they have not forgotten how to laugh!” said Brand. “That is -wonderful. It is a mystery to me.” - -“You must have seen bad things,” said Eileen. “Have you lost the gift -of laughter?” - -“Almost,” said Brand, “and once for a long time.” - -Eileen put her hands to her breast. - -“Oh, learn it again,” she said. “If we cannot laugh we cannot work. -Why, I owe my life to a sense of humour.” - -She spoke the last words with more than a trivial meaning. They seemed -to tell of some singular episode, and Brand asked her to explain. - -She did not explain then. She only said some vague things about -laughing herself out of prison and stopping a German bullet with a -smile. - -“Why did the devils put you in prison?” asked Brand. - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -“In Lille it was bad form if one had not been arrested once at least. I -was three weeks in a cell half the size of this, and twenty women were -with me there. There was very little elbow-room!” - -She proved her sense of humour then by that deep-throated laugh of -hers, but I noticed that just for a second behind the smile in her eyes -there crept a shadow as at the remembrance of some horror, and that she -shivered a little, as though some coldness had touched her. - -“It must have been like the Black Hole of Calcutta,” said Brand, -measuring the space with his eyes. “Twenty women herded in a room like -that!” - -“With me for twenty-one,” said Eileen. “We had no means of washing.” - -She used an awful phrase. - -“We were a living stench.” - -“Good God!” said Brand. - -Eileen O’Connor waved back the remembrance. “Tell me of England and of -Ireland. How’s the little green isle? Has it done well in the war?” - -“The Irish troops fought like heroes,” said Brand. “But there were not -enough of them. Recruiting was slow, and there was--some trouble.” - -He did not speak about the Irish Rebellion. - -“I heard about it vaguely, from prisoners,” said the girl. “It was -England’s fault, I expect. Dear old blundering, muddle-headed England, -who is a tyrant through fear, and twists Irish loyalty into treason by -ropes of red-tape in which the Irish mind gets strangled and awry. -Well, there’s another subject to avoid. I want to hear only good things -to-night. Tell me of London, of Kensington Gardens, of the way from the -Strand to Temple Bar, of the lights that gleam along the Embankment -when lovers go hand-in-hand and see stars in the old black river. Are -they all there?” - -“They are all changed,” said Brand. “It is a place of gloom. There are -no lights along the Embankment. They have dowsed their glims for fear -of air-raids. There are few lovers hand-in-hand. Some of the boys lie -dead round Ypres, or somewhere on the Somme, or weep out of blind eyes, -or gibber in shell-shock homes, or try to hop on one leg--while waiting -for artificial limbs,--or trudge on, to-night, towards Maubeuge, where -German machine-guns wait for them behind the ditches. Along the Strand -goes the Painted Flapper, luring men to hell. In Kensington Gardens -there are training camps for more boys ear-marked for the shambles, -and here and there among the trees young mothers who are widows before -they knew their wifehood. There is vice, the gaiety of madness, the -unspeakable callousness of people who get rich on war, or earn fat -wages, and in small stricken homes a world of secret grief. That is -London in time of war. I hate it.” - -Brand spoke with bitterness and a melancholy that startled the girl who -sat with folded hands below the crucifix on the whitewashed wall behind -her. - -“Dear God! Is it like that?” - -She stared at the wall opposite as though it were a window through -which she saw London. - -“Yes, of course it is like that. Here in Lille we thought we were -suffering more than anybody in the world. That was our egotism. We -did not realise--not in our souls--that everywhere in the world of -war there was equal suffering, the same cruelty, perhaps the same -temptation to despair.” - -Brand repented, I think, of having led the conversation into such -abysmal gloom. He switched off to more cheerful things and gave some -elaborate sketches of soldiers he knew, to which Eileen played up with -anecdotes of rare comedy about the nuns--the fat nun who under the -rigour of war rations became as slim as a willow and was vain of her -new grace; the little French nun who had no fear of German officers and -dared their fury by prophecies of defeat--but was terrified of a mouse -in the refectory; the Reverend Mother, who borrowed a safety-razor from -an English Tommy--he had hidden it in his shirt--to shave her upper -lip, lest the Germans should think her a French _poilu_ in disguise. - -More interesting to me than anything that was said were the things -unspoken by Eileen and Brand. In spite of the girl’s easy way of -laughter, her quick wit, her avoidance, if possible, of any reference -to her own suffering, I seemed to see in her eyes and in her face the -strain of a long ordeal, some frightful adventure of life in which -she had taken great hazards--the people had told me she had risked -her life, often--and a woman’s courage which had been tested by that -experience and had not failed, though perhaps at breaking-point in the -worst hours. I supposed her age was twenty-six or so (I guessed it -right this side of a year), but there was already a streak of grey in -her dark hair, and her eyes, so smiling as a rule, looked as if they -had often wept. I think the presence of Brand was a great pleasure to -her--bringing to Lille a link with her childhood--and I saw that she -was studying the personality of this newly-found friend of hers, and -the strong character of his face, not unscathed by the touch of war, -with curious, penetrating interest. I felt in the way, and left them -together with a fair excuse--I had always work to do--and I was pleased -that I did so, they were so obviously glad to have a more intimate talk -about old friends and old times. - - - - -IX - - -I gained by my unselfishness (I did not want to go), for the Reverend -Mother met me in the corridor and stood talking to me about Eileen -O’Connor, and told me part of the girl’s story, which I found strange -in its drama, though she left out the scene of greatest interest, as I -heard later from Eileen herself. - -The girl had come to Lille just before the war, as an art-mistress in -an “_École de Jeunes Filles_” (her parents in Kensington had too big -a family to keep them all), with lessons twice a week at the convent, -and private pupils in her own rooms. She learned to speak French -quickly and charmingly, and her gift of humour, her Irish frankness and -comradeship made her popular among her pupils, so that she had many -invitations to their homes and became well known in the best houses of -Lille--mostly belonging to rich manufacturers. A commonplace story till -then! But when the Germans occupied Lille this Irish girl became one -of the chief characters in a drama that was exciting and fantastic to -the point of melodrama. It was she who organised the Lille branch of a -secret society of women, with a network all over northern France and -Belgium--the world remembers Nurse Cavell at Brussels--for the escape -of young civilians of military age and prisoners of war, combining -that work (frightfully perilous) with espionage on German movements of -troops and knowledge that might be of value to the Belgian Army, and -through them to England and France. It was out of an old book of Jules -Verne called “The Cryptogram” that she copied the cypher in which she -wrote her messages (in invisible ink on linen handkerchiefs and rags), -and she had an audacity of invention in numberless small tricks and -plots which constantly broke through the meshes of the German network -of military police. - -“She had a contempt for their stupidity,” said the Reverend Mother. -“Called them dunderheads, and one strange word of which I do not know -the meaning--‘yobs’--and I trembled at the risks she took.” - -She lived with one maid in two rooms on the ground floor of a house -near the Jardin d’Eté, the rest of the house being used as the -headquarters of the German Intelligence Section of the Northern -District. All day long officers went in and out, and by day and night -there were always sentries at the door. Yet it was there that was -established also the headquarters of the Rescue Committee. It was -on account of her Irish name and parentage that Eileen O’Connor was -permitted to remain in the two rooms to the left of the courtyard, -entered by a separate door. The German Kommandant was a man who -firmly believed that the Irish nation was ready to break out into -revolt against the English, and that all Irish--men and women--hated -the British Empire as much as any Prussian. Eileen O’Connor played -up to this _idée fixe_, saw the value of it as a wonderful means of -camouflage, lent the Kommandant books on Irish history dealing with -the injustice of England to Ireland (in which she firmly believed as a -staunch Nationalist), and educated him so completely to the belief that -she was anti-English (as she was in politics, though not in war) that -he had no doubt of her. - -Here the Reverend Mother made a remark which seemed to illuminate -Eileen O’Connor’s story, as well as her own knowledge of human nature. - -“The child has beautiful eyes and a most sweet grace. Irish history may -not account for all.” - -“This German Kommandant----” I asked, “what sort of a man was he?” - -“For a German not altogether bad,” said the Reverend Mother. “Severe -and ruthless, like them all, but polite when there was no occasion to -be violent. He was of good family, as far as there are such things in -Germany. A man of sixty.” - -Eileen O’Connor, with German permission, continued her work as -art-mistress at the _École de Jeunes Filles_. After six months she was -permitted to receive private pupils in her two rooms on the ground -floor of the Intelligence headquarters, in the same courtyard though -not in the same building. Her pupils came with drawing-boards and -paint-boxes. They were all girls with pig-tails and short frocks--not -so young as they looked, because three or four at least, including the -Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt, were older than schoolgirls. They played -the part perfectly, and the sentries smiled at them and said “_Guten -Tag, schönes Fräulein_,” as each one passed. They were the committee of -the Rescue Society: - -Julienne de Quesnoy, - -Marcelle Barbier, - -Yvonne Marigny, - -Marguérite Cléry, and Alice de Taffin, de Villers-Auxicourt. - -Eileen O’Connor was the director and leading spirit. It seems to me -astonishing that they should have arranged the cypher, practised it, -written down military information gathered from German conversations -and reported to them by servants and agents under the very noses of -the German Intelligence officers, who could see into the sitting-room -as they passed through French windows and saluted Eileen O’Connor and -her young ladies if they happened to meet their eyes. It is more -astonishing that, at different times, and one at a time, many fugitives -(including five British soldiers who had escaped from the citadel) -slept in the cellar beneath that room, changed into German uniforms -belonging to men who had died at the convent hospital--the Reverend -Mother did that part of the plot--and walked quietly out in the morning -by an underground passage leading to the Jardin d’Eté. The passage had -been anciently built but was blocked up at one end by Eileen O’Connor’s -cellar, and she and the other women broke the wall, one brick at a -time, until after three months the hole was made. Their finger-nails -suffered in the process, and they were afraid that the roughness of -their hands might be noticed by the officers, but in spite of German -spectacles they saw nothing of that. Eileen O’Connor and her friends -were in constant touch with the prisoners of the Citadel and smuggled -food to them. That was easy. It was done by bribing the German sentries -with tobacco and meat-pies. They were also in communication with other -branches of the work in Belgium, so that fugitives were passed on from -town to town, and house to house. Their success made them confident, -after many horrible fears, and for a time they were lulled into a -sense of security. That was rudely crashed when Eileen O’Connor, the -young Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt, and Marcelle Barbier were arrested -one morning in September of ’17, on a charge of espionage. They were -put into separate cells of the civil prison, crowded with the vilest -women of the slums and stews, and suffered something like torture -because of the foul atmosphere, the lack of sanitation, and unspeakable -abomination. - -“Only the spirit of Christian martyrdom could remain cheerful in such -terrible conditions,” said the Reverend Mother. “Our dear Eileen was -sustained by a great faith and wonderful gaiety. Her laughter, her -jokes, her patience, her courage, were an inspiration even to the poor -degraded women who were prisoners with her. They worshipped her. We, -her friends, gave her up for lost, though we prayed unceasingly that -she might escape death. Then she was brought to trial.” - -She stood alone in the court. The young Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt -had died in prison owing to the shock of her arrest and a weak heart. A -weak heart, though so brave. Eileen was not allowed to see her on her -death-bed, but she sent a message almost with her last breath. It was -the one word “courage!” Mlle. Marcelle Barbier was released before the -trial, for lack of direct evidence. - -Eileen’s trial was famous in Lille. The court was crowded and the -German military tribunal could not suppress the loud expressions of -sympathy and admiration which greeted her, nor the angry murmurs which -interrupted the prosecuting officer. She stood there, wonderfully calm, -between two soldiers with fixed bayonets. She looked very young and -innocent between her guards, and it is evident that her appearance made -a favourable impression on the court. The President, after peering at -her through his horn spectacles, was not so ferocious in his manner as -usual when he bade her be seated. - -The evidence seemed very strong against her. “She is lost” was the -belief of all her friends in court. One of the sentries at the Citadel, -jealously savage because another man had received more tobacco than -himself--on such a trivial thing did this girl’s life hang!--betrayed -the system by which the women’s committee sent food to the French -and English prisoners. He gave the names of three of the ladies and -described Eileen O’Connor as the ringleader. The secret police watched -her, and searched her rooms at night. They discovered the cypher and -the key, a list of men who had escaped, and three German uniforms in -a secret cupboard. They had been aided in their search by Lieutenant -Franz von Kreuzenach of the Intelligence Bureau, who was the chief -witness of the prosecution, and whose name was recommended to the -Court for the vigilance and zeal he had shown in the detection of the -conspiracy against the Army and the Fatherland. It was he who had found -the secret cupboard and had solved the key to the cypher. - -“We will take the lieutenant’s evidence in due course,” said the -President. “Does that complete the indictment against this prisoner?” - -Apart from a savage elaboration of evidence based upon the facts -presented and a demand that the woman’s guilt, if the Court were -satisfied thereon, should be punished by death, the preliminary -indictment by the prosecution ended. - -It was a terrible case, and during its revelations the people in court -were stricken with dread and pity for the girl who was now sitting -between the two soldiers. They were all staring at her, and some at -least--the Reverend Mother among them--noticed with surprise that -when the officer for the prosecution ended his speech she drew a deep -breath, raised her head, as though some weight of fear had been lifted -from her, and--laughed. - -It was quite a merry laugh, with that full blackbird note of hers, and -the sound of it caused a strange sensation in the court. The President -blinked repeatedly, like an owl blinded by a ray of sunlight. He -addressed the prisoner in heavy, barbarous French. - -“You are charged with conspiracy against our German martial law. The -punishment is death. It is no laughing matter, Fräulein.” - -They were stern words, but there was a touch of pity in that last -sentence. - -“_Ce n’est pas une affaire pour rire, Fräulein._” - -Eileen O’Connor, said the Reverend Mother, who was to be called as -a witness on her behalf, bowed in a gracious way to the President, -but with a look of amusement that was amazing to the German officers -assembled for her trial. Some of them scowled, but there were others, -the younger men, who whispered, and smiled also with no attempt to -disguise their admiration of such courage. - -“Perhaps it was only I,” said the Reverend Mother, “who understood the -child’s joyous relief which gave her this courage. I had waited with -terrible dread for the announcement of the discovery of the secret -passage. That it had been discovered I knew, for the German lieutenant, -Franz von Kreuzenach, had come round to me and very sternly questioned -me about a case of medicine which he had found there, stamped with the -name of our convent.” - -“Then,” I said, “this Franz von Kreuzenach must have suppressed some of -the evidence. By what motive----” - -The Reverend Mother interrupted me, putting her hand on my sleeve with -a touch of protest. - -“The good God works through strange instruments, and may touch the -hardest heart with His grace. It was indeed a miracle.” - -I would give much to have been in that court at Lille when Eileen -O’Connor was permitted to question the German lieutenant who was the -chief witness against her. - -From what I have heard, not only from the Reverend Mother, but from -other people of Lille who were present at the trial, she played with -this German officer, making him look very foolish, ridiculing him in a -merry, contemptuous way before the Court. Indeed he seemed strangely -abashed before her. - -“The cypher!... Have you ever been a schoolboy, or were you born a -lieutenant in the German Army?” - -Franz von Kreuzenach admitted that he had once been a boy--to the -amusement of his brother-officers. - -Had he ever read stories of adventure, fairy-tales, romances, or did -he spend his childhood in the study of Nietzsche, Hegel, Schopenhauer, -Kant, Goethe, von Bernhardi, Karl Marx---- - -When she strung off these names--so incongruous in association--even -the President permitted a slight smile to twist his thin hard mouth. - -Franz von Kreuzenach said that he had read some fairy-tales and stories -of adventure. Might he ask the _gnädiges Fräulein_---- - -“Yes,” said the President, “what has this to do with your case, -Fräulein? I desire to give you full liberty in your defence but this is -entirely irrelevant to the evidence.” - -“It is my case!” cried Miss O’Connor. “Listen to the next question, -Herr President. It is the key of my defence.” - -Her next question caused laughter in court. - -“I ask the Herr Lieutenant whether, as a boy, or a young man, he has -read the romances of the French writer, Jules Verne?” - -Franz von Kreuzenach looked abashed, and blushed like a schoolboy. His -eyes fell before the challenging look of the Irish girl. - -“I have read some novels by Jules Verne, in German translations.” - -“Oh, in German translations--of course!” said Miss O’Connor. “German -boys do not learn French very well.” - -“Keep to the case,” said the President. “In Heaven’s name, Fräulein, -what has this to do with your defence?” - -She raised her hand, for patience, and said, “Herr President, my -innocence will soon be clear.” - -She demanded of the witness for the prosecution whether he had ever -read the novel by Jules Verne called “The Cryptogram.” He said that he -had read it only a few days ago. He had discovered it in her room. - -Eileen O’Connor turned round eagerly to the President. - -“I demand the production of that book.” - -An orderly was sent to the lieutenant’s rooms to fetch it. It was clear -that the President of the Court made a black mark against Franz von -Kreuzenach for not having mentioned its discovery to the Court. As yet, -however, he could not see the bearing of it on the case. - -Then, with the book in her hand, Eileen O’Connor turned to the famous -cryptogram, showed how it corresponded exactly with her own cypher, -proved that the pieces of paper found in her rooms were copies of the -Jules Verne cypher in the handwriting of her pupils. - -“You see, Herr President!” she cried eagerly. - -The President admitted that this was proved, but, as he asked, leaning -forward in his chair, for what purpose had they copied out that cypher? -Cyphers were dangerous things to write in time of war. Deadly things. -Why did these ladies want to learn the cypher? - -It was then that Eileen O’Connor was most brilliant. She described -in a simple and girlish way how she and her pupils worked in their -little room. While they copied freehand models, one of them read out -to the others, books of romance, love, adventure, to forget the gloom -of life and the tragedy of war. One of those books was Jules Verne’s -“Cryptogram.” It had fascinated them. It had made them forget the -misery of war. They were romantic girls, imaginative girls. Out of -sheer merriment, to pass the hours, they had tried to work out the -cypher. They had written love-letters to imaginary young men in those -secret numbers. Here Eileen, smiling ironically, read out specimens of -the letters that had been found. - -“Come to the corner of the rue Esquermoise at 9:45. You will know me -because I shall be wearing a blue bow in a black hat.” - -That was the romantic imagination of the Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt. - -“When you see a lady standing outside the Jardin d’Eté, with a little -brown dog, speak to her in French and say, ‘_Comme il fait froid -aujourd’hui, mademoiselle_.’ If she answers, ‘_Je ne vous comprends -pas, monsieur_,’ you will understand that she is to be trusted, and you -must follow her.” - -That was a romantic idea to which Eileen herself pleaded guilty. - -“Herr President,” said Eileen, “you cannot put old heads on young -shoulders, even in time of war. A party of girls will let their foolish -little minds run upon ideas of love, even when the sound of guns is not -far away. You, Herr President, will understand that perfectly.” - -Perhaps there was something in the character of the President that made -this a chance hit. All the German officers laughed, and the President -shifted in his seat and flushed to the top of his bald, vulture-like -head. - -The possession of those German uniforms was also explained in the -prettiest way by Eileen O’Connor. They were uniforms belonging to three -handsome young German soldiers who had died in hospital. They had -kept them to return to their mothers after the war, those poor German -mothers who were weeping for their sons.... This part of her defence -touched the German officers deeply. One of them had tears in his eyes. - -The list of escaped fugitives was harder to explain, but again an Irish -imagination succeeded in giving it an innocent significance. It had -been compiled by a prisoner in the Citadel and given to Eileen as -a proof that his own hope of escape was not in vain, though she had -warned him of the fearful risk. “The poor man gave me the list in sheer -simplicity, and in innocence I kept it.” - -Simply and touchingly she admitted her guilt in smuggling food to -French and British prisoners and to German sentries, and claimed that -her fault was only against military regulations, but in humanity was -justified. - -“I am Irish,” she said. “I have in my heart the remembrance of English -crimes to Ireland--old, unforgettable crimes that still cry out for the -justice and the liberty which are denied my country.” - -Some of the younger German officers shook their heads approvingly. -They liked this Irish hatred of England. It was according to their -text-books. - -“But,” said the Irish girl, “the sufferings of English prisoners--you -know here of their misery, their hunger, their weakness in that Citadel -where many have died and are dying--stirred my compassion as a woman -to whom all cruelty is tragic, and all suffering of men a call to -that mother-love which is in the spirit of all their womanhood, as -you know by your German women--as I hope you know. Because they were -starved I tried to get them food, as I would to starving dogs or any -poor creatures caught in the trap of war, or of men’s sport. To that I -confess guilty, with gladness in my guilt.” - -The Reverend Mother, standing there in the whitewashed corridor of the -convent, in the flickering light of an oil lantern which gleamed on the -white ruff round her neck and the silver cross on her breast, though -her face was shadowed in the cavern of her black headdress, repeated -this speech of Eileen O’Connor as though in hearing it first she had -learnt it by heart. - -“The child was divinely inspired, monsieur. Our Lady stood by her side, -prompting her. I am sure of that.” - -The trial lengthened out, until it was late in the evening when the -Judge summed up. He spoke again of the gravity of the accusation, -the dread punishment that must befall the prisoner if her guilt were -proved, the weight of evidence against her. For a time he seemed to -press her guilt heavily, and the Court was gloomy. The German officers -looked grave. One thing happened in the course of his speech which -affected the audience profoundly. It was when he spoke of the romantic -explanation that had been offered by the prisoner regarding the secret -cypher. - -“This lady,” he said, “asks me to believe that she and her companions -were playing a simple girlish game of make-believe. Writing imaginary -letters to mythical persons. Were these young ladies--nay, is -she--herself--so lacking in woman’s charm that she has no living man to -love her and needs must write fictitious notes to nonexistent men?” - -The President said these words with portentous solemnity. Perhaps only -a German could have spoken them. He paused and blinked at the German -officers below him. Suddenly into the silence of the court came a -ripple of laughter, clear and full of most mirthful significance. - -Eileen O’Connor’s laugh bewitched the crowded court and there was a -roar of laughter in which all the officers joined. By that laugh more -even than by her general gaiety, her courage and eloquence, she won her -life. - -“I said a decade of the rosary to our Blessed Lady,” said the Reverend -Mother, “and thanked God that this dear child’s life would not be -taken. I was certain that those men would not condemn her to death. She -was acquitted on the charge of espionage, and sentenced to two weeks’ -imprisonment for smuggling food to prisoners, by a verdict of seven -against three. Only when she left the court did she fall into so deep -a swoon that for a little while we thought her dead.” - -The Reverend Mother had told her story well. She held me in a deep -strained interest. It was rather to myself than to her that I spoke the -words which were my comment at the end of this narrative. - -“How splendid!... But I am puzzled about that German lieutenant, Franz -von Kreuzenach. He kept the real evidence back.” - -“That,” said the Reverend Mother solemnly, “was a great mystery and a -miracle.” - -Wickham Brand joined us in the passage, with Eileen O’Connor by his -side. - -“Not gone yet?” said Wickham. - -“I have been listening to the tale of a woman’s courage,” I said, and -when Eileen gave me her hand, I raised it to my lips, in the French -style, though not in gallantry. - -“Reverend Mother,” she said, “has been exalting me to the Seventh -Heaven of her dear heart.” - -On my way back to Brand’s mess I told him all I had heard about -Eileen’s trial, and I remember his enthusiasm. - -“Fine! Thank heaven there are women like that in this blood-soaked -world. It saves one from absolute despair.” - -He made no comment about the suppression of evidence, which was a -puzzle to me. - -We parted with a “So long, old man,” outside his headquarters, and I -did not see him until a few days later. - - - - -X - - -It was Frederick E. Small, the American doctor, attached to Brand’s -crowd, who was with me on a night in Lille before the Armistice, -when by news from the Colonel we were stirred by the tremendous -hope--almost a certainty--that the end of the war was near. I had -been into Courtrai, which the enemy had first evacuated and then was -shelling. It was not a joyous entry like that into Lille. Most of the -people were still down in their cellars, where for several days they -had been herded together until the air became foul. On the outskirts I -had passed many groups of peasants with their babies and old people, -trudging past our guns, trekking from one village to another in search -of greater safety, or standing in the fields where our artillery was -getting into action, and where new shell craters should have warned -them away, if they had had more knowledge of war. For more than four -years I had seen, at different periods, crowds like that--after the -first flight of fugitives in August of ’14, when the world seemed -to have been tilted up and great populations in France and Belgium -were in panic-stricken retreat from the advancing edge of war. I knew -the types, the attitudes, the very shape of the bundles, in these -refugee processions, the haggard look of the mothers pushing their -perambulators, the bewildered look of old men and women, the tired -sleepy look of small boys and girls, the stumbling dead-beat look of -old farm-horses dragging carts piled high with cottage furniture. As it -was at the beginning so it was at the end--for civilians caught in the -fires of war. With two other men I went into the heart of Courtrai and -found it desolate, and knew the reason why when, at the corner of the -Grande Place, a heavy shell came howling and burst inside a house with -frightful explosive noise followed by a crash of masonry. The people -were wise to keep to their cellars. Two girls not so wise made a dash -from one house to another and were caught by chunks of steel and killed -close to the church of St. Martin, where they lay all crumpled up in a -clotted pool of blood. A man came up to me, utterly careless of such -risks, and I hated to stand talking to him with the shells coming every -half-minute overhead. - -There was a fire of passion in his eyes, and at every sentence he -spoke to me his voice rose and thrilled as he denounced the German -race for all they had done in Courtrai, for their robberies, their -imprisonments, their destruction of machinery, their brutality. The -last Commandant of Courtrai was von Richthofen, father of the German -aviator, and he was a hard, ruthless man and kept the city under an -iron rule. - -“All that, thank God, is finished now,” said the man. “The English have -delivered us from the Beast!” As he spoke another monstrous shell came -overhead, but he took no notice of it, and said, “We are safe now from -the enemy’s evil power!” It seemed to me a comparative kind of safety. -I had no confidence in it when I sat in the parlour of an old lady who, -like Eileen O’Connor in Lille, had been an Irish governess in Courtrai, -and who now, living in miserable poverty, sat in a bed-sitting room -whose windows and woodwork had been broken by shell-splinters. “Do you -mind shutting the door, my dear?” she said. “I can’t bear those nasty -bombs.” I realised with a large, experienced knowledge that we might -be torn to fragments of flesh, at any moment, by one of those nasty -“bombs,” which were really eight-inch shells, but the old lady did not -worry, and felt safe when the door was shut. - -Outside Courtrai, when I left, lay some khaki figures in a mush of -blood. They were lads whom I had seen unloading ammunition that morning -on the bank of the canal. One had asked me for a light, and said, -“What’s all this peace-talk?... Any chance?” A big chance, I had told -him. Home for Christmas, certain sure this time. The boy’s eyes had -lighted up for a moment, quicker than the match which he held in the -cup of his hands. - -“Jesus! Back for good; eh?” - -Then the light went out of his eyes as the match flared up. - -“We’ve heard that tale, a score of times. ‘The Germans are weakening. -The Huns ’ave ’ad enough!...’ Newspaper talk. A man would be a mug----” - -Now the boy lay in the mud, with half his body blown away.... I -was glad to get back to Lille for a spell, where there were no -dead bodies in the roads. And the Colonel’s news, straight from -G.H.Q., which--surely--were not playing up the old false optimism -again!--helped one to hope that perhaps in a week or two the last boys -of our race, the lucky ones, would be reprieved from that kind of -bloody death, which I had seen so often, so long, so heaped up in many -fields of France and Flanders, where the flower of our youth was killed. - -Dr. Small was excited by the hope brought back by Colonel Lavington. -He sought me out in my billet, _chez Madame Chéri_, and begged me to -take a walk with him. It was a moonlight night, but no double throb of -a German air-engine came booming over Lille. He walked at a hard pace, -with the collar of his “British warm” tucked up to his ears, and talked -in a queer disjointed monologue, emotionally, whimsically. I remember -some of his words, more or less--anyhow the gist of his thoughts. - -“I’m not worrying any more about how the war will end. We’ve won! -Remarkable that when one thinks back to the time, less than a year -ago, when the best thing seemed a draw. I’m thinking about the future. -What’s the world going to be afterwards? That’s my American mind--the -next job, so to speak.” - -He thought hard while we paced round our side of the Jardin d’Eté where -the moonlight made the bushes glamourous, and streaked the tree-trunks -with a silver line. - -“This war is going to have prodigious effect on nations. On -individuals, too. I’m scared. We’ve all been screwed up to an -intense pitch--every nerve in us is beyond the normal stretch of -nature. After the war there will be a sudden relaxing. We shall be -like bits of chewed elastic. Rather like people who have drugged -themselves to get through some big ordeal. After the ordeal their -nerves are all ragged. They crave the old stimulus though they dread -it. They’re depressed--don’t know what’s the matter--get into sudden -rages--hysterical--can’t settle to work--go out for gaiety and get -bored. I’ve seen it many times in bad cases. Europe--yes and America -too--is going to be a bad case. A neurotic world--Lord, it’ll take some -healing!” - -For a time his thoughts wandered round the possible terms of peace and -the abasement of Germany. He prophesied the break-up of Germany, the -downfall of the Emperor and of other thrones. - -“Crowns will be as cheap as twenty cents,” he said. He hoped for the -complete overthrow of Junkerdom--“all the dirty dogs,” as he called the -Prussian war-lords and politicians. But he hoped the Allies would be -generous with the enemy peoples--“magnanimous” was the word he used. - -“We must help the spirit of democracy to rise among them,” he said. “We -must make it easy for them to exorcise the devil. If we press them too -hard, put the screw on to the torture of their souls (defeat will be -torture to a proud people), they will nourish a hope of vengeance and -go back to their devil for hope.” - -I asked him whether he thought his President would lead the world to a -nobler stage of history. - -He hesitated at that, groped a little, I thought, among old memories -and prejudices. - -“Why,” he said, “Wilson has the biggest chance that ever came to a -human being--the biggest chance and the biggest duty. We are rich -(too darned rich) and enormously powerful when most other peoples are -poor and weak--drained of wealth and blood. That’s our luck, and a -little bit perhaps our shame, though our boys have done their bit all -right and are ready to do more, and it’s not their fault they weren’t -here before--but we’re hardly touched by this war as a people, except -spiritually. There we’ve been touched by the finger of Fate. (God, if -you like that better!) So with that strength behind him the President -is in a big way of business. He can make his voice heard, stand for a -big idea. God, sonny, I hope he’ll do it! For the world’s sake, for the -sake of all these suffering people, here in this city of Lille and in a -million little towns where people have been bashed by war.” - -I asked him if he doubted Wilson’s greatness, and the question -embarrassed him. - -“I’m loyal to the man,” he said. “I’ll back him if he plays straight -and big. Bigness, that’s what we want. Bigness of heart as well as -bigness of brain. Oh, he’s clever, though not wise in making so many -enemies. He has fine ideas and can write real words. Things which -speak. True things. I’d like to be sure of his character--its breadth -and strength, I mean. The world wants a Nobleman, bigger than the -little gentlemen of politics; a Leader calling to the great human heart -of our tribes, and lifting them with one grand gesture out of the -mire of old passions and vendettas and jealousies to a higher plane -of--commonsense. Out of the jungle, to the daylight of fellowship. Out -of the jungle.” - -He repeated those words twice, with a reverent solemnity. He believed -that so much emotion had been created in the heart of the world that -when the war ended anything might happen if a Leader came--a new -religion of civilisation, any kind of spiritual and social revolution. - -“We might kill cruelty,” he said. “My word, what a victory that would -be!” - - - - -XI - - -Our conversation was interrupted by a figure that slipped out of the -darkness of some doorway, hesitated before us, and then spoke in French. - -“You are English officers? May I speak with you?” - -It was a girl, whom I could see only vaguely in the darkness--she stood -in the shadow of a doorway beyond the moonlight--and I answered her -that I was English and my friend American. - -“Is there any way,” she asked, “of travelling from Lille, perhaps to -Paris? In a motor-car, for example? To-night?” - -I laughed at this startling request, put so abruptly. It was already -nine o’clock at night! - -“Not the smallest chance in the world, mademoiselle! Paris is far from -Lille.” - -“I was stupid,” said the girl. “Not all the way to Paris, but to some -town outside Lille. Any town. There are motor-cars always passing -through the streets. I thought if I could get a little place in one----” - -“It is difficult,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it is forbidden -for officers to take civilians except in case of saving them from -danger--in shelled places.” - -She came suddenly out of the shadow into the moonlight, and I saw that -she was a girl with red hair and a face strangely white. I knew by the -way she spoke--the accent--as well as by the neatness of her dress, -that she was not a working-girl. She was trembling painfully, and took -hold of my arm with both her hands. - -“Monsieur, I beg of you to help me. I beseech you to think of some way -in which I may get away from Lille to-night. It is a matter of extreme -importance to me.” - -A group of young men and women came up the street arm-in-arm, shouting, -laughing, singing the “_Marseillaise_.” They were civilians, with two -of our soldiers among them, wearing women’s hats. - -Before I could answer the girl’s last words she made a sudden retreat -into the dark doorway, and I could see dimly that she was cowering back. - -Dr. Small spoke to me. - -“That girl is scared of something. The poor child has got the jim-jams.” - -I went closer to her and heard her breathing. It was quite loud. It was -as though she were panting after hard running. - -“Are you ill?” I asked. - -She did not answer until the group of civilians had passed. They -did not pass at once, but stood for a moment looking up at a light -burning in an upper window. One of the men shouted something in a loud -voice--some word in _argot_--which I did not understand, and the women -screeched with laughter. Then they went on, dancing with linked arms, -and our two soldiers in the women’s hats lurched along with them. - -“I am afraid!” said the girl. - -“Afraid of what?” I asked. - -I repeated the question--“Why are you afraid, mademoiselle?” and she -answered by words which I had heard a million times since the war began -as an explanation of all trouble, tears, ruin, misery. - -“_C’est la guerre!_” - -“Look out!” said the little doctor. “She’s fainting.” - -She had risen from her cowering position and stood upright for a -moment, with her hand against the doorpost. Then she swayed and would -have fallen if the doctor had not caught her. Even then she fell, -indeed, though without hurt, because he could not support her sudden -weight--though she was of slight build,--and they sank together in a -kind of huddle on the door-step. - -“For the love of Mike!” said Dr. Small. He was on his knees before -her now, chafing her cold hands. She came-to in about a minute, and -I leaned over her and asked her where she lived, and made out from -her faint whisper that she lived in the house to which this doorway -belonged, in the upper room where the light was burning. With numbed -fingers--“cold as a toad” said “Daddy” Small--she fumbled at her bodice -and drew out a latch-key. - -“We had better carry her up,” I said, and the doctor nodded. - -The front door opened into a dimly-lit passage, uncarpeted, and -with leprous-looking walls. At one end was a staircase with heavy -bannisters. The doctor and I supported the girl, who was able to walk a -little now, and managed to get her to the first landing. - -“Where?” I asked, and she said, “Opposite.” - -It was the front room looking on to the street. A lamp was burning on -the round table in the centre of the room, and I saw by the light of -it the poverty of the furniture, and its untidiness. At one end of the -room was a big iron bedstead with curtains of torn lace, and on the -wooden chairs hung some soiled petticoats, and blouses. There was a -small cooking-stove in a corner, but no charcoal burned in it, and I -remember an ebony-framed mirror over the mantelpiece. I remember that -mirror, vividly. I remember, for instance, that a bit of the ebony had -broken off, showing the white plaster underneath, and a crack in the -right-hand corner of the looking-glass. Probably my eyes were attracted -to it because of a number of photographs stuck into the framework. -They were photographs of a girl in a variety of stage costumes, and -glancing at the girl whom the doctor had put into a low arm-chair, I -saw that they were of her. But with all the tragic difference between -happiness and misery; worse than that--between unscathed girlhood and -haggard womanhood. This girl with red hair and a white waxen face was -pretty still. There was something more than prettiness in the broadness -of her brow and the long tawny lashes that were now veiling her closed -eyes as she sat with her head back against the chair, showing a long -white throat. But her face was lined with an imprint of pain and her -mouth, rather long and bow-like, was drawn with a look of misery. - -The doctor spoke to me--in English, of course. - -“Half-starved, I should say. Or starved.” - -He sniffed at the stove and the room generally. - -“No sign of recent cooking.” - -He opened a cupboard and looked in. - -“Nothing in the pantry, sonny. I guess the girl would do with a meal.” - -I did not answer him. I was staring at the photographs stuck into -the mirror, and saw one that was not a girl’s portrait. It was the -photograph of a young French lieutenant. I crossed the room and looked -at it closer, and then spoke to the little doctor in a curiously -unexcited voice, as one does in moments of living drama. - -“This girl is Pierre Nesle’s sister.” - -“For the love of Mike!” said the little doctor, for the second time -that night. - -The girl heard the name of Pierre Nesle and opened her eyes wide, with -a wondering look. - -“Pierre Nesle? That is my brother. Do you know him?” - -I told her that I knew him well and had seen him in Lille, where he was -looking for her, two days ago. He was now in the direction of Courtrai. - -The girl was painfully agitated, and uttered pitiful words. - -“Oh, my little brother!” she murmured. “My dear little comrade!” She -rose from her chair, steadying herself with one hand on the back of it, -and with feverish anxiety said that she must go at once. She must leave -Lille. - -“Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to leave Lille?” - -“I am afraid!” she answered again, and burst into tears. - -I turned to the doctor and translated her words. - -“I can’t understand this fear of hers--this desire to leave Lille.” - -Dr. Small had taken something off the mantelpiece--a glass tube with -some tablets--which he put in his pocket. - -“Hysteria,” he said. “Starvation, war-strain, and--drugs. There’s a -jolly combination for a young lady’s nerves! She’s afraid of herself, -old ghosts, the horrors. Wants to run away from it all, forgetting that -she carries her poor body and brain with her. I know the symptoms--even -in little old New York in time of peace.” - -He had his professional manner. I saw the doctor through his soldier’s -uniform. He spoke with the authority of the medical man in a patient’s -bedroom. He ordered me to go round to my mess and bring back some -food, while he boiled up a kettle and got busy. When I returned, after -half-an-hour, the girl was more cheerful. Some of the horrors had -passed from her, in the doctor’s company. She ate some of the food -I had brought in a famished way, but after a few mouthfuls sickened -at it and would eat no more. But a faint colour had come into her -cheeks and gave her face a touch of real beauty. She must have been -extraordinarily attractive before the war--as those photographs showed. -She spoke of Pierre with adoration. He had been all that was good to -her before she left home (she hated her mother!) to sing in cabarets -and café concerts. - -“I cannot imagine Pierre as a lieutenant!” she remarked with a queer -little laugh. - -Dr. Small said he would get some women in the house to look after her -in the night, but she seemed hostile to that idea. - -“The people here are unkind. They are bad women here. If I died they -would not care.” - -She promised to stay in the house until we could arrange for Pierre to -meet her and take her away to Paris. But I felt the greatest pity for -the girl when we left her alone in her miserable room. The scared look -had come back to her face. I could see that she was in terror of being -alone again. - -When we walked back to our billets the doctor spoke of the -extraordinary chance of meeting the girl like that--the sister of our -liaison officer. The odds were a million to one against such a thing. - -“I always feel there’s a direction in these cases,” said Daddy Small. -“Some Hand that guides. Maybe you and I were being led to-night. I’d -like to save that girl, Marthe.” - -“Is that her name?” - -“Marthe de Méricourt, she calls herself, as a singing-girl. I guess -that’s why Pierre could not hear of her in this town.” - -Later on the doctor spoke again. - -“That girl is as much a war-victim as if she had been shell-shocked -on the field of battle. The casualty-lists don’t say anything about -civilians, not a darned thing about broken hearts, stricken women, -diseased babies, infant mortality; all the hell of suffering behind the -lines. May God curse all war devils!” - -He put his hand on my shoulder and said in a very solemn way: - -“After this thing is finished--this grisly business--you and I, and all -men of goodwill, must put our heads together to prevent it happening -again. I dedicate whatever life I have to that.” - -He seemed to have a vision of hope. - -“There are lots of good fellows in the world. Wickham Brand is one of -’em. Charles Fortune is another. One finds them everywhere on your -side and mine. Surely we can get together when peace comes, and make a -better system, somehow.” - -“Not easy, Doctor.” - -He laughed at me. - -“I hate your pessimism!... We must get a message to Pierre Nesle.... -Good night, sonny!” - -On the way back to my billet I passed young Clatworthy. He was too -engrossed to see me, having his arm round a girl who was standing with -him under an unlighted lamp-post. She was looking up into his face on -which the moonlight shone--a pretty creature, I thought. - -“_Je t’adore!_” she murmured as I passed quite close; and Clatworthy -kissed her. - -I knew the boy’s mother and sisters, and wondered what they would think -of him if they saw him now with this little street-walker. To them -Cyril was a white knight _sans peur et sans reproche_. The war had not -improved him. He was no longer the healthy lad who had been captain of -his school, with all his ambition in sport, as I had known him five -years before. Sometimes, in spite of his swagger and gallantry, I saw -something sinister in his face, the look of a soiled soul. Poor kid! He -too would have his excuse for all things: - -“_C’est la guerre!_” - - - - -XII - - -It was five o’clock on the following evening that I saw the girl Marthe -again. The Doctor and I had arranged to go round to her lodging after -dinner, by which time we hoped to have a letter for her from Pierre, by -despatch-rider. But Brand was with me in the afternoon, having looked -in to my billet with an English conversation-book for Hélène, who was -anxious to study our way of speech. Madame Chéri insisted upon giving -him a glass of wine, and we stood talking in her drawing-room awhile -about the certain hope of victory, and then trivial things. Hélène was -delighted with her book and Brand had a merry five minutes with her, -teaching her to pronounce the words. - -“_C’est effroyable!_” cried Hélène. “‘Through’ ... ‘Tough’ ... ‘Cough’ -... _Mon Dieu, comme c’est difficile!_ There is no rule in your tongue.” - -Madame Chéri spoke of Edouard, her eldest boy, who had disappeared into -the great silence, and gave me a photograph of him, in case I should -meet him in our advance towards the Rhine. She kissed the photograph -before giving it to me, and said a few words which revealed her strong -character, her passionate patriotism. - -“If he had been four years older he would have been a soldier of -France. I should have been happy if he could have fought for his -country, and died for it, like my husband.” - -Brand and I left the house and went up towards the Grande Place. I was -telling him about Pierre Nesle’s sister and our strange meeting with -her the night before. - -“I’m precious glad,” said Brand, “that no sister of mine was behind -German lines. God knows how much they had to endure. Imagine their -risks! It was a lucky escape for that girl Hélène. Supposing she had -failed to barricade her door?” - -When we came into the Grande Place we saw that something was happening. -It was almost dark after a shadowy twilight, but we could see a crowd -of people surging round some central point of interest. Many of them -were laughing, loudly. There was some joke in progress. The women’s -tongues sounded most loud, and shrill. - -“They’re getting back to gaiety,” said Brand. “What’s the jest, I -wonder?” - -A gust of laughter came across the square. Above it was another sound, -not so pleasant. It was a woman’s shrieks--shriek after shriek, most -blood-curdling, and then becoming faint. - -“What the devil----!” said Brand. - -We were on the edge of the crowd, and I spoke to a man there. - -“What’s happening?” - -He laughed, in a grim way. - -“It’s the _coiffure_ of a lady. They are cutting her hair.” - -I was mystified. - -“Cutting her hair?” - -A woman spoke to me, by way of explanation, laughing like the man. - -“Shaving her head, monsieur. She was one of those who were too -complaisant with German officers. You understand? There were many of -them. They ought to have their heads cut off, as well as their hair.” - -Another man spoke, gruffly. - -“There would be a good many headless corpses, if that were so. To their -shame be it said. It was abominable. No pride. No decency.” - -“But the worst will escape,” said another. “In private houses. The -well-dressed demoiselles!” - -_“Tuez-les!_” cried a woman. “_Tuez-les!_” - -It was a cry for killing, such, as women had screamed when pretty -aristocrats were caught by the mobs of the French Revolution. - -“My God!” said Brand. - -He shouldered his way through the crowd, and I followed him. The people -made a gap for us, seeing our uniforms, and desired us to enjoy the -joke. What I saw when I came closer was a group of young men holding a -limp figure. One of them was brandishing a large pair of scissors, as -large as shears. Another held up a tangled mass of red hair. - -“_Regardez!_” he shouted to the crowd, and they cheered and laughed. - -I had seen the hair before, as I knew when I saw a girl’s face, -dead-white, lifeless, as it seemed, and limp against a man’s shoulder. - -“It is Marthe!” I said to Brand. “Pierre Nesle’s sister.” - -A curious sense of faintness overcame me, and I felt sick. - -Brand did not answer me, but I saw his face pale under its tan. He -pushed forward through the crowd and I lost sight of him for a few -moments. After that I saw him carrying the girl; above the heads of the -people I saw her head flopping from side to side horribly, a head with -close-cropped hair. They had torn her clothes off her shoulders, which -were bleeding. - -“Help me,” said Brand. - -I am not quite clear what happened. I have only a vague remembrance of -the crowd making way for us, with murmurs of surprise, and some hostile -cries of women. I remember helping Brand to carry the girl--enormously -heavy she seemed with her dead weight--but how we managed to get her -into Dr. Small’s car is to this day a blank in my mind. We must have -seen and hailed him at the Corner of the Grande Place as he was going -back to his billet. I have a distinct recollection of taking off my -Burberry and laying it over the girl, who was huddled in the back of -the car, and of Brand saying, “Where can we take her?” I also remember -trying to light a cigarette and using many matches which went out in -the wind. It was Brand’s idea that we should go to Madame Chéri’s house -for sanctuary, and by the time we had driven to that place we had left -the crowd behind and were not followed. - -“You go in and explain things,” said Brand. “Ask Madame to give the -girl a refuge.” - -I think Madame Chéri was startled by the sight of the car, and perhaps -by some queer look I had. I told her what had happened. This girl was -the sister of Pierre Nesle, whom Madame Chéri had met. The crowd, for -some reason, had cut off her hair. Would Madame save the poor child, -who was unconscious? - -I shall never forget the face or speech of that lady, whom I had found -so kind. She drew herself up very stiffly and a relentless expression -hardened her face. - -“If you were not English I should say you desired to insult me, sir. -The people have cut off the creature’s hair. ‘For some reason’ you say. -There is only one reason. Because she was faithless to her country and -to her sex, and was familiar with men who were the enemies of France, -the murderers of our men, robbers and assassins. She has been well -punished. I would rather burn down my house than give her shelter. If -they gave her to the dogs to tear in pieces I would not lift my little -finger to save her.” - -Hélène came in, and was surprised at the emotion of her mother’s voice. - -“What is it, little maman?” - -Madame Chéri, regained control of herself, which for a moment she had -lost in a passion that shook her. - -“It is a little matter. This officer and I have been talking about vile -people who sold themselves to our enemy. He understands perfectly.” - -“I understand,” I said, gravely. “There is a great deal of cruelty in -the world, madame, and less charity than I had hoped.” - -“There is, praise be to God, a little justice,” said Madame Chéri, very -calmly. - -“Au revoir, madame!” - -“Au revoir, monsieur!” - -“Au revoir, mademoiselle!” - -I was shocked then at the callousness of the lady. It seemed to me -incredible. Now I am no longer shocked, but understand the horror -that was hers, the loathing, for a daughter of France who had--if the -mob were not mistaken!--violated the code of honour which enabled -the French people to resist German brutality, even German kindness, -which they hated worse, with a most proud disdain. That girl outside, -bleeding and senseless in the car, had been friendly with German -officers, notorious in her company with them. Otherwise she would not -have been seized by the crowd and branded for shame. There was a fierce -protective instinct which hardened Madame Chéri against charity. Only -those who have seen what war means to women close to it, in enemy -hands, may truly understand, and, understanding, curse war again for -all its destruction of souls and bodies. - - - - -XIII - - -Brand and Dr. Small were both astonished and indignant. - -“Do you mean to say she shuts her door against this poor bleeding -girl?” said Brand. - -The American doctor did not waste words. He only used words when there -was no action on hand. - -“The next place?” he said. “A hospital?” - -I had the idea of the convent where Eileen O’Connor lodged. There was -a sanctuary. Those nuns were vowed to Christian charity. They would -understand and have pity. - -“Yes,” said Brand, and he called to the driver. - -We drove hard to the convent, and Brand was out of the car before it -stopped, and rang the bell with such a tug that we heard it jangling -loudly in the courtyard. - -It seemed long before the little wicket opened and a woman’s voice -said, “_Qui est là?_” - -Brand gave his name, and said, “Open quickly, _ma soeur_. We have a -woman here who is ill.” - -The gate was opened, and Brand and I lifted out the girl, who was still -unconscious, but moaning slightly, and carried her into the courtyard, -and thence inside the convent to the white-washed passage where I had -listened so long to the Reverend Mother telling me of the trial scene. - -It was the Reverend Mother who came now, with two of her nuns, while -the little portress stood by, clasping her hands. - -“An accident?” said the Reverend Mother. “How was the poor child hurt?” - -She bent over the girl, Marthe,--Pierre Nesle’s sister, as I remembered -with an added pity--pulled my Burberry from her face and shoulders and -glanced at the bedraggled figure there. - -“Her hair has been cut off,” said the old nun. “That is strange! There -are the marks of finger-nails on her shoulder. What violence was it, -then?” - -Brand described the rescue of the girl from the mob, who would have -torn her to pieces, and as he spoke I saw a terrible look come into the -Reverend Mother’s face. - -“I remember--1870,” she said harshly. “They cut the hair of women who -had disgraced themselves--and France--by their behaviour with German -soldiers. We thought then that it was a light punishment ... we think -so now, monsieur!” - -One of the nuns, a young woman who had been touching the girl’s head, -smoothing back her tousled close-cropped hair, sprang up as though she -had touched an evil thing, and shrank back. - -Another nun spoke to the Reverend Mother. - -“This house would be defiled if we took in a creature like that. God -forbid, Reverend Mother----” - -The old Superior turned to Brand, and I saw how her breast was heaving -with emotion. - -“It would have been better, sir, if you had left this wretched woman to -the people. The voice of the people is sometimes the voice of God. If -they knew her guilt their punishment was just. Reflect what it means to -us--to all our womanhood. Husbands, fathers, brothers were being killed -by these Germans. Our dear France was bleeding to death. Was there any -greater crime than that a Frenchwoman should show any weakness, any -favour, to one of those men who were helping to cause the agony of -France, the martyrdom of our youth?” - -Brand stammered out a few words. I remember only two: “Christian -charity!” - -The American doctor and I stood by silently. Dr. Small was listening -with the deepest attention, as though some new truth about human nature -were being revealed to him. - -It was then that a new voice was raised in that whitewashed corridor. -It was Eileen O’Connor’s Irish contralto, and it vibrated with -extraordinary passion, as she spoke in French. - -“Reverend Mother!... I am dismayed by the words you have spoken. I do -not believe, though my ears have heard them. No, they are unbelievable! -I have seen your holiness, your charity, every day for four years, -nursing German prisoners, and English, with equal tenderness, with -a great pity. Not shrinking from any horror or the daily sight of -death, but offering it all as a sacrifice to God. And now, after our -liberation, when we ought to be uplifted by the Divine favour that has -come to us, you would turn away that poor child who lies bleeding at -our feet, another victim of war’s cruelty. Was it not war that struck -her down? This war which has been declared against souls as well as -bodies! This war on women, as well as on fighting-men who had less -need of courage than some of us! What did our Lord say to a woman who -was taken by the mob? ‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast -the first stone!’ It was Mary Magdalen who kissed His feet, and wiped -them with her hair. This girl has lost her hair, but perhaps Christ -has taken it as a precious napkin for His wounds. We who have been -lucky in escape from evil--shall we cast her out of the house which -has a cross above its roof? I have been lucky above most women in -Lille. If all things were known, I might be lying there in that girl’s -place, bleeding and senseless, without this hair of mine. Reverend -Mother--_remember Franz von Kreuzenach_!” - -We--Dr. Small, Brand and I--were dumbfounded by Eileen O’Connor’s -passionate outcry. She was utterly unconscious of us and looked only at -the Reverend Mother, with a light in her eyes that was more intensely -spiritual than I had seen before in any woman’s face. - -The old nun seemed stricken by Eileen’s words. Into her rugged old -face, all wrinkled about the eyes, crept an expression of remorse and -shame. Once she raised her hands, slowly, as though beseeching the -girl to spare her. Then her hands came down again and clasped each -other at her breast, and her head bowed so that her chin was dug into -her white bib. Tears came into her eyes and fell unheeded down her -withered cheeks. I can see now the picture of us all standing there in -the whitewashed corridor of the convent, in the dim light of a hanging -lantern--we three officers standing together, the huddled figure of -Marthe Nesle lying at our feet, half covered with my trench-coat, but -with her face lying sideways, white as death under her cropped red -hair, and her bare shoulders stained with a streak of blood; opposite, -the old Mother, with bowed head and clasped hands; the two young nuns, -rigid, motionless, silent; and Eileen O’Connor, with that queer light -on her face, and her hands stretched out with a gesture of passionate -appeal. - -The Reverend Mother raised her head and spoke--after what seemed like a -long silence, but was only a second or two, I suppose. - -“My child, I am an old woman, and have said many prayers. But you have -taught me the lesson, which I thought I knew, that the devil does not -depart from us until our souls have found eternal peace. I am a wicked -old woman, and until you opened my eyes I was forgetful of charity and -of our Lord’s most sweet commands.” - -She turned to us now with an air of wonderful dignity and graciousness. - -“Gentlemen, I pray you to carry this wounded girl to my own cell. -To-night I will sleep on bare boards.” - -One of the young nuns was weeping bitterly. - -So we lifted up Marthe Nesle, and, following the Reverend Mother, -carried her to a little white room and laid her on an iron bedstead -under a picture of the Madonna, below which burned an oil lamp on a -wooden table. The American doctor asked Eileen O’Connor to bring him -some hot water. - -Brand and I went back in the car, and I dined at his mess again. - - - - -XIV - - -Colonel Lavington was discussing the art of the sonnet, and the -influence of Italian culture in Elizabethan England. From that subject -he travelled to the psychology of courage, which in his opinion, for -the moment, was founded on vanity. - -“Courage,” he said with that gallant look of his which I had seen with -admiration when he walked up the old duckboards beyond Ypres, with -a whimsical smile at “crumps” bursting abominably near--he had done -bravely in the old days, as a battalion commander--“Courage is merely -a pose before the mirror of one’s own soul and one’s neighbours. We -are all horribly afraid in moments of danger, but some of us have the -gift of pretending that we don’t mind. That is vanity. We like to look -heroes, even to ourselves. It is good to die with a _beau geste_, -though death is damnably unpleasant.” - -“I agree, Colonel,” said Charles Fortune. “Always the right face for -the proper occasion. But it wants a lot of practice.” - -He put on his gallant, devil-may-care face, and there was appreciative -laughter from his fellow-officers. - -Harding, the young landowner, was of opinion that courage depended -entirely on the liver. - -“It is a matter of physical health,” he said. “If I am out-of-sorts, -my _moral_ goes down to zero. Not that I’m ever really brave. Anyhow I -hate things that go off. Those loud noises of bursting shells are very -objectionable. I shall protest against Christmas crackers after the -war.” - -Young Clatworthy was in the sulks, and sat very silent during all this -badinage. - -“What’s the matter?” I asked, and he confided to me his conviction, -while he passed the salt, that “life was a rummy game.” - -“Hipped?” I said, and his answer was, “Fed up to the back teeth!” - -That seemed to me curious, after the glimpse I had had of him with a -little lady of Lille. The boy explained himself somewhat, under cover -of the Colonel’s conversation, which was holding the interest of the -mess. - -“We’re living unnaturally,” he said. “It’s all an abnormal show, and we -pretend to be natural and normal, when everything that happens round us -is fantastic and disorderly.” - -“What’s your idea?” I enquired. It was the first time I had heard the -boy talk seriously, or with any touch of gravity. - -“Hard to explain,” he said. “But take my case to-day. This morning I -went up the line to interrogate the latest batch of P.O.W’s.” (He meant -prisoners of war). “A five-point-nine burst within ten yards of my car, -the other side of Courtrai, killed my driver and missed me by a couple -of inches. I felt as sick as a dog when I saw Saunders crumpled over -his steering-wheel, with blood pouring down his neck. Not that it’s the -first time I’ve seen blood!” - -He laughed as he gave a glance at his wound-stripe, and I remembered -the way in which he had gained his M.C. at Gommecourt--one of three -left alive in his company. - -“We had been talking, three minutes before, about his next leave. He -had been married in ’16, after the Somme, and hadn’t seen his wife -since. Said her letters made him ‘uneasy.’ Thought she was drinking, -because of the loneliness. Well, there he was--finished--and a nasty -sight. I went off to the P.O.W. cage, and examined the beggars--one -of them, as usual, had been a waiter at the Cecil, and said ‘How’s -dear old London?’--and passed the time of day with Bob Mellett. You -know--the one-armed lad. He laughed no end when he heard of my narrow -squeak. So did I--though it’s hard to see the joke. He lent me his car -on the way back, and somewhere outside Courtrai we bumped over a dead -body, with a queer soft squelch. It was a German--a young ’un--and Bob -Mellett said, ‘_He_ won’t be home for Christmas!’ Do you know Bob?--he -used to cry at school when a rat was caught. Queer, isn’t it? Now here -I am, sitting at a white table-cloth, listening to the Colonel’s talk, -and pretending to be interested. I’m not a bit, really. I’m wondering -why that bit of shell hit Saunders and not me. Or why I’m not lying -in a muddy road as a bit of soft squelch for staff-cars to bump over. -And on top of that I’m wondering how it will feel to hang up a bowler -hat again in a house at Wimbledon, and say ‘Cheerio, Mother!’ to the -mater (who will be knitting in the same arm-chair--chintz-covered--by -the piano) and read the evening paper until dinner’s ready, take Ethel -to a local dance, and get back into the old rut of home life in a nice -family, don’t you know? With all my memories. With the ghosts of _this_ -life crowding up. Ugly ghosts, some of ’em! Dirty ghosts!... It’s -inconceivable that we can ever go back to the funny old humdrum! I’m -not sure that I want to.” - -“You’re hipped,” I told him. “You’ll be glad to get back all right. -Wimbledon will be Paradise after what you’ve been through.” - -“Oh, Lord, _I’ve_ done nothing,” said the boy. “Fact is, I’ve been -talking tripe. Forget it.” - -But I did not forget, and remembered every word later, when I heard his -laughter, on Armistice night. - -A despatch-rider stood outside the door in his muddy overalls, and -Brand went to get his message. It was from Pierre Nesle. - -“I am mad with joy that you have found Marthe! Alas, I cannot get back -for a week. Tell her that I am still her devoted comrade and loving -brother. Pierre.” - -Brand handed me the slip and said, “Poor devil!” I went back to my -billet in Madame Chéri’s house, and she made no allusion to our -conversation in the afternoon, but was anxious, I thought, to assure -me of her friendship by special little courtesies, as when she lighted -my candle and carried it upstairs before saying Good night. Hélène -was learning English fast and furiously, and with her arms round her -mother’s waist, said, “Sleep well, sir, and very good dreams to you!” -which I imagine was a sentence out of her text-book. - - - - -XV - - -They were great days--in the last two weeks before the Armistice! For -me, and for many men, they were days of exultation, wild adventure, -pity, immense hope, tremendous scenes uplifted by a sense of victory; -though for others, the soldiers who did the dirty work, brought up -lorry columns through the mud of the old battlefields, far behind our -new front line, carried on still with the hard old drudgery of war, -they were days not marked out by any special jubilation, or variety, -or hope, but just like all the others that had gone before since first -they came to France. - -I remember little scenes and pictures of those last two weeks as they -pass through my mind like a film drama; episodes of tragedy or triumph -which startled my imagination, a pageantry of men who had victory in -their eyes, single figures who spoke to me, told me unforgettable -things, and the last dead bodies who fell at the very gate of Peace. - -One of the last dead bodies I saw in the war was in the city of -Valenciennes, which we entered on the morning of November 3. Our guns -had spared the city, which was full of people, but the railway station -was an elaborate ruin of twisted iron and broken glass. Rails were torn -up and sleepers burnt. Our airmen, flying low day after day during the -German retreat, had flung down bombs which had torn the fronts off the -booking-offices and made match-wood of the signal-boxes and sheds. -For German soldiers detraining here it had been a hellish place, and -the fire of our flying-men had been deadly accurate. I walked through -the ruin out into the station square. It was empty of all life, but -one human figure was there all alone. It was the dead body of a young -German soldier, lying with outstretched arms, on his back, in a pool of -blood. His figure formed a cross there on the cobblestones, and seemed -to me a symbol of all that youth which had been sacrificed by powers -of monstrous evil. His face was still handsome in death, the square, -rough-hewn face of a young peasant. - -There was the tap-tap-tap of a German machine-gun, somewhere on the -right of the square. As I walked forward, all my senses were alert to -the menace of death. It would be foolish, I thought, to be killed at -the end of the war--for surely the end was very near? And then I had a -sudden sharp thought that perhaps it would be well if this happened. -Why should I live when so many had died? The awful job was done, and my -small part in it. I had seen it through from start to finish, for it -was finished but for a few days of waiting. It might be better to end -with it, for all that came afterwards would be anti-climax. I remember -raising my head and looking squarely round at that staccato hammering -of the German machine-gun, with an intense desire that a bullet might -come my way. But I went on untouched into the town.... - -As in Courtrai, a fury of gun-fire overhead kept the people in their -houses. Our field batteries were firing over the city and the enemy was -answering. Here and there I saw a face peering out of a broken window, -and then a door opened, and a man and woman appeared behind it, with -two thin children. The woman thrust out a skinny hand and grasped mine, -and began to weep. She talked passionately, with a strange mingling of -rage and grief. - -“O my God!” she said, “those devils have gone at last! What have they -not made us suffer! My husband and I had four little houses--we were -innkeepers--and last night they sent us to this part of the town and -burnt all of them.” She used a queer word in French. “Last night,” she -said, “they made a devil’s _charivari_ and set many houses on fire.” - -Her husband spoke to me over his wife’s shoulder. - -“Sir, they have stolen everything, broken everything, ground us down -for four years. They are bandits and robbers.” - -“We are hungry,” said the thin little girl. - -By her side the boy, with a white pinched face, echoed her plaint. - -“We have eaten our bread, and I am hungry.” - -They had some coffee left, and asked me to go inside and drink it with -them, but I could not wait. - -The woman held my wrist tight in her skinny hands. - -“You will come back?” she asked. - -“I will try,” I said. - -Then she wept again, and said: - -“We are grateful to the English soldiers. It is they who saved us.” - -That is one out of a hundred little scenes that I remember in those -last two weeks when, not without hard fighting, for the German -machine-gun rearguards fought bravely to the end, our troops entered -many towns and villages, and liberated many thousands of poor people. -I remember the girls of a little town called Bohain who put on their -best frocks and clean pinafores to welcome us. It was not until a -little while that we found they were starving and had not even a crust -of bread in all the town. Then the enemy started shelling, and some of -the girls were killed, and many were suffocated by gas shells. That -was worse in St. Amand, by Valenciennes, where all the women and -children took refuge in the cellars. The German batteries opened fire -with Yellow Cross shell as our guns passed through. Some of our men, -and many of their horses, lay dead in the streets as I passed through; -but worse things happened in the cellars below the houses. The heavy -gas of the Yellow Cross shells filtered down to where the women and -their babies cowered on their mattresses. They began to choke and -gasp, and babies died in the arms of dying mothers.... Dr. Small, our -American, went with a body of English doctors and nurses to the rescue -of St. Amand. “I’ve seen bad things,” he told me. “I am not weak in the -stomach--but I saw things in those cellars which nearly made me vomit.” - -He put a hand on my shoulder and blinked at me through his glasses. - -“It’s no good cursing the Germans. As soon as your troops entered the -village they had a right to shell. That’s war. We should do the same. -War’s war. I’ve been cursing the Germans in elaborate and eccentric -language. It did me good. I feel all the better for it. But all the -same I was wrong. It’s war we ought to curse. War which makes these -things possible among civilised peoples. It’s just devilry. Civilised -people must give up the habit. They must get cured of it. You have -heard of typhoid-carriers? They are people infected with the typhoid -microbe who spread the disease. When peace comes we must hunt down the -war-carriers, isolate them, and, if necessary, kill them.” - -He waved his hand to me and went off in an ambulance filled with -suffocated women. - -I met Brand in Valenciennes five days after our liberation of the city, -when our troops were making their formal entry with band and banners. -He came up to me and said, “Have you heard the news?” I saw by his -face that it was good news, and I felt my heart give a lurch when I -answered him. - -“Tell me the best.” - -“Germany is sending plenipotentiaries, under a white flag, to Foch. -They know it is unconditional surrender.... And the Kaiser has -abdicated.” - -I drew a deep breath. Something seemed to lift from my soul. The sky -seemed to become brighter, as though a shadow had passed from the face -of the sun. - -“Then it’s the end?... The last battle has been fought!” - -Brand was staring at a column of troops--all young fellows of the 4th -Division. His eyes were glistening, with moisture in them. - -“Reprieved!” he said. “The last of our youth is saved!” - -He turned to me suddenly, and spoke in the deepest melancholy. - -“You and I ought to be dead. So many kids were killed. We’ve no right -to be alive.” - -“Perhaps there is other work to do,” I answered him, weakly, because I -had the same thought. - -He did not seem sure of that. - -“I wonder!... If we could help to save the next generation----” - -In the Place d’Armes of Valenciennes there was a great crowd, and many -of our Generals and Staff officers on the steps and below the steps of -the Hôtel de Ville. Brand and I caught a glimpse of Colonel Lavington, -looking very gallant and debonair, as usual. Beside him was Charles -Fortune, with his air of a Staff-officer dreadfully overworked in the -arrangement of victory, modest in spite of his great achievements, -deprecating any public homage that might be paid him. This careful -mask of his was slightly disarranged for a moment when he winked -at me under the very nose of the great General whom he had set to -music--“Blear-eyed Bill, the Boche-Breaker,” who stood magnificent -with his great chest emblazoned with ribbons. The Prince of Wales was -there, shifting from one leg to another, chatting gaily with a group of -Staff-officers. A bevy of French girls advanced with enormous bouquets -and presented them to the Prince and his fellow-officers. The Prince -laughed and blushed, like a schoolboy, sniffed at the flowers, did not -know what to do with them. The other officers held the bouquets with -equal embarrassment, with that strange English shyness which not even -war could cure. - -Some officers close to me were talking of the German plea for Armistice. - -“It’s abject surrender!” said one of them. - -“The end!” said another, very solemnly. “Thank God.” - -“The end of a dirty business!” said a young machine-gun officer. I -noticed that he had three wound-stripes. - -One of them, holding a big bouquet, began to dance, pointing his toes, -cutting abbreviated capers in a small space among his comrades. - -“Not too quick for me, old dears! Back to peace again!... Back to life! -Hooray!” - -The colours of many flags fluttered upon the gables of the Place -d’Armes, and the balconies were draped with the Tricolour, the Union -Jack, and the Stars and Stripes. Old citizens wore tall hats saved -up for this day, and girls had taken their lace from hiding-places -where the Germans had not found it, and wore it round their necks -and wrists for the honour of this day. Old women in black bonnets -sat in the centre of window-places and clapped their hands--their -wrinkled, hard-working old hands--to every British soldier who passed, -and thousands were passing. Nobody heard a word of the speeches -spoken from the Town Hall steps, the tribute of the councillors of -Valenciennes to the glory of the troops who had rescued their people -from servitude under a ruthless enemy, nor the answer of Sir Henry -Horne, the Army Commander, expressing the pride of his soldiers in the -rescue of that fair old city, and their admiration for the courage of -its people. Every word was overwhelmed by cheering. Then the pipers of -a Highland division, whose fighting I had recorded through their years -of heroic endurance, played a march tune, and the music of those pipes -was loud in the square of Valenciennes and in the hearts of its people. -The troops marched past, and thousands of bayonets shone above their -steel helmets.... - - - - -XVI - - -I was in Mons on the day of Armistice, and on the roads outside when I -heard the news that the Germans had surrendered to all our terms, and -that the “Cease Fire” would sound at eleven o’clock. It was a misty -morning, with sunlight glinting through the mist and sparkling in the -coppery leaves of autumn trees. There was no heavy bombardment in -progress round Mons--only now and then the sullen bark of a gun. The -roads were crowded with the usual transport of war--endless columns -of motor-lorries and horse-wagons, and mule-teams, crawling slowly -forward, and infantry battalions trudging alongside, with their heavy -packs. I stared into the faces of the marching men, expecting to -see joy in their eyes, wondering why they were not singing--because -to-day the guns would be silent and the fighting finished. Their packs -weighed heavy. The mud from passing lorries splashed them with great -gobs of filth. Under their steel hats the sweat ran down. They looked -dead-beat, and marched in a grim line of tired men. But I noticed -that the transport wagons were decorated with small flags, and these -bits of fluttering colour were stuck into the harness of gun-horses -and mules. From the other way came another tide of traffic--crowds of -civilians, who were middle-aged men and boys, and here and there women -pushing hand-carts, and straining forward with an eager, homing look. -The men and boys were carrying bundles, too heavy for many of them, so -that they were bent under their burdens. But each one had added the -last straw but one to his weight by fastening a flag to his bundle or -his cap. I spoke to some of them, and they told me that they were the -civilians from Lille, Valenciennes, and other towns, who had been taken -away by the Germans for forced labour behind the lines. Two days ago -the Germans had said, “We’ve no more use for you. Get back to your own -people. The war is over.” - -They looked worn and haggard, like men who had been shipwrecked. Some -of the boys were weak, and sat down on the roadside with their bundles, -and could go no farther. Others trudged on gamely, with crooks which -they had cut from the hedges, and only stopped to cry “_Vivent les -Anglais!_” as our soldiers passed. I looked into many of their faces, -remembering the photograph of Edouard Chéri which had been given to -me by his mother. Perhaps he was somewhere in those troops of homing -exiles. But he might have been any one of those lanky boys in ragged -jackets and broken boots, and cloth caps pulled down over the ears. - -Just outside Mons, at one minute to eleven o’clock, there was a little -desultory firing. Then, a bugle blew, somewhere in a distant field, one -long note. It was the “Cease Fire!” A cheer coming faintly over the -fields followed the bugle-call. Then there was no other sound where I -stood but the scrunching of wheels of gun-limbers and transport-wagons, -the squelch of mud in which horses and mules trudged, and the hard -breathing of tired men marching by under their packs. So, with a -curious lack of drama, the Great Adventure ended! That bugle had blown -the “Cease Fire!” of a strife which had filled the world with agony and -massacre; destroyed millions of men; broken millions of lives; ruined -many great cities and thousands of hamlets, and left a long wide belt -of country across Europe where no tree remained alive and all the -earth was ravaged; crowded the world with maimed men, blind men, mad -men, diseased men; flung Empires into anarchy, where hunger killed the -children and women had no milk to feed their babes; and bequeathed -to all fighting nations a heritage of debt beneath which many would -stagger and fall. It was the “Cease Fire!” of all that reign of death, -but sounded very faintly across the fields of France. - -In Mons Canadian soldiers were being kissed by French girls. Women were -giving them wine in doorways, and these hard-bitten fellows, tough as -leather, reckless of all risk, plastered with mud which had worn into -their skins and souls, drank the wine and kissed the women, and lurched -laughing down the streets. There would be no strict discipline in Mons -that night. They had had enough of discipline in the dirty days. Let it -go on the night of Armistice! Already at midday some of these soldiers -were unable to walk except with an arm round a comrade’s neck, or round -the neck of strong peasant girls who screeched with laughter when they -side-slipped, or staggered. They had been through hell, those men. They -had lain in ditches, under frightful fire, among dead men, and bleeding -men. Who would grudge them their bit of fun on Armistice night? Who -would expect saintship of men who had been taught in the school of war, -taught to kill quick lest they be killed, to see the worst horrors of -the battlefield without going weak, to educate themselves out of the -refinements of peaceful life where Christian virtues are easy and not -meant for war? - -“Come here, lassie. None of your French tricks for me. I’m -Canadian-born. It’s a kiss or a clout from me.” - -The man grabbed the girl by the arm and drew her into a barn. - -On the night of Armistice in Mons, where, at the beginning of the war, -the Old Contemptibles had first withstood the shock of German arms (I -saw their ghosts there in the market-place), there would be the devil -to pay--the devil of war, who plays on the passions of men, and sets -his trap for women’s souls. But I went away from Mons before nightfall, -and travelled back to Lille, in the little old car which had gone to -many strange places with me. - -How quiet it was in the open countryside when darkness fell! The guns -were quiet at last, after four years and more of labour. There were no -fires in the sky, no ruddy glow of death. I listened to the silence -which followed the going down of the sun, and heard the rustling of the -russet leaves and the little sounds of night in peace, and it seemed as -though God gave a benediction to the wounded soul of the world. Other -sounds rose from the towns and fields in the deepening shadow-world of -the day of Armistice. They were sounds of human joy. Men were singing -somewhere on the roads, and their voices rang out gladly. Bugles were -playing. In villages from which the enemy had gone out that morning -round about Mons crowds of figures surged in the narrow streets, and -English laughter rose above the chatter of women and children. - - - - -XVII - - -When I came into Lille rockets were rising above the city. English -soldiers were firing off Verey lights. Above the houses of the city in -darkness rose also gusts of cheering. It is strange that when I heard -them I felt like weeping. They sounded rather ghostly, like the voices -of all the dead who had fallen before this night of Armistice. - -I went to my billet at Madame Chéri’s house, from which I had been -absent some days. I had the key of the front door now, and let myself -into the hall. The dining-room door was open, and I heard the voices -of the little French family, laughing, crying, hysterical. Surely -hysterical! - -“_O mon Dieu! O mon petit Toto! Comme tu es grandi! Comme tu es -maigre!_” - -I stood outside the door, understanding the thing that had happened. - -In the centre of the room stood a tall, gaunt boy in ragged clothes, in -the embrace of Madame Chéri, and with one hand clutched by Hélène, and -the other by the little Madeleine, her sister. It was Edouard who had -come back. - -He had unloosed a pack from his shoulder, and it lay on the carpet -beside him, with a little flag on a broken stick. He was haggard, with -high cheek-bones prominent through his white, tightly-drawn skin, and -his eyes were sunk in deep sockets. His hair was in a wild mop of -black, disordered locks. He stood there, with tears streaming from his -eyes, and the only words he said were: - -“_Maman! O maman! maman!_” - -I went quietly upstairs, and changed my clothes, which were all -muddy. Presently there was a tap at my door, and Hélène stood there, -transfigured with joy. She spoke in French. - -“Edouard has come back! My brother! He travelled on an English lorry.” - -“Thank God for that,” I said. “What gladness for you all!” - -“He has grown tall,” said Hélène. She mopped her eyes and laughed and -cried at the same time. “Tall as a giant, but oh, so thin! They starved -him all the time. He fed only on cabbages. They put him to work digging -trenches behind the line--under fire. The brutes! The devils!” - -Her eyes were lit up by passion at the thought of this cruelty and her -brother’s suffering. Then her expression changed to a look of pride. - -“He says he is glad to have been under fire--like father. He hated it, -though, at the time, and said he was frightened! I can’t believe that. -Edouard was always brave.” - -“There’s no courage that takes away the fear of shellfire--as far as -I’m concerned,” I told her, but she only laughed and said, “You men -make a pose of being afraid.” - -She spoke of Edouard again, hugging the thought of his return. - -“If only he were not so thin, and so tired. I find him changed. The -poor boy cries at the sight of _maman_--like a baby.” - -“I don’t wonder,” I said. “I should feel like that if I had been a -prisoner of war, and was now home again.” - -Madame Chéri’s voice called from downstairs: - -“Hélène! _Dù es-tu? Edouard veut te voir!_” - -“Edouard wants me,” said Hélène. - -She seemed rejoiced at the thought that Edouard had missed her, even -for this minute. She took my hand and kissed it, as though wishing me -to share her joy, and to be part of it; and then ran downstairs. - - - - -XVIII - - -I went out to the Officers’ Club which had been established in Lille, -and found Brand there, and Fortune, and young Clatworthy, who made a -place for me at their table. - -Two large rooms which had been the dining- and drawing-rooms of a -private mansion, were crowded with officers, mostly English, but with -here and there a few Americans and French, seated at small tables, -waited on by the girls we call Waacs (of the Women’s Army Auxiliary -Corps). Two old-fashioned candelabra of cut-glass gave light to each -room, and I remember that the walls were panelled with wood painted -a greyish-white, below a moulding of fruit and flowers. Above the -table where my friends sat was the portrait of a French lady of the -eighteenth century, in an oval frame of tarnished gilt. - -I was late for the meal on Armistice night, and many bottles of -champagne had already been opened and drunk. The atmosphere reeked with -the smell of food, the fumes of wine and cigarette-smoke, and there -was the noise of many men talking and laughing. I looked about the -tables and saw familiar faces. There were a good many cavalry officers -in the room where I sat, and among them officers of the Guards and -the Tank Corps, aviators, machine-gunners, staff-officers of infantry -divisions, French interpreters, American liaison officers, A.P.M.’s, -Town Majors, and others. The lid was off at last. All these men were -intoxicated with the thought of the victory we had won--complete, -annihilating--and of this Armistice which had ended the war and made -them sure of life. Some of them were a little drunk with wine, but not -enough at this hour to spoil their sense of joy. - -Officers rose at various tables to make speeches, cheered by their own -groups, who laughed and shouted and did not listen. - -“The good old British Army has done the trick at last----” - -“The old Hun is down and out.” - -“Gentlemen, it has been a damned tough job----” - -Another group had burst into song. - -“Here’s to good old beer, put it down, put it down!” - -“The cavalry came into its own in the last lap. We’ve fought mounted, -and fought dismounted. We’ve rounded up innumerable Huns. We’ve ridden -down machine-guns----” - -Another group was singing independently: - - - “There’s a long, long trail a-winding - To the land of my dreams.” - - -A toast was being pledged at the next table by a Tank officer who stood -on a chair, with a glass of champagne raised high above his head: - -“Gentlemen, I give you the toast of the Tank Corps. This war was won by -the Tanks----” - -“Pull him down!” shouted two lads at the same table. “Tanks be damned! -It was the poor old bloody infantry, all the time.” - -One of them pulled down the little Tank officer with a crash, and stood -on his own chair. - -“Here’s to the foot-sloggers--the infantry battalions, Tommy Atkins and -his company officer, who did all the dirty work, and got none of the -_kudos_, and did most of the dying.” - -A cavalry officer with a monocle immovably screwed in his right eye -demanded the attention of the company, and failed to get it. - -“We all know what we have done ourselves, and what we failed to do. I -give you the toast of our noble Allies, without whom there would be no -Armistice to-night. I drink to the glory of France----” - -The words were heard at several tables, and for once there was a -general acknowledgment of the toast. - -“_Vive la France!_” - -The shout thundered out from all the tables, so that the candelabra -rattled. Five French interpreters in various parts of the room rose to -respond. - -There were shouts of “The Stars and Stripes--good old Yanks--Well done, -the U.S.A.!” and I was sorry Dr. Small was still at Valenciennes. I -should like him to have heard those shouts. An American staff-officer -was on his feet, raising his glass to “England.” - -Charles Fortune stood up at my table. He reminded me exceedingly at -that moment of old prints portraying George IV in his youth--“the First -Gentleman of Europe”--slightly flushed, with an air of noble dignity, -and a roguish eye. - -“Go to it, Fortune,” said Brand. “Nobody’s listening, so you can say -what you like.” - -“Gentlemen,” said Fortune, “I venture to propose the health of our late -enemy, the Germans.” - -Young Clatworthy gave an hysterical guffaw. - -“We owe them a very great debt,” said Fortune. “But for their -simplicity of nature and amiability of character, the British -Empire--that glorious conglomeration of races upon which the sun -utterly declines to set--would have fallen into decay and debility, as -a second-class Power. Before the war the German Empire was gaining our -trade, capturing all the markets of the world, waiting at table in all -the best hotels, and providing all the music in the cafés-chantants -of the universe.... With that immense unselfishness so characteristic -of their race, the Germans threw away these advantages and sacrificed -themselves for the benefit of the British. By declaring war they -enabled all the ancient virtues of our race to be revived. Generals -sprang up in every direction--especially in Whitehall, Boulogne and -Rouen. Staff-officers multiplied exceedingly. British indigestion--the -curse of our race--became subject to a Sam Brown belt. Business -men, mostly bankrupt, were enriched enormously. Clergymen thundered -joyfully from their pulpits and went back to the Old Testament for -that fine old law, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Elderly -virgins married the youngest subalterns. The youngest flapper caught -the eldest and wiliest of bachelors. Our people were revivified, -gentlemen--revivified----” - -“Go easy,” growled Brand. “This is not a night for irony.” - -“Even I,” said Charles Fortune, with a sob of pride in his voice, -“Even I, a simple piano-tuner, a man of music, a child of peace and -melody--Shut up, Brand!--became Every Inch a Soldier!” - -He drew himself up in a heroic pose and, raising his glass, cried out: - -“Here’s to our late enemy--poor old Fritz!” - -A number of glasses were raised amidst a roar of laughter. - -“Here’s to Fritz--and may the Kaiser roast at Christmas!” - -“And they say we haven’t a sense of humour!” said Charles Fortune, -modestly, and opened a new bottle of champagne. - -Brand had a sense of humour, and had laughed during Fortune’s oration, -knowing that beneath its mockery there was no malice. But I noticed -that he had no spontaneous gaiety on this night of Armistice and sat -rather silent, with a far-away look in his eyes, and that hag-ridden -melancholy of his. - -Young Clatworthy was between me and Brand, drinking too heavily, I -thought. Brand thought so too, and gave him a word of caution. - -“That champagne is pretty bad. I’d ’ware headaches, if I were you, -young ’un.” - -“It’s good enough,” said Clatworthy. “Anything to put me in the right -spirit.” - -There was an unnatural glitter in his eyes; and he laughed, too easily, -at any joke of Fortune’s. Presently he turned his attention to me, and -began talking, excitedly, in a low monologue. - -“Funny to think it’s the last night! Can you believe it? It seems a -lifetime since I came out in ’14. I remember the first night, when -I was sent up to Ypres to take the place of a subaltern who’d been -knocked out. It was Christmas Eve, and my battalion was up in the line -round Hooge. I detrained at Vlamertinghe. ‘Can any one tell me the way -to Hooge?’ I asked one of the traffic men. Just like a country cousin -at Piccadilly Circus. He looked at me in a queer way, and said, ‘It’s -the same way to Hell, sir. Straight on until you get to Ypres, then out -of the Menin gate and along the road to Hell-fire Corner. After that -you trust to luck. Some young gentlemen never get no further.’ I damned -his impertinence and went on, till I came to the Grande Place in Ypres, -where I just missed an eight-inch shell. It knocked out a gun-team. -Shocking mess it made. ‘The same way to Hell,’ I kept saying, until -I fell into a shell-hole along the Menin Road. But, d’you know, the -fellow was wrong, after all!” - -“How?” I asked. - -Young Clatworthy drank up his wine, and laughed, as though very much -amused. - -“Why, _that_ wasn’t the way to Hell. It was the other way.” - -I was puzzled at his meaning, and wondered if he were really drunk. - -“What other way?” - -“Behind the lines--in the back areas. I should have been all right if I -had stuck in the trenches. It was in places like Amiens that I went to -the devil.” - -“Not as bad as that,” I said. - -“Mind you,” he continued, lighting a cigarette and smiling at the -flame, “I’ve had pleasant times in this war, between the bad ones, and, -afterwards, in this cushie job. Extraordinarily amusing and agreeable, -along the way to Hell. There was little Marguérite in Amiens--such a -kid! Funny as a kitten! She loved me not wisely but too well. I had -just come down from the Somme battles then. That little idyll with -Marguérite was like a dream. We two were Babes in the Wood. We plucked -the flowers of life, and didn’t listen to the howling of the wolves -beyond the forest.” - -He jerked his head up and listened, and repeated the words: - -“The howling of the wolves!” - -Somebody was singing “John Peel”: - - - “_D’ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay,_ - _D’ye ken John Peel at the break of day,_ - _D’ye ken John Peel when he’s far, far away_ - _With his horn and his hounds in the morning?_” - - -Cyril Clatworthy was on his feet, joining in the chorus, with a loud -joyous voice. - - - “_We’ll follow John Peel through fair and through foul,_ - _If we want a good hunt in the morning!_” - - -“Bravo! Bravo!” - -He laughed as he sat down. - -“I used to sing that when I was Captain of the School,” he said. “A -long time ago, eh? How many centuries?... I was as clean a fellow as -you’d meet in those days. Keen as mustard on cricket. Some bat, too! -That was before the dirty war, and the stinking trenches; and fever, -and lice, and dead bodies, and all that. But I was telling you about -Yvonne, wasn’t I?” - -“Marguérite,” I reminded him. - -“No. Yvonne. I met her at Cassel. A brown-eyed thing. Demure. You know -the type?... One of the worst little sluts I ever met. Oh, a wicked -little witch!... Well, I paid for that affair. That policeman was -wrong.” - -“What policeman?” I asked. - -“The traffic man at Vlamertinghe. ‘It’s the same way to Hell,’ he said, -meaning Hooge. It was the other way, really. All the same, I’ve had -some good hours. And now it’s Armistice night.... Those fellows are -getting rather blue, aren’t they? It’s the blinking cavalry who used -to get in the way of the infantry, blocking up the roads with their -ridiculous horses and their preposterous lances. Look here, old man; -there’s one thing I want to know. Tell me, as a wise owl.” - -“What is that?” I asked, laughing at his deference to my wisdom. - -“How are we going to get clean enough for Peace?” - -“Clean enough?” - -I could not follow the drift of his question, and he tried to explain -himself. - -“Oh, I don’t mean the soap-and-water business. But morally, -spiritually, intellectually, and all that? Some of us will want a lot -of scrubbing before we sit down in our nice little Christian families, -somewhere at Wimbledon or Ealing. Somehow, I funk Peace. It means -getting back again to where one started, and I don’t see how it’s -possible.... Good Lord, what tripe I’ve been talking!” - -He pulled the bow of one of the “Waacs” and undid her apron. - -“_Encore une bouteille de champagne, mademoiselle!_” he said in his -best French, and started singing “_La Marseillaise_.” Some of the -officers were dancing the Fox Trot and the Bunny Hug. - -Brand rose with a smile and a sigh. - -“Armistice night!” he said. “Thank God, there’s a crowd of fellows left -to do the dancing.... I can’t help thinking of the others.” - -He touched a glass with his lips to a silent toast, and I saw that -he drank to ghosts. Then he put the glass down and laid his hand on -Clatworthy’s shoulder. - -“Care for a stroll?” he said. “This room is too foggy.” - -“Not I, old lad,” said the boy. “This is Armistice Night--and the end -of the adventure. See it through!” - -Brand shook his head and said he must breathe fresh air. Fortune was -playing a Brahms concerto in the style of a German master, on the -table-cloth. - -I followed Brand, and we strolled through the dark streets of Lille, -and did not talk. In each of our minds was the stupendous thought that -it was the last night of the war--the end of the adventure, as young -Clatworthy had said. God! It had been a frightful adventure, from -first to last--a fiery furnace in which youth had been burnt up like -grass. How much heroism we had seen, how much human agony, ruin, hate, -cruelty, love! There had been comradeship and laughter in queer places -and perilous hours. Comradeship--perhaps that was the best of all: -the unselfish comradeship of men. But what a waste of life! What a -lowering of civilisation! Our heritage--what was it, after victory? Who -would heal the wounds of the world? - -Brand suddenly spoke, after our long tramp in the darkness, past -windows from which came music, and singing, and shouts of laughter. He -uttered only one word, but all his soul was in it. - -“Peace!” - - -That night we went to see Eileen O’Connor and to enquire after the girl -Marthe. Next day Pierre Nesle was coming to find his sister. - - - - -XIX - - -Eileen O’Connor had gone back from the convent to the rooms she had -before her trial and imprisonment. I was glad to see her in a setting -less austere than the white-washed parlour in which she had first -received us. There was something of her character in the sitting-room -where she had lived so long during the war, and where with her -girl-friends she had done more dangerous work than studying the -elements of drawing and painting. In that setting, too, she looked at -home--“The Portrait of a Lady,” by Lavery, as I saw her in my mind’s -eye, when she sat in a low arm-chair by the side of a charcoal stove, -with the lamplight on her face and hair and her dress shadowy. She -wore a black dress of some kind, with a tiny edge of lace about the -neck and a string of coloured beads so long that she twisted it about -her fingers in her lap. The room was small, but cosy in the light of a -tall lamp, on an iron stand, shaded with red silk. Like all the rooms I -had seen in Lille--not many--this was panelled, with a polished floor, -bare except for one rug. On the walls were a few etchings framed in -black--London views mostly--and some water-colour drawings of girls’ -heads, charmingly done, I thought. They were her own studies of some of -her pupils and friends, and one face especially attracted me, because -of its delicate and spiritual beauty. - -“That was my fellow-prisoner,” said Eileen O’Connor. “Alice de -Villers-Auxicourt. She died before the trial. Happily, because she had -no fear.” - -I noticed one other thing in the room which was pleasant to see--an -upright piano, and upon a stool by its side a pile of old songs which -I turned over one by one as we sat talking. They were English and -Irish, mostly from the 17th century onwards, but among them I found -some German songs, and on each cover was written the name of Franz -von Kreuzenach. At the sight of that name I had a foolish sense of -embarrassment and dismay, as though I had discovered a skeleton in a -cupboard, and I slipped them hurriedly between other sheets. - -Eileen was talking to Wickham Brand. She did not notice my confusion. -She was telling him that Marthe, Pierre’s sister, was seriously ill -with something like brain-fever. The girl had regained consciousness -at times, but was delirious, and kept crying out for her mother and -Pierre to save her from some horror that frightened her. The nuns had -made enquiries about her through civilians in Lille. Some of them had -heard of the girl under her stage name--“Marthe de Méricourt.” She had -sung in the _cabarets_ before the war. After the German occupation she -had disappeared for a time. Somebody said she had been half-starved and -was in a desperate state. What could a singing-girl do in an “occupied” -town? She reappeared in a restaurant frequented by German officers and -kept up by a woman of bad character. She sang and danced there for a -miserable wage, and part of her duty was to induce German officers to -drink champagne--the worst brand for the highest price. A horrible -degradation for a decent girl! But starvation, so Eileen said, has -fierce claws. Imagine what agony, what terror, what despair must have -gone before that surrender! To sing and dance before the enemies of -your country! - -“Frightful!” said Brand. “A girl should prefer death.” - -Eileen O’Connor was twisting the coloured beads between her fingers. -She looked up at Wickham Brand with a deep thoughtfulness in her dark -eyes. - -“Most men would say that. And all women beyond the war-zone, safe, and -shielded. But death does not come quickly from half-starvation, in a -garret without fire, in clothes that are worn threadbare. It is not -the quick death of the battlefield. It is just a long-drawn misery.... -Then there is loneliness. The loneliness of a woman’s soul. Do you -understand that?” - -Brand nodded gravely. - -“I understand the loneliness of a man’s soul. I’ve lived with it.” - -“Worse for a woman,” said Eileen. “That singing-girl was lonely in -Lille. Her family--with that boy Pierre--were on the other side of the -lines. She had no friends here, before the Germans came.” - -“You mean that afterwards----” - -Brand checked the end of his sentence, and the line of his mouth -hardened. - -“Some of the Germans were kind,” said Eileen. “Oh, let us tell the -truth about that! They were not all devils.” - -“They were our enemies,” said Brand. - -Eileen was silent for another moment, staring down at those queer beads -of hers in her lap, and before she spoke again I think her mind was -going back over many episodes and scenes during the German occupation -of Lille. - -“It was a long time--four years. A tremendous time for hatred to hold -out against civility, kindness, and--human nature.... Human nature is -strong; stronger than frontiers, nations, even patriotism.” - -Eileen O’Connor flung her beads back, rose from the low chair and -turned back her hair with both hands, with a kind of impatience. - -“I’ve seen the truth of things, pretty close--almost as close as death.” - -“Yes,” said Brand in a low voice. “You were pretty close to all that.” - -The girl seemed to be anxious to plunge deep into the truth of the -things she had seen. - -“The Germans--here in Lille--were of all kinds. Everything there was in -the war, for them, their emotion, their pride in the first victories, -their doubts, fears, boredom, anguish, brutality, sentiment, found a -dwelling-place in this city behind the battlefront. Some of them--in -the administration--stayed here all the time, billeted in French -families. Others came back from the battlefields, horror-stricken, -trying to get a little brief happiness--forgetfulness. There were lots -of them who pitied the French people, and had an immense sympathy with -them. They tried to be friends. Tried hard, by every sort of small -kindness in their billets.” - -“Like Schwarz in Madame Chéri’s house,” said Brand bitterly. It seemed -to me curious that he was adopting a mental attitude of unrelenting -hatred to the Germans, when, as I knew, and as I have told, he had been -of late on the side of toleration. That was how his moods swung, when -as yet he had no fixed point of view. - -“Oh, yes, there were many beasts,” said Eileen quickly. “But others -were different. Beasts or not, they were human. They had eyes to -see and to smile, lips to talk and tempt. It was their human nature -which broke some of our hatred. There were young men among them, and -in Lille girls who could be angry for a time, disdainful longer, and -then friendly. I mean lonely, half-starved girls, weak, miserable -girls,--and others not starved enough to lose their passion and need of -love. German boys and French girls--entangled in the net of fate.... -God pity them!” - -Brand said, “I pity them, too.” - -He walked over to the piano and made an abrupt request, as though to -change the subject of conversation. - -“Sing something.... Something English!” - -Eileen O’Connor sang something Irish first, and I liked her deep voice, -so low and sweet. - - - “There’s one that is pure as an angel - And fair as the flowers of May, - They call her the gentle maiden - Wherever she takes her way. - Her eyes have the glance of sunlight - As it brightens the blue sea-wave, - And more than the deep-sea treasure - The love of her heart I crave. - - Though parted afar from my darling, - I dream of her everywhere. - The sound of her voice is about me, - The spell of her presence there. - And whether my prayer be granted, - Or whether she pass me by, - The face of that gentle maiden - Will follow me till I die.” - - -Brand was standing by the piano, with the light of the tall lamp on his -face, and I saw that there was a wetness in his eyes before the song -was ended. - -“It is queer to hear that in Lille,” he said. “It’s so long since I -heard a woman sing, and it’s like water to a parched soul.” - -Eileen O’Connor played the last bars again and, as she played, talked -softly. - -“To me, the face of that gentle maiden is a friend’s face. Alice de -Villers-Auxicourt, who died in prison. - - - ‘And whether my prayer be granted, - Or whether she pass me by, - The face of that gentle maiden - Will follow me till I die.’” - - -Brand turned over the songs, and suddenly I saw his face flush, and I -knew the reason. He had come to the German songs on which was written -the name of Franz von Kreuzenach. - -He turned them over quickly, but Eileen pulled one out--it was a -Schubert song--and opened its leaves. - -“That was the man who saved my life.” - -She spoke without embarrassment, simply. - -“Yes,” said Brand. “He suppressed the evidence.” - -“Oh, you know?” - -I told her that we had heard part of the tale from the Reverend Mother, -but not all of it. Not the motive, nor what had really happened. - -“But you guessed?” - -“No,” I answered, sturdily. - -She laughed, but in a serious way. - -“It is not a hard guess, unless I am older than I feel, and uglier than -the mirror tells me. He was in love with me.” - -Brand and I looked absurdly embarrassed. Of course we _had_ guessed, -but this open confession was startling, and there was something -repulsive in the idea to both of us who had come through the war-zone -into Lille, and had seen the hatred of the people for the German race, -and the fate of Pierre Nesle’s sister. - -Eileen O’Connor told us that part of her story which the Reverend -Mother had left out. It explained the “miracle” that had saved this -girl’s life, though, as the Reverend Mother said, perhaps the grace of -God was in it as well. Who knows? - -Franz von Kreuzenach was one of the Intelligence officers whose -headquarters were in that courtyard. After service in the trenches with -an infantry battalion he had been stationed since 1915 at Lille until -almost the end. He had a lieutenant’s rank, but was Baron in private -life, belonging to an old family in Bonn. Not a Prussian, therefore, -but a Rhinelander, and without the Prussian arrogance of manner. Just -before the war he had been at Oxford--Brasenose College--and spoke -English perfectly, and loved England with a strange, deep, unconcealed -sentiment. - -“Loved England?” exclaimed Brand at this part of Eileen’s tale. - -“Why not?” asked Eileen. “I’m Irish, but I love England, in spite of -all her faults, and all my grievances! Who can help loving England that -has lived with her people?” - -This Lieutenant von Kreuzenach was two months in Lille before he spoke -a word with Eileen. She passed him often in the courtyard and always -he saluted her with great deference. She fancied she noticed a kind of -wistfulness in his eyes, as though he would have liked to talk to her. -He had blue eyes, sad sometimes, she noticed, and a clean-cut face, -rather delicate and pale. - -One day she dropped a pile of books in the yard all of a heap, as he -was passing, and he said, “Allow me,” and helped to pick them up. One -of the books was “Puck of Pook’s Hill,” by Kipling, and he smiled as he -turned over a page or two. - -“I love that book,” he said, in perfect English. “There’s so much of -the spirit of old England in it. History, too. That’s fine about the -Roman wall, where the officers go pig-sticking.” - -Eileen O’Connor asked him if he were half English--perhaps he had -an English mother?--but he shook his head and said he was wholly -German--_echt Deutsch_. - -He hesitated for a moment as though he wanted to continue the -conversation, but then saluted and passed on. - -It was a week or so later when they met again, and it was Eileen -O’Connor who said “Good morning” and made a remark about the weather. - -He stopped, and answered with a look of pleasure and boyish surprise. - -“It’s jolly to hear you say ‘Good morning’ in English. Takes me -straight back to Oxford before this atrocious war. Besides----” - -Here he stopped and blushed. - -“Besides what?” asked Eileen. - -“Besides, it’s a long time since I talked to a lady. Among officers one -hears nothing but war-talk--the last battle, the next battle, technical -jargon, ‘shop,’ as the English say. It would be nice to talk about -something else--art, music, poetry, ideas.” - -She chaffed him a little, irresistibly. - -“Oh, but you Germans have the monopoly of all that! Art, music, poetry, -they are all absorbed into your _Kultur_--properly Germanised. As for -ideas--what is not in German philosophy is not an idea.” - -He looked profoundly hurt, said Eileen. - -“Some Germans are very narrow, very stupid, like some English, perhaps. -Not all of us believe that German _Kultur_ is the only knowledge in the -world.” - -“Anyhow,” said Eileen O’Connor, “I’m Irish, so we needn’t argue about -the difference between German and English philosophy.” - -He spoke as if quoting from a text-book. - -“The Irish are a very romantic race.” - -That, of course, had to be denied by Eileen, who knew her Bernard Shaw. - -“Don’t you believe it,” she said. “We’re a hard, logical, relentless -people, like all peasant folk of Celtic stock. It’s the English who are -romantic and sentimental, like the Germans.” - -He was amazed at those words (so Eileen told us) and then laughed -heartily in his very boyish way. - -“You are pleased to make fun of me. You are pulling my leg, as we said -at Oxford.” - -So they took to talking for a few minutes in the courtyard when they -met, and Eileen noticed that they met more often than before. She -suspected him of arranging that, and it amused her. By that time she -had a staunch friend in the old Kommandant who believed her to be an -enemy of England and an Irish patriot. She was already playing the -dangerous game under his very nose, or at least within fifty yards of -the blotting-pad over which his nose used to be for many hours of the -day in his office. It was utterly necessary to keep him free from any -suspicion. His confidence was her greatest safeguard. It was therefore -unwise to refuse him (an honest, stupid old gentleman) when he asked -whether, now and again, he might bring one of his officers and enjoy -an hour’s music in her rooms after dinner. He had heard her singing, -and it had gone straight to his heart. There was one of his officers, -Lieutenant Baron Franz von Kreuzenach, who had a charming voice. They -might have a little musical recreation which would be most pleasant and -refreshing. - -“Bring your Baron,” said Eileen. “I shall not scandalise my neighbours -when the courtyard is closed.” - -Her girl-friends were scandalised when they heard of these musical -evenings--two or three times a month--until she convinced them that it -was a service to France, and a life insurance for herself and them. -There were times when she had scruples. She was tricking both those -men who sat in her room for an hour or two now and then, so polite, -so stiffly courteous, so moved with sentiment when she sang old Irish -songs and Franz von Kreuzenach sang his German songs. She was a spy, -in plain and terrible language, and they were utterly duped. On -more than one night while they were there an escaped prisoner was in -the cellar below, with a German uniform, and cypher message, and all -directions for escape across the lines. Though they seldom talked -about the war, yet now and again by casual remarks they revealed the -intentions of the German army and its _moral_, or lack of _moral_. With -the old Kommandant she did not feel so conscience-stricken. To her he -was gentle and charming, but to others a bully, and there was in his -character the ruthlessness of the Prussian officer on all matters of -“duty,” and he hated England ferociously. - -With Franz von Kreuzenach it was different. He was a humanitarian, -and sensitive to all cruelty in life. He hated not the English but -the war with real anguish, as she could see by many words he let fall -from time to time. He was, she said, a poet, and could see across the -frontiers of hatred to all suffering humanity, and so revolted against -the endless, futile massacre and the spiritual degradation of civilised -peoples. It was only in a veiled way he could say these things, in the -presence of his superior officer, but she understood. She understood -another thing as time went on--nearly eighteen months all told. She -saw, quite clearly, as all women must see in such a case that this -young German was in love with her. - -“He did not speak any word in that way,” said Eileen when she told us -this, frankly, in her straight manner of speech, “but in his eyes, in -the touch of his hand, in the tones of his voice, I knew that he loved -me, and I was very sorry.” - -“It was a bit awkward,” said Brand, speaking with a strained attempt at -being casual. I could see that he was very much moved by that part of -the story, and that there was a conflict in his mind. - -“It made me uneasy and embarrassed,” said Eileen. “I don’t like to -be the cause of any man’s suffering, and he was certainly suffering -because of me. It was a tragic thing for both of us when I was found -out at last.” - -“What happened?” asked Brand. - -The thing that happened was simple--and horrible. When Eileen and -her companions were denounced by the sentry at the Citadel the case -was reported to the Kommandant of the Intelligence office, who was -in charge of all anti-espionage business in Lille. He was enormously -disturbed by the suspicion directed against Eileen. It seemed to him -incredible, at first, that he could have been duped by her. After that, -his anger was so violent that he became incapable of any personal -action. He ordered Franz von Kreuzenach to arrest Eileen and search her -rooms. “If she resist, shoot her at once,” he thundered out. - -It was at seven o’clock in the evening when Baron Franz von Kreuzenach -appeared at Eileen’s door with two soldiers. He was extremely pale and -agitated. - -Eileen rose from her little table, where she was having an evening meal -of soup and bread. She knew the moment had come which in imagination -she had seen a thousand times. - -“Come in, Baron!” - -She spoke with an attempt at cheerfulness, but had to hold to the back -of her chair to save herself from falling, and she felt her face become -white. - -He stood for a moment in the room, silently, with the two soldiers -behind him, and when he spoke it was in a low voice, in English. - -“It is my painful duty to arrest you, Miss O’Connor.” - -She pretended to be amazed, incredulous, but it was, as she knew, a -feeble mimicry. - -“Arrest me? Why, that is--ridiculous! On what charge?” - -Franz von Kreuzenach looked at her in a pitiful way. - -“A terrible charge. Espionage and conspiracy against German martial -law.... I would rather have died than do this--duty.” - -Eileen told us that he spoke that word “duty” as only a German -could--as that law which for a German officer is above all human -things, all kindly relationships, all escape. She pitied him then, -more, she said, than she was afraid for herself, and told him that she -was sorry the duty had fallen to him. He made only one other remark -before he took her away from her rooms. - -“I pray God the evidence will be insufficient.” - -There was a military car waiting outside the courtyard, and he opened -the door for her to get in, and sat opposite to her. The two soldiers -sat together next to the driver, squeezed close--they were both stout -men--with their rifles between their knees. It was dark in the streets -of Lille, and in the car. Eileen could only see the officer’s face -vaguely, and white. He spoke again as they were driven quickly. - -“I have to search your rooms to-night. Have you destroyed your papers?” - -He seemed to have no doubt about her guilt, but she would not admit it. - -“I have no papers of which I am afraid.” - -“That is well,” said Franz von Kreuzenach. - -He told her that the Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt and Marcelle Barbier -had been arrested also, and that news was like a death-blow to the -girl. It showed that their conspiracy had been revealed, and she was -stricken at the thought of the fate awaiting her friends, those young, -delicate girls who had been so brave in taking risks. - -Towards the end of the journey, which was not far, Franz von -Kreuzenach began speaking in a low, emotional voice. - -Whatever happened, he said, he prayed that she might think of him with -friendship, not blaming him for that arrest, which was in obedience -to orders. He would ever be grateful to her for her kindness, and the -songs she had sung. They had been happy evenings to him when he could -see her, and listen to her voice. He looked forward to them in a hungry -way, because of his loneliness. - -“He said--other things,” added Eileen, and she did not tell us, though -dimly we guessed at the words of that German officer who loved her. At -the gate of the prison he delivered her to a group of military police, -and then saluted as he swung round on his heel. - -The next time she saw him was at her trial. Once only their eyes -met, and he became deadly pale and bent his head. During her -cross-examination of him he did not look at her, and his embarrassment, -his agony--she could see that he was suffering--made an unfavourable -impression on the Court, who thought he was not sure of his evidence, -and was making blundering answers when she challenged him. She held him -up to ridicule, but all the time was sorry for him, and grateful to -him, because she knew how much evidence against her he had concealed. - -“He behaved strangely about that evidence,” said Eileen. “What puzzles -me still is why he produced so much and yet kept back the rest. You -see, he put in the papers he had found in the secret passage, and -they were enough to have me shot, yet he hushed up the fact about the -passage, which, of course, was utterly damning. It looked as though he -wanted to give me a sporting chance. But that was not his character, -because he was a simple young man. He could have destroyed the papers -as easily as he kept back the fact about the underground passage, but -he produced them, and I escaped only by the skin of my teeth. Read me -that riddle, Wickham Brand!” - -“It’s easy,” said Brand. “The fellow was pulled two ways. By duty -and--sentiment.” - -“Love,” said Eileen in her candid way. - -“Love, if you like.... It was a conflict. Probably his sense of duty -(I know these German officers!) was strong enough to make him hand up -the papers to his superior officers. He couldn’t bring himself to burn -them--the fool! Then the other emotion in him----” - -“Give it a name,” said Eileen, smiling in her whimsical way. - -“That damned love of his,” said Brand, “tugged at him intolerably, and -jabbed at his conscience. So he hid the news about the passage, and -thought what a fine fellow he was. Mr. Facing-Both-Ways. Duty and love, -both sacrificed!... He’d have looked pretty sick if you’d been shot, -and it wasn’t to his credit that you weren’t.” - -Eileen O’Connor was amused with Brand’s refusal to credit Franz von -Kreuzenach with any kindness. - -“Admit,” she said, “that his suppression of evidence gave me my chance. -If all were told, I was lost.” - -Brand admitted that. - -“Admit also,” said Eileen, “that he behaved like a gentleman.” - -Brand admitted it grudgingly. - -“A German gentleman.” - -Then he realised his meanness, and made amends. - -“That’s unfair! He behaved like a good fellow. Probably took big risks. -Everyone who knows what happened must be grateful to him. If I meet him -I’ll thank him.” - -Eileen O’Connor held Brand to that promise, and asked him for a favour -which made him hesitate. - -“When you go on to the Rhine, will you take him a letter from me?” - -“It’s against the rules,” said Brand, rather stiffly. Eileen -pooh-poohed these rules, and said Franz von Kreuzenach had broken his, -for her sake. - -“I’ll take it,” said Brand. - -That night when we left Eileen O’Connor’s rooms the Armistice was still -being celebrated by British soldiers. Verey lights were rising above -the houses, fired off by young officers as symbols of their own soaring -spirits. Shadows lurched against us in the dark streets as officers and -men went singing to their billets. Some girls of Lille had linked arms -with British Tommies and were dancing in the darkness, with screams of -mirth. In one of the doorways a soldier with his steel hat at the back -of his head and his rifle lying at his feet, kept shouting one word in -a drunken way: - -“Peace!... Peace!” - -Brand had his arm through mine, and when we came to his headquarters he -would not let me go. - -“Armistice night!” he said. “Don’t let’s sleep just yet. Let’s hug the -thought, over a glass of whiskey. The war is over!... No more blood!... -No more of its tragedy!” - -Yet we had got no farther than the hall before we knew that tragedy had -not ended with the Armistice. - -Colonel Lavington met us and spoke to Brand. - -“A bad thing has happened. Young Clatworthy has shot himself ... -upstairs in his room.” - -“No!” - -Brand started back as if he had been hit. He had been fond of -Clatworthy, as he was of all boys, and they had been together for many -months. It was to Brand that Clatworthy wrote his last strange note, -and the Colonel gave it to him then, in the hall. - -I saw it afterwards, written in a big scrawl--a few lines which now I -copy out: - - - “_Dear old Brand_, - - _It’s the end of the adventure. Somehow I funk Peace. I don’t - see how I can go back to Wimbledon as if nothing had happened - to me. None of us are the same as when we left, and I’m quite - different. I’m going over to the pals on the other side. They will - understand. Cheerio!_ - - CYRIL CLATWORTHY.” - - -“I was playing my flute when I heard the shot,” said the Colonel. - -Brand put the letter in his pocket, and made only one comment. - -“Another victim of the war-devil.... Poor kid!” - -Presently he went up to young Clatworthy’s room, and stayed there a -long time. - -A few days later we began to move on towards the Rhine, by slow stages, -giving the German army time to get back. In Brand’s pocket-book was the -letter to Franz von Kreuzenach, from Eileen O’Connor. - - - - -BOOK TWO: THROUGH HOSTILE GATES - - - - -BOOK TWO: THROUGH HOSTILE GATES - - - - -I - - -The advance of the Allied Armies towards the Rhine was by definite, -slow stages, enabling the German Army to withdraw in advance of us -with as much material of war as was left to them by the conditions of -the Armistice. On that retreat of theirs they abandoned so much that -it was clearly impossible for them to resist our demands by fighting -again, however hard might be the Peace Terms. Their acceptance of the -Armistice drawn up by Marshal Foch with a relentless severity in every -clause, so that the whole document was a sentence of death to the -German military system, proved that they had no more “fight” in them. -It was the most abject and humiliating surrender ever made by a great -nation in the hour of defeat, and an acknowledgment before the whole -world that their armies had broken to bits, in organisation and in -spirit. - -On the roads for hundreds of kilometres out from Mons and Le Cateau, -past Brussels and Liège and Namur, was the visible proof of the -disintegration and downfall of what had been the greatest military -machine in the world. Mile after mile and score after score of miles, -on each side of the long straight roads, down which, four years before, -the first German Armies had marched in endless columns after the first -brief check at Liège, with absolute faith in victory, there lay now -abandoned guns, trench mortars, aeroplanes, motor-lorries, motor-cars -and transport-wagons. Those monstrous guns which had pounded so much -of our young flesh to pulp, year after year, were now tossed into the -ditches, or upturned in the wayside fields, with broken breach-blocks -or without their sights. It was good to see them there. Field-guns -captured thrust their muzzles into the mud, and Belgian peasant-boys -made cock-shies of them. I liked to see them at that game. Here also -was the spectacle of a war machine which had worn out until, like -the “One Hoss Shay,” it had fallen to pieces. Those motor-lorries, -motor-cars, and transport-wagons were in the last stage of decrepitude, -their axles and spokes all rusty, their woodwork cracked, their wheels -tied round with bits of iron in the place of tyres. Everywhere were -dead horses worn to skin and bones before they had fallen. For lack of -food and fats and rubber and labour the German material of war was in -a sorry state before the failure of their man-power in the fighting -fields after those years of massacre brought home to them the awful -fact that they had no more strength to resist our onslaughts. - -One of those who pointed the moral of all this was the little American -doctor, Edward Small, and he found an immense satisfaction in the sight -of those derelict wrecks of the German war-devils. He and I travelled -together for some time, meeting Brand, Harding, and other friends, in -towns like Liège and Namur. I remember him now, standing by a German -howitzer--a colossus--sprawling out of a ditch. He chuckled in a goblin -way, with his little grey beard thrust up by a muffler which he had -tied over his field-cap and under his chin. (It was cold, with a white -mist which clung damply to our faces.) He went so far in his pleasure -as to pick up a big stone (like those Belgian boys) and heave it at -the monster. - -“Fine!” he said. “That devil will never again vomit out death upon men -crouching low in ditches--fifteen miles away. Never again will it smash -through the roofs of farmhouses where people desired to live in peace, -or bash big holes in little old churches where folk worshipped through -the centuries--a loving God!... Sonny, this damned thing is symbolical. -Its overthrow means the downfall of all the machinery of slaughter -which has been accumulated by civilised peoples afraid of each other. -In a little while, if there’s any sense in humanity after this fearful -lesson, we shall put all our guns on to the scrap-heap, and start a new -era of reasonable intercourse between the peoples of the world.” - -“Doctor,” I answered, “there’s a mighty big If in that long sentence of -yours.” - -He blinked at me with beads of mist on his lashes. - -“Don’t you go wet-blanketing my faith in a step-up for the human race! -During the next few months we’re going to rearrange life. We are going -to give Fear the knock-out blow.... It was Fear that was the cause of -all this horrible insanity and all this need of sacrifice. Germany was -afraid of being ‘hemmed in’ by England, France and Russia. Fear, more -than the lust of power, was at the back of her big armies. France was -afraid of Germany trampling over her frontiers again. Russian Czardom -was afraid of Revolution within her own borders and looked to war as -a safety-valve. England was afraid of the German Navy, and afraid of -Germans at Calais and Dunkirk. All the little Powers were afraid of the -Big Powers, and made their beastly little alliances as a life insurance -against the time when they would be dragged into the dog-fight. Now, -with the German bogey killed--the most formidable and frightful -bogey--Austria disintegrated, Russia groping her way with bloodshot -eyes to a new democracy, a complete set of Fears has been removed. The -spirits of the peoples will be uplifted, the darkness of fear having -passed from them. We are coming out into the broad sunlight of sanity, -and mankind will march to better conquests than those of conscript -armies. Thank God, the United States of America (and don’t you forget -it!) will play a part in this advance to another New World.” - -It was absurd to argue with the little man in a sodden field on the -road to Liège. Besides, though I saw weak links in his chain of -reasoning, I did not want to argue. I wanted to believe also that -our victory would not be a mere vulgar triumph of the old kind, one -military power rising upon the ruins of its rival, one great yell (or -many) of “Yah!--we told you so!” but that it would be a victory for -all humanity, shamed by the degradation of its orgy of blood, in spite -of all pride in long-enduring manhood, and that the peoples of the -world, with one common, enormous, generous instinct, would cry out, -“The horror has passed! Never again shall it come upon us.... Let us -pay back to the dead by contriving a better way of life for them who -follow!” The chance of that lay with living youth, if they would not -allow themselves to be betrayed by their Old Men. That also was a -mighty “If,” but I clung to the hope with as passionate a faith as that -of the little American doctor.... - -The way to the Rhine lay through many cities liberated from hostile -rule, through many wonderful scenes in which emotion surged like a -white flame above great crowds. There was a pageantry of life, which -I had never before seen in war or in peace, and those of us who went -that way became dazed by the endless riot of colour, and our ears were -tired by a tumult of joyous sound. In Brussels, Bruges, Ghent, Liège, -Namur, Verviers, banners waved above every house. Flags--flags--flags, -of many nations and designs, decorated the house-fronts, were draped -on the balconies, were entwined in the windows, came like flames -above the heads of marching crowds. Everywhere there was the sound of -singing by multitudes, and through those weeks one song was always -in the air, triumphant, exultant, intoxicating, almost maddening in -its effect upon crowds and individuals--the old song of liberty and -revolt: “_La Marseillaise_.” With it, not so universal, but haunting in -constant refrain between the outbursts of that other tune, they sang -“_La Brabançonne_” of Belgium, and quaint old folk-songs that came to -life again with the spirit of the people. Bells pealed from churches in -which the Germans had left them by special favour. The belfry of Bruges -had not lost its carillon. In Ghent when the King of the Belgians rode -in along flower-strewn ways under banners that made one great canopy, -while cheers swept up and around him, to his grave, tanned, melancholy -face, unchanged by victory--so I had seen him in his ruined towns among -his dead--I heard the great boom of the Cathedral bell. In Brussels, -when he rode in later, there were many bells ringing and clashing, and -wild cheering which to me, lying in an upper room, after a smash on -the Field of Waterloo, seemed uncanny and inhuman, like the murmur of -innumerable ghost-voices. Into these towns, and along the roads through -Belgium to the Meuse, bands were playing and soldiers singing, and -on each man’s rifle was a flag or a flower. In every city there was -carnival. It was the carnival of human joy after long fasting from the -pleasure of life. Soldiers and civilians, men and women, sang together, -linked arms, danced together, through many streets, in many towns. In -the darkness of those nights of Armistice one saw the eyes of people, -sparkling, laughing, burning; the eyes of girls lit up by inner fires, -eager, roving, alluring, untamed; and the eyes of soldiers surprised, -amused, adventurous, drunken, ready for any kind of fun; and sometimes -in those crowds, dead eyes, or tortured eyes, staring inwards and not -outwards because of some remembrance which came like a ghost between -them and carnival. - -In Ghent there were other sounds besides music and laughter, and -illuminations too fierce and ruddy in their glow to give me pleasure. -At night I heard the screams of women. I had no need to ask the meaning -of them. I had heard such screams before, when Pierre Nesle’s sister -Marthe was in the hands of the mob. But one man told me, as though I -did not know. - -“They are cutting off some ladies’ hair. Six of them--the hussies. They -were too friendly with the Germans, you understand? Now they are being -stripped, for shame. There are others, _monsieur_. Many, many, if one -only knew. Hark at their howling!” - -He laughed heartily, without any touch of pity. I tried to push my way -nearer, to try by some word of protest to stop that merry sport with -hunted women. The crowds were too dense, the women too far away. In any -case no word of mine would have had effect. I went into a restaurant -and ordered dinner, though not hungry. Brand was there, sitting alone -till I joined him. The place was filled with French and Belgian -officers, and womenfolk. The swing-door opened and another woman came -in and sat a few tables away from ours. She was a tall girl, rather -handsome, and better dressed than the ordinary bourgeoisie of Ghent. At -least so it seemed to me when she hung up some heavy furs on the peg -above her chair. - -A waiter advanced towards her, and then, standing stock-still, began to -shout, with a thrill of fury in his voice. He shouted frightful words -in French and one sentence which I remember now. - -“A week ago you sat there with a German officer!” - -The Belgian officers were listening, gravely. One of them half-rose -from his chair with a flushed, wolfish face. I was staring at the girl. -She was white to the lips and held on to a brass rail as though about -to faint. Then, controlling herself, instantly, she fumbled at the -peg, pulled down her furs and fled through the swing-door.... She was -another Marthe. - -Somebody laughed in the restaurant, but only one voice. For a moment -there was silence, then conversation was resumed, as though no figure -of tragedy had passed. The waiter who had denounced the woman swept -some crumbs off a table and went to fetch some soup. - -Brand did not touch his food. - -“I feel sick,” he said. - -He pushed his plate away and paid the bill. - -“Let’s go.” - -He forgot to ask whether I wanted to eat--he was absent-minded in that -way--but I felt like him, and avoiding the Grande Place we walked by -hazard to a part of the city where some fires were burning. The sky was -reddened and we smelt smoke, and presently felt the heat of flames. - -“What new devilry?” asked Brand. “Can’t these people enjoy Peace? -Hasn’t there been enough violence?” - -“Possibly a bonfire,” I said, “symbolical of joy and warmth after cold -years!” - -Coming closer, I saw that Brand was right. Black figures like dancing -devils were in the ruddy glare of a savage fire up a side street of -Ghent. In other streets were other fires. Close to where we stood -was an old inn called the Hôtel de la Demie-Lune--the Hotel of the -Half-Moon--and its windows had been heaved out, and inside the rooms -Belgian soldiers and citizens were flinging out tables and chairs and -planks and wainscoting to feed the bonfire below, and every time the -flames licked up to the new fuel there were shouts of joy from the -crowd. - -“What does it mean?” asked Brand, and a man in the crowd told us that -the house had been used as the headquarters of a German organisation -for “Flemish Activists”--or Flamagands, as they were called--whose -object was to divide the Walloons, or French-speaking Belgians, from -the Flemings, in the interests of Germany. - -“It is the people’s revenge for those who have tried to sow seeds of -hatred among them,” said the man. - -Other people standing by spoke disapprovingly of the scene. - -“The Germans have made too many fires in this war,” said an elderly man -in a black hat with a high crown and broad brim, like a portrait by -Franz Hals. “We don’t want to destroy our own houses now the enemy has -gone. That is madness.” - -“It seems unnecessary!” said Brand. - -As we made our way back we saw the light of other fires, and heard the -noise of smashing glass and a splintering of wood-work. The mob was -sacking shops which had traded notoriously with the Germans. Out of -one alley a man came running like a hunted animal. We heard his breath -panting as he passed. A shout of “Flamagand! Flamagand!” followed him, -and in another second a mob had caught him. We heard his death-cry, -before they killed him like a rat. - -Never before in the history of the world had such crowds gathered -together as now in Brussels, Ghent or Liège. French and English -soldiers walked the same streets, khaki and sky-blue mingling. These -two races had met before, not as friends, in some of these towns--five -centuries and more before in history. But here also were men from -Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and the New World which -had come to the old world on this adventure, paying back something -to the old blood and the old ghosts because of their heritage, yet -strangely aloof on the whole from these continental peoples, not -understanding them, despising them. - -The English soldier took it all as it came, with that queer -adaptability of his to any environment or any adventure, with his -simple human touch. - -“Better than the old Ypres salient,” said one of them, grinning at me -after a game of Kiss-in-the-Ring at Verviers. He wiped the sweat from -his face and neck, and as he raised his arm I saw by his gold stripes -that he had been three times wounded. Yes, that was better than the old -Hell. He roared with laughter when one of his comrades went into the -ring with a buxom girl while the crowd danced round him, holding hands, -singing, laughing, pulling him this side and that. - -The man who had just left the ring spoke to me again in a confidential -way. - -“My wife wouldn’t like it if she’d seen me just then. I shan’t tell -’er. She wouldn’t understand. Nobody can understand the things we’ve -done, the things we’ve thought, nor the things we’ve seen, unless -they’ve been through with us ... and we don’t understand, neither!” - -“Who does?” I asked, to express agreement with him, but he took my -words as a question to be answered. - -“P’raps Gord knows. If so ’E’s a Clever One,’E is!... I wish I ’ad ’alf -’Is sense.” - -He drifted away from me with a gurgle of laughter at a girl who pushed -his cap on one side. - -Along the kerbstone of the market-place some transport-wagons were -halted, and the drivers were cooking their evening meal over a -charcoal stove, as though on one of the roads of war, while a crowd -of Belgians roared with laughter at their by-play with clasp-knives, -leaden spoons, and dixies. One of them was a cockney humourist--his -type was always to be found in any group of English soldiers--and was -performing a pantomime for the edification of the onlookers, and his -own pleasure. - -A woman standing on the edge of this scene touched me on the sleeve. - -“Are you going forward to the Rhine, _mon lieutenant_?” - -I told her “yes,” and that I should soon be among the Germans. - -She gave a little tug to my sleeve, and spoke in a kind of coaxing -whisper. - -“Be cruel to them, _mon lieutenant_! Be hard and ruthless. Make them -suffer as we have suffered. Tread on their necks, so that they squeal. -_Soyez cruel._” - -Her face and part of her figure were in the glow from the charcoal fire -of the transport men, and I saw that she was a little woman, neatly -dressed, with a thin, gentle, rather worn-looking face. Those words, -“_Soyez cruel!_” gave me a moment’s shock, especially because of the -soft, wheedling tone of her voice. - -“What would you do,” I asked in a laughing way, “if you were in my -place?” - -“I dream at nights of what I would like to do. There are so many things -I would like to do, for vengeance. I think all German women should be -killed, to stop them breeding. That is one thing.” - -“And the next?” I asked. - -“It would be well to kill all German babies. Perhaps the good God will -do it in His infinite wisdom.” - -“You are religious, madam?” - -“We had only our prayers,” she said, with piety. - -A band of dancing people bore down upon us and swept us apart. From -a high balcony an Italian who had been a prisoner of war sang “_La -Marseillaise_,” and though these people’s ears had been dinned with -it all day, though their throats were hoarse with singing it, they -listened to it now, again, as though it were a new revelation. The -man sang with passion in his voice, as powerful as a trumpet, more -thrilling than that. The passion of four years’ agony in some foul -prison-camp inspired him now, as he sang that song of liberty and -triumph. - - - “_Allons, Enfants de la patrie!_ - _Le jour de gloire est arrivé!_” - - -The crowd took up the song again, and it roared across the square of -Verviers until another kind of music met, and clashed with it, and -overwhelmed it with brazen notes. It was the Town-Band of Verviers, -composed of twenty-five citizens, mostly middle-aged and portly--some -old and scraggy, in long frock-coats and tall pot-hats. Solemnly, with -puffed cheeks, they marched along, parting the waves of people as they -went, as it seemed, by the power of their blasts. They were playing -an old tune called _Madelon_--its refrain comes back to me now with -the picture of that Carnival in Verviers, with all those faces, all -that human pressure and emotion,--and behind them, as though following -the Pied Piper (twenty-five Pied Pipers!) came dancing at least a -thousand people, eight abreast, with linked arms, or linked hands. -They were young Belgian boys and girls, old Belgian men and women, -children, British soldiers, American soldiers, English, Scottish, -Irish, Canadian, Australian, Russian, and Italian ex-prisoners of war, -just liberated from their prison-camps, new to liberty. They were all -singing that old song of “_Madelon_,” and all dancing in a kind of jig. -Other crowds dancing and singing came out of side-streets into the wide -Grande Place, mingled, like human waves meeting, swirled in wild, -laughing eddies. Carnival after the long fasting. - -Brand clutched me by the arm and laughed in his deep hollow voice. - -“Look at that old satyr!... I believe ‘Daddy’ Small is Pan himself!” - -It was the little American doctor. He was in the centre of a row of -eight in the vanguard of a dancing column. A girl of the _midinette_ -type--pretty, impudent, wild-eyed, with a strand of fair hair blowing -loose from her little fur cap--was clinging to his arm on one side, -while on the other was a stout middle-aged woman with a cheerful -Flemish face and mirth-filled eyes. Linked up with the others they -jigged behind the town band. Dr. Small’s little grey beard had a -raffish look. His field-cap was tilted back from his bony forehead. His -spectacles were askew. He had the happy look of careless boyhood. He -did not see us then, but later in the evening detached himself from the -stout Flemish lady who kissed him on both cheeks, and made his way to -where Brand and I stood under the portico of a hotel. - -“Fie, doctor!” said Brand. “What would your old patients in New York -say to this Bacchanalian orgy?” - -“Sonny,” said the doctor, “they wouldn’t believe it! It’s incredible.” - -He wiped the perspiration from his brow, threaded his fingers through -his grey beard, and laughed in that shrill way which was his habit when -excited. - -“My word, it was good fun! I became part of a people’s joy. I had their -sense of escape from frightful things. Youth came back to me. Their -songs danced in my blood. In spite of my goggles and my grey beard that -buxom lady adored me as though I were the young Adonis. The little girl -clasped my hand as though I were her younger brother. Time rolled back -from the world. Old age was touched with the divine elixir. In that -crowd there is the springtime of life, when Pan played on his pipes -through pagan woods. I wouldn’t have missed it for a million dollars!” - -That night Brand and I and some others (Charles Fortune among them) -were billeted in a small hotel which had been a German headquarters a -few days before. There was a piano in the billiard room, and Fortune -touched its keys. Several notes were broken, but he skipped them deftly -and improvised a musical caricature of “Daddy” Small dancing in the -Carnival. He too had seen that astonishing vision, and it inspired him -to grotesque fantasies. In his imagination he brought a great general -to Verviers--“Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche”--and gave him -a _pas seul_ in the Grande Place, like an elephant gambolling in green -fields, and trumpeting his joy. - -Young Harding was moody, and confided to me that he did not like the -idea of crossing the German frontier and going to Cologne. - -“There will be dirty work,” he said, “as sure as fate. The Huns will -begin sniping, and then we shall have to start reprisals. Well, if they -ask for it I hope we shall give it to them. Without mercy, after all -they have done. At the first sign of treachery I hope the machine-guns -will begin to play. Every time I see a Hun I shall feel like slitting -his throat.” - -“Well, you’ll get into a murderous state of mind,” I answered him. -“We shall see plenty, and live among them. I expect they will be tame -enough.” - -“Some poor devils of ours will be murdered in their beds,” said -Harding. “It makes my blood boil to think of it. I only hope we shan’t -stand any nonsense. I’d like to see Cologne Cathedral go up in flames. -That would be a consolation.” - -Charles Fortune broke away from his musical fantasy of “Blear-eyed -Bill” and played a bar or two of the _Marseillaise_ in rag-time. It was -a greeting to Pierre Nesle, who came into the room quietly, in his képi -and heavy motor-coat, with a salute to the company. - -“_Bon soir, petit Pierre!_” said Fortune. “_Qu’est-ce-qu’il y a, -donc-quoi?-avec ta figure si sombre, si mélancolique, d’une tristesse -pitoyable_----” - -Pierre Nesle inspired him to sing a little old French chanson of -Pierrot disconsolate. - -Pierre had just motored down from Lille--a long journey--and was -blue with cold, as he said, warming his hands at the charcoal stove. -He laughed at Fortune’s jesting, begged a cigarette from Harding, -apologised for keeping on his “stink-coat” for a while until he had -thawed out--and I admired the boy’s pluck and self-control. It was the -first time I had seen him since he had gone to Lille to see his sister. -I knew by the new lines about his eyes and mouth, by a haggard, older -look he had that he had seen that sister of his--Marthe--and knew her -tragedy. - -It was to Brand’s room that he went after midnight, and from Brand, -a day later, I heard what had happened. Lie had begun by thanking -Brand for that rescue of his sister in Lille, in a most composed and -courteous way. Then suddenly that mask fell from him, and he sat down -heavily in a chair, put his head down on his arms upon the table, -and wept like a child, in uncontrollable grief. Brand was immensely -distressed and could not think of any word to comfort him. He kept -saying, “Courage! Courage!” as I had said to Madame Chéri when she -broke down about her boy Edouard, as the young Baronne had sent word to -Eileen from her prison death-bed, and as so many men and women had said -to others who had been stricken by the cruelties of war. - -“The boy was down and out,” said Brand. “What could I say? It is one of -those miseries for which there is no cure. He began to talk about his -sister when they had been together at home, in Paris, before the war. -She had been so gay, so comradely, so full of adventure. Then he began -to curse God for having allowed so much cruelty and men for being such -devils. He cursed the Germans, but then, in most frightful language, -most bitterly of all he cursed the people of Lille for having tortured -a woman who had been starved into weakness, and had sinned to save her -life. He contradicted himself then, violently, and said ‘It was no sin. -My sister was a loyal girl to France. In her soul she was loyal. So she -swore to me on her crucifix. I would have killed her if she had been -disloyal.’ ... So there you are! Pierre Nesle is broken on the wheel of -war, like so many others. What’s the cure?” - -“None,” I said, “for his generation. One can’t undo the things that are -done.” - -Brand was pacing up and down his bedroom, where he had been telling me -these things, and now, at my words, he stopped and stared at me before -answering. - -“No. I think you’re right. This generation has been hard-hit, and -we shall go about with unhealed wounds. But the next generation?... -Let’s try to save it from all this horror! If the world will only -understand----” - -The next day we left Verviers, and crossed the German frontier on the -way to the Rhine. - - - - -II - - -Brand and I, who were inseparable now, and young Harding, who had -joined us, crossed the Belgian frontier with our leading troop of -cavalry--the Dragoon Guards--and entered Germany on the morning of -September 4. For three days our advanced cavalry outposts had been -halted on the frontier line beyond Verviers and Spa. The scenery had -become German already--hill-country, with roads winding through fir -forests above deep ravines, where red undergrowth glowed like fire -through the rich green of fir-trees, and where, on the hillsides and in -the valleys, were wooden châlets and villas with pointed turrets like -those in the Black Forest. - -We halted this side of a little stone bridge over the stream which -divides the two countries. A picket of Dragoons was holding the bridge -with double sentries, under orders to let no man pass until the signal -was given to advance. - -“What’s the name of this place?” asked Brand of a young cavalry officer -smoking a cigarette and clapping his hands to keep warm. - -“Rothwasser, sir,” said that child, removing the cigarette from his -lips. He pointed to a small house on rising ground beyond, a white -building with a slate roof, and said: - -“That’s the first house in Germany. I don’t suppose they’ll invite us -to breakfast.” - -Brand and I leaned over the stone bridge, watching and listening to the -swirl of tawny water over big grey stones. - -“The Red Water,” said Brand. “Not a bad name when one thinks of the -rivers of blood that have flowed between our armies and this place. -It’s been a long journey to this little bridge.” - -We stared across the brook, and were enormously stirred (I was, at -least) by the historic meaning of this scene. Over there, a few yards -away, was Germany, the fringe of what had been until some weeks ago the -mighty German Empire. Not a human being appeared on that side of the -stone bridge. There was no German sentry facing ours. The gate into -Germany was open and unguarded. A deep silence was over there by the -pinewoods where the undergrowth was red. I wondered what would happen -when we rode through that silence and that loneliness into the first -German town--Malmédy--and afterwards through many German towns and -villages on the way to the Rhine.... - -Looking back on that adventure, I remember our psychological -sensations, our surprise at the things which happened and failed to -happen, the change of mind which gradually dawned upon some of our -officers, the incredulity, resentment, suspicion, amazement, which -overcame many of them because of the attitude of the German people whom -they met for the first time face to face without arms in their hands. I -have already said that many of our officers had a secret dread of this -advance into German territory, not because they were afraid of danger -to their own skins but because they had a greater fear of being called -upon to do “dirty work” in the event of civilians sniping and any sign -of the _franc-tireur_. They had been warned by the High Command that -that might happen, and that there must be a ruthless punishment of any -such crimes. - -“Our turn for atrocities!” whispered young cavalry officers, -remembering Louvain and Alost, and they hated the idea. We were in -the state of mind which led to some of the black business in Belgium -when the Germans first advanced--nervous, ready to believe any rumour -of treacherous attack, more afraid of civilian hostility than of armed -troops. A single shot fired by some drunken fool in a German village, -a single man of ours killed in a brawl, or murdered by a German out -for vengeance, might lead to most bloody tragedy. Rumour was already -whispering of ghastly things. - -I remember on the first day of our advance meeting a young officer of -ours in charge of an armoured car which had broken down across the -frontier, outside a village. - -“I’d give a million pounds to get out of this job,” he said gloomily. - -“What’s the matter?” I asked. - -He told me that the game was already beginning, and swore frightful -oaths. - -“What game?” - -“Murder,” he answered, sharply. “Don’t you get the news? Two of our -fellows have been killed in that village. Sniped from the windows. -Presently I shall be told to sweep the streets with machine-guns. Jolly -work, what?” - -He was utterly wrong, though where he heard the lie which made him -miserable I never knew. I walked into the village, and found it -peaceful. No men of ours had been killed there. No men of ours had yet -entered it. - -The boy who was to go forward with the leading cavalry patrol across -the Rothwasser that morning had “the needle” to the same degree. -He leaned sideways in his saddle and confided his fears to me with -laughter which did not conceal his apprehensions. - -“Hope there’s no trouble!... Haven’t the ghost of an idea what to do -if the Hun turns nasty. I don’t know a word of their beastly language, -either! If I’m the boy who take the wrong turning, don’t be too hard -on me!” - -It was a Sunday morning, with a cold white fog on the hill-tops, -and white frost on fir-trees and red bracken. Our cavalry and horse -artillery, with their transport drawn up on the Belgian side of the -frontier before the bugle sounded for the forward march, were standing -by their horses, clapping hands, beating chests, stamping feet. The men -wore their steel hats as though for an advance in the usual conditions -of warfare, and the troopers of the leading patrol rode forward with -drawn swords. They rode at the trot through pine forests along the edge -of deep ravines in which innumerable “Christmas-trees” were powdered -with glistening frost. There was the beat of horses’ hoofs on frozen -roads, but the countryside was intensely silent. The farmhouses we -passed and cottages under the shelter of the woods seemed abandoned. -No flags hung out from them like those millions of flags which had -fluttered along all the miles of our way through Belgium. Now and -again, looking back at a farmhouse window, I saw a face there, staring -out, but it was quickly withdrawn. A dog came out and barked at us -savagely. - -“First sign of hostility!” said the cavalry lieutenant, turning round -in his saddle and laughing boyishly. The troopers behind him grinned -under their steel hats, and then looked stern again, glancing sideways -into the glades of those silent fir-woods. - -“It would be easy to snipe us from those woods,” said Harding. “Too -damned easy!” - -“And quite senseless,” said Brand. “What good would it do them?” - -Harding was prepared to answer the question. He had been thinking it -out. - -“The Hun never did have any sense. He’s not likely to get it now. -Nothing will ever change him. He is a bad, treacherous, evil swine. We -must be prepared for the worst, and if it comes----” - -“What?” asked Brand. - -Harding had a grim look, and his mouth was hard. - -“We must act without mercy, as they did in Louvain.” - -“Wholesale murder, you mean?” said Brand, harshly. - -“A free hand for machine-guns,” said Harding, “if they ask for it.” - -Brand gave his usual groan. - -“Oh, Lord!... Haven’t we finished with blood?” - -We dipped down towards Malmédy. There was a hairpin turn in the road, -and we could see the town below us in the valley--a German town. - -“Pretty good map-reading!” shouted the cavalry kid. He was pleased with -himself for having led his troop on the right road, but I guessed that -he would be glad to halt this side of the mystery that lay in that town -where Sunday bells were ringing. - -A queer thing happened then. Up a steep bank was a party of girls. -German girls, of course, and the first civilians we had seen. A flutter -of white handkerchiefs came from them. They were waving to us. - -“Well, I’m damned!” said Harding. - -“Not yet,” answered Brand, ironically, but he was as much astonished as -all of us. - -When we came into Malmédy, the cavalry patrol halted in the market -square and dismounted. It was about midday, and the German people were -coming out of church. Numbers of them surrounded us, staring at the -horses, whose sleek look seemed to amaze them, and at the men who lit -up cigarettes and loosened the straps of their steel hats. Some girls -patted the necks of the horses, and said; - -“_Wünderschön!_” - -A young man in the crowd, in black civilian clothes, with a bowler -hat, spoke in perfect English to the sergeant-major. - -“Your horses are looking fine! Ours are skin and bones. When will the -infantry be here?” - -“Haven’t an idea,” said the sergeant-major gruffly. - -Another young man addressed himself to me in French, which he spoke as -though it were his native tongue. - -“Is this the first time you have been in Germany, monsieur?” - -I told him I had visited Germany before the war. - -“You will find us changed,” he said. “We have suffered very much, and -the spirit of the people is broken. You see, they have been hungry so -long.” - -I looked round at the crowd, and saw some bonny-faced girls among them, -and children who looked well-fed. It was only the younger men who had a -pinched look. - -“The people here do not seem hungry,” I said. - -He explained that the state of Malmédy was not so bad. It was only a -big-sized village and they could get products from the farms about. All -the same, they were on short commons and were underfed. Never any meat. -No fats. “Ersatz” coffee. In the bigger town there was real hunger, or -at least an _unternährung_, or malnutrition, which was causing disease -in all classes, and great mortality among the children. - -“You speak French well,” I told him, and he said that many people in -Malmédy spoke French and German in a bi-lingual way. It was so close to -the Belgian frontier. - -“That is why the people here had no heart in the war, even in the -beginning. My wife was a Belgian girl. When I was mobilised she said, -‘You are going to kill my brothers,’ and wept very much. I think that -killed her. She died in ’16.” - -The young man spoke gravely but without any show of emotion. He -narrated his personal history in the war. He had been in the first and -second battles of Ypres, then badly wounded and put down at the base -as a clerk for nearly two years. After that, when German man-power was -running short, he had been pushed into the ranks again and had fought -in Flanders, Cambrai, and Valenciennes. Now he had demobilised himself. - -“I am very glad the war is over, monsieur. It was a great stupidity, -from the beginning. Now Germany is ruined.” - -He spoke in a simple, matter-of-fact way, as though describing natural -disturbances of life, regrettable, but inevitable. - -I asked him whether the people farther from the frontier would be -hostile to the English troops, and he seemed surprised at my question. - -“Hostile! Why, sir?... The war is over and we can now be friends -again. Besides, the respectable people and the middle-classes”--he -used the French word _bourgeoisie_--“will be glad of your coming. It -is a protection against the evil elements who are destroying property -and behaving in a criminal way--the sailors of the Fleet, and the low -ruffians.” - -_The war is over and we can be friends again!_ That sentence in the -young man’s speech astonished me by its directness and simplicity. -Was that the mental attitude of the German people? Did they think -that England would forget and shake hands? Did they not realise the -passion of hatred that had been aroused in England by the invasion -of Belgium, the early atrocities, the submarine war, the sinking of -the _Lusitania_, the execution of Nurse Cavell, the air-raids over -London--all the range and sweep of German frightfulness? - -Then I looked at our troopers. Some of them were chatting with the -Germans in a friendly way. One of them close to me gave a cigarette -to a boy in a college cap who was talking to him in schoolboy English. -Another was in conversation with two German girls who were patting -his horse. We had been in the German village ten minutes. There was -no sign of hatred here, on one side or the other. Already something -had happened which in England, if they knew, would seem monstrous and -incredible. A spell had been broken; the spell which, for four years, -had dominated the souls of men and women. At least it seemed to have -been broken in the village where for the first time English soldiers -met the people of the nation they had fought and beaten. These men of -the first cavalry patrol did not seem to be nourishing thoughts of -hatred and vengeance. They were not, it seemed, remembering atrocities. -They were meeting fellow-mortals with human friendliness, and seemed -inclined to talk to them and pass the time of day. Astounding! - -I saw Wickham Brand talking to a group of German children--boys in -sailor caps with the words _Hindenburg_, _Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse_, -_Unterseeboot_, printed in gold letters on the cap-bands, and girls -with yellow pig-tails and coloured frocks. He pulled out a packet of -chocolate from a deep pocket of his “British warm,” and broke it into -small pieces. - -“Who would like a bit?” he asked in German, and there was a chorus of -“_Bitte!... Bitte schön!_” He held out a piece to the prettiest child, -a tiny fairy-like thing with gold-spun hair, and she blushed very -vividly, and curtseyed when she took the chocolate, and then kissed -Brand’s long lean hand. Young Harding was standing near. He had an -utterly bewildered expression, as a man who sees the ground work of his -faith slipping beneath him. He turned to me as I strolled his way, and -looked at me with wide astonished eyes. - -“I don’t understand!” he stammered. “Haven’t these people any pride? -This show of friendliness--what does it mean? I’d rather they scowled -and showed their hatred than stand round fawning on us.... And our men! -They don’t seem to bear any malice. Look at that fellow gossiping with -those two girls! It’s shameful.... What have we been fighting for if it -ends in this sort of thing? It makes it all a farce!” - -He was so disturbed, so unnerved by the shock of his surprise, that -there were tears of vexation in his eyes. - -I could not argue with him, or explain things to him. I was astonished -myself, quite baffled by a German friendliness that was certainly -sincere and not a mask hiding either hatred or humiliation. Those -people of Malmédy were pleased to see us! As yet I could not get the -drift of their psychology, in spite of what the young French-speaking -German had told me. I gave Harding the benefit of that talk. - -“This is a frontier town,” I said. “These people are not real Germans -in their sympathies and ideas.” - -That seemed to comfort Harding a little. He clung on to the thought -that when we had got beyond the frontier we should meet the hatred he -expected to see. He wanted to meet it. He wanted to see scowling looks, -deep humiliation, a shameful recognition of defeat, the evil nature of -the people we had been fighting. Otherwise, to him, the war was all a -lie. For four years he had been inspired, strengthened, and upheld by -hatred of the Germans. He believed not only in every atrocity story -that appeared in English newspapers, but also, in accordance with -all else he read, that every German was essentially and unutterably -vile, brutal, treacherous, and evil. The German people were to him a -race apart--the Huns. They had nothing in common with ordinary human -nature, with its kindliness and weakness. They were physically, -mentally, and morally debased. They were a race of devils, and they -could not be allowed to live. Civilisation could only be saved by their -extermination, or if that were impossible, of their utter subjection. -All the piled-up slaughter of British youth and French youth was to him -justified by the conviction that the last man of ours must die if need -be in order to crush Germany, and kill Germans. It is true that he had -not died, nor even had been wounded, but that was his ill-luck. He had -been in the cavalry, and had not been given many chances of fighting. -Before the last phase, when the cavalry came into their own, he had -been transferred to the Intelligence (though he did not speak a word -of German) in order to organise their dispatch-rider service. He knew -nothing about dispatch-riding, but his cousin was the brother-in-law -of a General’s nephew, and he had been highly recommended for this -appointment, which had surprised and annoyed him. Still, as a young -man who believed in obedience to authority, and in all old traditional -systems, such as patronage and privilege, he had accepted the post -without protest. It had made no difference to his consuming hatred of -the Hun. When all his companions were pessimistic about final victory -he had remained an optimist, because of his faith that the Huns must be -destroyed, or God would be betrayed. When some of his colleagues who -had lived in Germany before the war praised the German as a soldier -and exonerated the German people from part at least of the guilt of -their war lords, he tried to conceal his contempt for this folly (due -to the mistaken generosity of the English character) and repeated -his own creed of abhorrence for their race and character. “The only -good German is a dead German,” he said, a thousand times, to one’s -arguments pleading extenuating circumstances for German peasants, -German women, German children.... But now in this village of Malmédy -on our first morning across the frontier, within three minutes of our -coming, English troopers were chatting with Germans as though nothing -had happened to create ill-feeling on either side. Brand was giving -chocolate to German children, and German girls were patting the necks -of English horses! - -“Yes,” he said, after my attempted explanation. “We’re too close to the -frontier. These people are different. Wait till we get on a bit. I’m -convinced we shall have trouble, and at the slightest sign of it we -shall sweep the streets with machine-gun fire. I’ve got my own revolver -handy, and I mean to use it without mercy if there’s any treachery.” - - - - -III - - -Harding had no need to use his revolver on the way to the Rhine, or in -Cologne, where he stayed for some months after Armistice. We went on -with the cavalry into many villages and small towns, by slow stages, -the infantry following behind in strength, with guns and transport. The -girls outside Malmédy were not the only ones who waved handkerchiefs -at us. Now and then, it is true, there were scowling looks from men -who had, obviously, been German officers until a few weeks ago. -Sometimes in village inns the German innkeeper would be sullen and -silent, leaving his wife or his maidservant to wait upon us. But even -that was rare. More often there was frank curiosity in the eyes of the -people who stared at us, and often unconcealed admiration at the smart -appearance of our troops. Often German innkeepers welcomed our officers -with bows and smiles and prepared meat meals for us (in the country -districts), while explaining that meat was scarce and hardly tasted by -ordinary folk. Their wives and their maidservants praised God that the -war was over. - -“It lasted too long!” they said. “Oh, the misery of it! It was madness -to slaughter each other like that!” - -Brand and I went into a little shop to buy a toothbrush. - -The woman behind the counter talked about the war. - -“It was due to the wickedness of great people,” she said. “There are -many people who grew rich out of the war. They wanted it to go on, and -on, so that they could get more rich. They gorged themselves while the -poor starved. It was the poor who were robbed of their life-blood.” - -She did not speak passionately, but with a dull kind of anger. - -“My own life-blood was taken,” she said presently, after wrapping up -the toothbrush. “First they took Hans, my eldest. He was killed almost -at once--at Liège. Then they took my second-born, Friedrich. He was -killed at Ypres. Next, Wilhelm died--in hospital at Brussels. He had -both his legs blown off. Last they took little Karl, my youngest. He -was killed by an air-bomb, far behind the lines, near Valenciennes.” - -A tear splashed on the bit of paper in which she had wrapped the -toothbrush. She wiped it away with her apron. - -“My man and I are now alone,” she said, handing us the packet. “We are -too old to have more children. We sit and talk of our sons who are -dead, and wonder why God did not stop the war.” - -“It is sad,” said Brand. He could find nothing else to say. Not with -this woman could he argue about German guilt. - -“_Ja, es ist traurig._” - -She took the money, with a “_Danke schön_.” - -In the town of Mürren I spent some time with Brand and others in the -barracks where a number of trench-mortars and machine-guns were being -handed over by German officers according to the terms of the Armistice. -The officers were mostly young men, extremely polite, anxious to save -us any kind of trouble, marvellous in their concealment of any kind of -humiliation they may have felt--_must_ have felt--in this delivery of -arms. They were confused only for one moment, and that was when a boy -with a wheelbarrow trundled by with a load of German swords--elaborate -parade swords with gold hilts. - -One of them laughed and passed it off with a few words in English. - -“There goes the old pomp and glory--to the rubbish-heap!” - -Brand made things easier by a tactful sentence. - -“The world will be happier when we are all disarmed.” - -A non-commissioned officer talked to me. He had been a hair-dresser in -Bayswater and a machine-gunner in Flanders. He was a little fellow with -a queer Cockney accent. - -“Germany is _kaput_. We shall have a bad time in front of us. No money. -No trade. All the same it will be better in the long run. No more -conscription; no more filthy war. We’re all looking to President Wilson -and his Fourteen Points. There is the hope of the world. We can hope -for a good Peace--fair all round. Of course we’ll have to pay, but we -shall get Liberty, like in England.” - -Was the man sincere? Were any of these people sincere? or were they -crawling, fawning, hiding their hatred, ready for any treachery? I -could not make up my mind.... - -We went into Cologne some days before our programme at the urgent -request of the Burgermeister. We were invited in! The German seamen -of the Grand Fleet had played the devil, as in all the towns they -had passed through. They had established a Soldiers’ and Workmen’s -Council on the Russian system, raised the Red Flag, liberated the -criminals from the prisons. Shops had been sacked, houses looted. The -Burgermeister desired British troops to ensure law and order. - -There was no disorder visible when we entered Cologne. The -Revolutionaries had disappeared. The streets were thronged with -middle-class folk among whom were thousands of men who had taken -off their uniforms a few days before our coming, or had “civilised” -themselves by tearing off their shoulder-straps and badges. As our -first squadron rode into the great Cathedral Square on the way to -the Hohenzollern bridge many people in the crowds turned their heads -away and did not glance at the British cavalry. We were deliberately -ignored, and I thought that for the Germans it was the best attitude, -with most dignity. Others stared gravely at the passing cavalcade, -showing no excitement, no hostility, no friendliness, no emotion of -any kind. Here and there I met eyes which were regarding me with a -dark, brooding look, and others in which there was profound melancholy. -That night, when I wandered out alone and lost my way, and asked for -direction, two young men, obviously officers until a few days back, -walked part of the way to put me right, and said, “_Bitte schön! Bitte -schön!_” when I thanked them, and saluted with the utmost courtesy.... -I wondered what would have happened in London if we had been defeated -and if German officers had walked out alone at night and lost -themselves in by-streets, and asked the way. Imagination fails before -such a thought. Certainly our civility would not have been so easy. We -could not have hidden our hatred like that, if these were hiding hatred. - -Somehow I could not find even the smouldering fires of hate in any -German with whom I spoke that day. I could find only a kind of dazed -and stupor-like recognition of defeat, a deep sadness among humble -people, a profound anxiety as to the future fate of a ruined Germany, -and a hope in the justice of England and America. - -A score of us had luncheon at the Domhof Hotel, opposite the Cathedral -which Harding had hoped to see in flames. The manager bowed us in as if -we had been distinguished visitors in time of peace. The head-waiter -handed us the menu and regretted that there was not much choice of -food, though they had scoured the country to provide for us. He and -six other waiters spoke good English, learnt in London, and seemed to -have had no interruption in their way of life, in spite of war. They -were not rusty in their art, but masters of its service according to -tradition. Yet they had all been in the fighting-ranks until the day -of armistice, and the head-waiter, a man of forty, with hair growing -grey, and the look of one who had spent years in a study rather than -in front-line trenches after table management, told me that he had -been three times wounded in Flanders, and in the last phase had been a -machine-gunner in the rearguard actions round Grevilliers and Bapaume. -He revealed his mind to me between the soup and the stew--strange talk -from a German waiter! - -“I used to ask myself a hundred thousand times, ‘Why am I here--in this -mud--fighting against the English whom I know and like? What devil’s -meaning is there in all this? What are the evil powers that have forced -us to this insane massacre?’ I thought I should go mad, and I desired -death.” - -I did not argue with him, for the same reason that Brand and I did -not argue with the woman behind the counter who had lost four sons. I -did not say “Your War Lords were guilty of this war. The evil passion -and philosophy of you German people brought this upon the world--your -frightfulness.” I listened to a man who had been stricken by tragedy, -who had passed through its horrors, and was now immensely sad. - -At a small table next to us was the boy who had led the first cavalry -patrol, and two fellow-officers. They were not eating their soup. They -were talking to the waiter, a young fellow who was making a map with -knives and spoons. - -“This is the village of Fontaine Notre Dame,” he said. “I was just here -with my machine-gun when you attacked.” - -“Extraordinary!” said one of the young cavalry officers. “I was here, -at the corner of this spoon, lying on my belly, with my nose in the -mud--scared stiff!” - -The German waiter and the three officers laughed together. Something -had happened which had taken away from them the desire to kill each -other. Our officers did not suspect there might be poison in their -soup. The young waiter was not nervous lest one of the knives he laid -should be thrust into his heart.... - -Some nights later I met Wickham Brand in the Hohestrasse. He took me by -the arm and laughed in a strange, ironical way. - -“What do you think of it all?” he asked. - -I told him that if old men from St. James’s Street clubs in London, and -young women in the suburbs clamouring for the Kaiser’s head, could be -transported straight to Cologne without previous warning of the things -they would see, they would go raving mad. - -Brand agreed. - -“It knocks one edgewise. Even those of us who understand.” - -We stood on one side, by a shop window filled with beautiful -porcelain-ware, and watched the passing crowd. It was a crowd of German -middle-class, well-dressed, apparently well-fed. The girls wore heavy -furs. The men were in black coats and bowler hats, or in military -overcoats and felt hats. Among them, not aloof but mingling with them, -laughing with them, were English and Canadian soldiers. Many of them -were arm-in-arm with German girls. Others were surrounded by groups of -young Germans who had been, unmistakably, soldiers until a few weeks -earlier. English-speaking Germans were acting as interpreters, in the -exchange of experiences, gossip, opinions. The German girls needed no -interpreters. Their eyes spoke, and their laughter. - -Brand and I went into an immense café called the “Germania,” so -densely crowded that we had to wander round to find a place, foggy -with tobacco-smoke, through which electric light blazed, noisy with -the music of a loud, unceasing orchestra, which, as we entered, was -playing selections from “Patience.” Here also were many English and -Canadian officers, and men, sitting at the same tables with Germans who -laughed and nodded at them, clinked their mugs or wine-glasses with -them, and raised bowler hats to British Tommies when they left the -tables with friendly greetings on both sides. There was no orgy here, -no impropriety. Some of the soldiers were becoming slightly fuddled -with Rhine wine, but not noisily. “Glad eyes” were passing between -them and German girls, or conversations made up by winks and signs -and oft-repeated words; but all quietly and respectfully, in outward -behaviour. - -Brand and I were wedged close to a table at which sat one of our -sergeant-majors, a corporal, a middle-aged German woman, and two -German girls. One of the girls spoke English, remarkably well, and the -conversation of our two men was directed to her, and through her with -the others. Brand and I were eavesdroppers. - -“Tell your Ma,” said the sergeant-major, “that I shouldn’t have been so -keen to fight Germans if I had known they were such pleasant, decent -people, as far as I find ’em at present, and I take people as I find -’em.” - -The girl translated to her mother and sister, and then answered: - -“My mother says the war was prepared by the Rich People in Europe, who -made the people mad by lies.” - -“Ah,” said the sergeant-major, “I shouldn’t wonder! I know some of them -swine. All the same, of course, you began it, you know.” - -There was another translation and the girl answered again: - -“My mother says the Germans didn’t begin it. The Russians began it by -moving their Armies. The Russians hated us and wanted war.” - -The sergeant-major gave a snort of laughter. - -“The Russians?... They soon tired of it, anyhow. Let us all down, eh?” - -“What about atrocities?” said the corporal, who was a Cockney. - -“Atrocities?” said the English-speaking girl. “Oh, yes, there were -many. The Russians were very cruel.” - -“Come off it!” said the corporal. “I mean German atrocities.” - -“German?” said the girl. “No, our soldiers were well-behaved--always! -There were many lies told in the English papers.” - -“That’s true enough,” said the sergeant-major. “Lies? Why, they fed us -up with lies. ‘The Germans are starving. The Germans are on their last -legs.’ ‘The great victory at Neuve Chapelle!’ God! I was in that great -victory. The whole battalion cut to pieces, and not an officer left. A -bloody shambles--and no sense in it.... Another drop of wine, my dear?” - -“Seems to me,” said the cockney corporal, “that there was a deal of -dirty work on both sides. I’m not going to say there wasn’t no German -atrocities--lies or no lies--becos’ I saw a few of ’em myself, an’ no -mistake. But what I says now is what I says when I lay in the lousy -trenches with five-point-nines busting down the parapets. ‘The old -devil ’as got us all by the legs!’ I said, and ’ad a fellow-feelin’ -for the poor blighters on the other side of the barbed wire lying in -the same old mud. Now I’m beginning to think the Germans are the same -as us, no better, nor no worse, I reckon. Any’ow, you can tell your -sister, miss, that I like the way she does ’er ’air. It reminds me of -my Liz.” - -The English-speaking German girl did not understand this speech. She -appealed to the sergeant-major. - -“What does your friend say?” - -The sergeant-major roared with laughter. - -“My chum says that a pretty face cures a lot of ill-feeling. Your -sister is a sweet little thing, he says. _Comprenney?_ Perhaps you had -better not translate that part to your Ma.... Have another drop of -wine, my dear.” - -Presently the party rose from the table and went out, the -sergeant-major paying for the drinks in a lordly way, and saying, -“After you, ma’am,” to the mother of the two girls. - -“All this,” said Brand when they had gone, “is very instructive.... And -I’ve been making discoveries.” - -“What kind?” - -Brand looked away into the vista of the room, and his eyes roved about -the tables where other soldiers of ours sat with other Germans. - -“I’ve found out,” he said, “that the British hatred of a nation breaks -down in the presence of its individuals. I’ve discovered that it is not -in the character of English fighting-men--Canadian, too, by the look of -it--to demand vengeance from the innocent for the sins of the guilty. -I’m seeing that human nature, ours anyhow, swings back to the normal, -as soon as an abnormal strain is released. It is normal in human nature -to be friendly towards its kind, in spite of five years’ education in -savagery.” - -I doubted that, and told him so, remembering scenes in Ghent and Lille, -and that girl Marthe, and the woman of Verviers. That shook Brand a -little from his new point of view and he shifted his ground, with the -words: - -“Perhaps I’m wrong, there.” - -He told me of other “discoveries” of his, after conversation with many -German people, explaining perhaps the lack of hostility and humiliation -which had surprised us all. They were glad to see the English because -they were afraid of the French and Belgians, with their desire for -vengeance. They believed in English fair-play in spite of all the wild -propaganda of the war. Now that the Kaiser had fled and Germany was a -Republic, they believed that in spite of defeat, and great ruin, there -would be a Peace which would give them a chance of recovery, and a new -era of liberty, according to the pledges of President Wilson and the -terms of the “Fourteen Points.” They believed they had been beaten by -the hunger blockade, and not by the failure of the German Armies in the -field, and they would not admit that as a people they were more guilty -in the war than any others of the fighting nations. - -“It is a sense of guilt,” said Brand, “that must be brought home to -them. They must be convinced of that before they can get clean again, -and gain the world’s forgiveness.” - -He leaned over the table with his square face in the palms of his hands. - -“God knows,” he said, “that there was evil on both sides. We have our -Junkerdom too. The philosophy of our Old Men was not shining in its -Christian charity. We share the guilt of the war. Still, the Germans -_were_ the aggressors. They must acknowledge that.” - -“The German war-lords and militarists,” I suggested. “Not that woman -who lost her four sons, nor peasants dragged from their ploughs, -ignorant of _Welt-politik_.” - -“It’s all a muddle,” said Brand. “I can’t sort it out. I’m full of -bewilderment and contradictions. Sometimes when I look at these Germans -in the streets, some of them so smug, I shudder and say, ‘These are the -people who killed my pals,’ and I’m filled with cold rage. But when -they tell me all they suffered, and their loathing of the war, I pity -them and say, ‘They were trapped, like we were, by false ideas, and -false systems, and the foul lies of politicians, and the dirtiness of -old diplomacy, and the philosophy of Europe, leading up to That.’” - -Then he told me something which interested me more at the time than his -groping to find truth, because a touch of personal drama is always more -striking to the mind than general aspects and ideas. - -“I’m billeted at the house of Franz von Kreuzenach. You -remember?--Eileen’s friend.” - -I was astounded at that. - -“What an amazing coincidence!” - -“It was no coincidence,” he said. “I arranged it. I had that letter to -deliver and I wanted to meet the fellow. As yet, however, I have only -seen his mother and sister. They are very civil.” - -So did Wickham Brand “ask for trouble,” as soldiers say, and certainly -he found it before long. - - - - -IV - - -The first meeting between Wickham Brand and young Franz von Kreuzenach -had been rather dramatic, according to my friend’s account of it, and -he did not dramatise his stories much, in spite of being (before the -war) an unsuccessful novelist. It had happened on the third night after -his presentation of the billeting-paper which by military right of -occupation ordered the owners of the house to provide a bedroom and -sitting-room for an officer. There had been no trouble about that. -The _Mädchen_ who had answered the door of the big white house in a -side street off the Kaiserring had dropped a curtsey, and in answer to -Brand’s fluent and polite German said at once, “_Kommen Sie herein, -bitte_,” and took him into a drawing-room to the right of the hall, -leaving him there while she went to fetch “_die gnädige Baronin_,” that -is to say the Baroness von Kreuzenach. Brand remained standing, and -studied the German drawing-room to read its character as a key to that -of the family under whose roof he was coming by right of conquest, for -that, in plain words, was the meaning of his presence. - -It was a large square room, handsomely and heavily furnished in an -old-fashioned style, belonging perhaps to the Germany of Bismarck, but -with here and there in its adornment a lighter and more modern touch. -On one wall, in a gilt frame to which fat gilt cupids clung, was a -large portrait of William I. of Prussia, and on the wall opposite, -in a similar frame, a portrait of the ex-Kaiser William II. Brand -saw also, with an instant thrill of remembrance, two large steel -engravings from Winterhalter’s portraits of Queen Victoria and Prince -Albert. He had seen them, as a child, in his grandfather’s house at -Kew, and in the houses of school-fellows’ grandfathers, who cherished -these representations of Victoria and Albert with almost religious -loyalty. The large square of Turkey carpet on polished boards, a -mahogany sideboard, and some stiff big arm-chairs of clumsily-carved -oak, were reminiscent of German furniture and taste in the period -of the mid-nineteenth century, when ours was equally atrocious. The -later period had obtruded itself into that background. There was a -piano in white wood at one end of the room, and here and there light -chairs in the “New Art” style of Germany, with thin legs and straight -uncomfortable backs. The most pleasing things in the room were some -porcelain figures of Saxon and Hanover ware, little German ladies with -pleated gowns and low-necked bodices, and, on the walls, a number of -water-colour drawings, mostly of English scenes, delicately done, with -vision and a nice sense of atmosphere. - -“The younger generation thrusting out the old,” thought Brand, “and the -spirit of both of them destroyed by what has happened in five years.” - -The door opened, he told me, when he had taken stock of his -surroundings, and there came in two women, one middle-aged, the other -young. He guessed that he was in the presence of Frau von Kreuzenach -and her daughter, and made his bow, with an apology for intruding upon -them. He hoped that they would not be in the least degree disturbed by -his billeting-order. He would need only a bedroom and his breakfast. - -The Baroness was courteous but rather cold in her dignity. She was a -handsome woman of about forty-eight, with very fair hair streaked with -grey, and a thin, aristocratic type of face, with thin lips. She wore a -black silk dress with some fur round her shoulders. - -“It will be no inconvenience to us, sir,” she answered in good English, -a little hard and over-emphasised. “Although the English people are -pleased to call us Huns”--here she laughed good-humouredly--“I trust -that you will not be too uncomfortable in a German house, in spite -of the privations due to our misfortunes and the severity of your -blockade.” - -In that short speech there was a hint of hostility--masked under a -graciousness of manner--which Wickham Brand did not fail to perceive. - -“As long as it is not inconvenient----” he said, awkwardly. - -It was the daughter who now spoke, and Brand was grateful for her -friendly words, and impressed by her undeniable and exceptional good -looks. That she was the daughter of the older woman was clear at a -glance. She had the same thin face and fair hair, but Youth was on -her side, and her finely-chiselled features had no hardness of line -that comes from age or bitterness. Her hair was like spun gold, as -one sees it in Prussia more, I fancy, than in southern Germany, -and her complexion was that perfect rose-red and lily-white which -often belongs to German girls, and is doll-like if they are soft and -plump, as many are. This girl’s fault was thinness, but to Brand, -not a sentimentalist, nor quickly touched by feminine influence (I -have written that, but on second thoughts believe that under Brand’s -ruggedness there was a deep strain of sentiment, approaching weakness), -she seemed flower-like and spiritual. So he told me after his early -acquaintance with her. - -Her first words to him were charming. - -“We have suffered very much from the war, sir, but we welcome you to -our house not as an enemy, because the war finished with the Armistice, -but as an Englishman who may come to be our friend.” - -“Thanks,” said Brand. - -He could find nothing else to say at the moment, but spoke that one -word gratefully. - -The mother added something to her daughter’s speech. - -“We believed the English were our friends before they declared war upon -us. We were deeply saddened by our mistake.” - -“It was inevitable,” said Brand, “after what had happened.” - -The daughter--her name was Elsa--put her hand on her mother’s arm with -a quick gesture of protest against any other words about the war. - -“I will show Captain Brand to his rooms.” - -Brand wondered at her quickness in knowing his name after one glance -at his billeting-paper, and said, “Please do not trouble, _gnädiges -Fräulein_,” when he saw a look of disapproval, almost of alarm, on the -mother’s face. - -“It will be better for Truda to show the gentleman to his rooms. I will -ring for her.” - -Elsa von Kreuzenach challenged her mother’s authority by a smile of -amusement, and there was a slight deepening of that delicate colour in -her face. - -“Truda is boiling the usual cabbage for the usual _Mittagessen_. I will -go, mother.” - -She turned to Brand with a smile, and bowed to him. - -“I will act as your guide upstairs, Captain Brand. After that, you may -find your own way. It is not difficult.” - -Brand, who described the scene to me, told me that the girl went very -quickly up a wide flight of stairs, so that in his big riding-boots he -found it difficult to keep pace with her. She went down a long corridor -lined with etchings on the walls, and opened a white door leading -into a big room, furnished as a library. There was a wood fire burning -there, and at a glance Brand noticed one or two decorations on the -walls--a pair of foils with a fencing-mask and gauntlets, some charcoal -drawings--one of a girl’s head, which was this girl’s when that gold -hair of hers hung in two Gretchen pig-tails--and some antlers. - -“Here you can sit and smoke your pipe,” said Elsa von Kreuzenach, -“Also, if you are bored, you can read those books. You see we have -many English authors--Bernard Shaw, H. G. Wells, G. K. Chesterton, -Kipling--heaps. My brother and I used to read all we could get of -English books.” - -Brand remembered that Franz von Kreuzenach had read Kipling. He had -quoted “Puck of Pook’s Hill” to Eileen O’Connor. - -“Now and then,” he said, “I may read a little German.” - -“Pooh!” said the girl. “It is so dull, most of it. Not exciting, like -yours.” - -She opened another door. - -“Here is your bedroom. It used to belong to my brother Heinrich.” - -“Won’t he want it?” asked Brand. - -He could have bitten his tongue out for that question when the girl -answered it. - -“He was killed in France.” - -A sudden sadness took possession of her eyes and Brand said, “I’m -sorry.” - -“Yes. I was sorry, too, and wept for weeks. He was a nice boy, so -jolly, as you say. He would have been an artist if he had lived. All -those charcoal sketches are by him.” - -She pointed to the drawing of a young man’s head over the -dressing-table. - -“That is my brother Franz. He is home again, _Gott sei dank_! Heinrich -worshipped him.” - -Brand looked at the portrait of the man who had saved Eileen O’Connor. -He had Eileen’s letter to him in his pocket. It was a good-looking -head, clean-cut, with frank eyes, rather noble. - -“I hope we shall meet one day,” said Brand. - -Elsa von Kreuzenach seemed pleased with those words. - -“He will like to meet you--ever so much. You see, he was educated at -Oxford, and does not forget his love for England.” - -“In spite of the war?” asked Brand. - -The girl put both her hands to her breast. - -“The war!” she said. “Let us forget the years when we all went mad. It -was a madness of hate and of lies and of ignorance--on both sides. The -poor people in all countries suffered for the sins of the wicked men -who made this war against our will, and called out our evil passions. -The wicked men in England were as bad as those in Germany. Now it is -for good people to build up a new world out of the ruins that war made, -the ruin of hearts.” - -She asked a direct question of Brand, earnestly. - -“Are you one of those who will go on hating?” - -Brand hesitated. He could not forget many things. He knew, so he told -me, that he had not yet killed the old hatred that had made him a -sniper in No Man’s Land. Many times it surged up again. He could not -forgive the Germans for many cruelties. To this girl, then, he hedged a -little. - -“The future must wipe out the past. The Peace must not be for -vengeance.” - -At those last words the blue eyes of Elsa von Kreuzenach lighted up -gladly. - -“That is the old English spirit! I have said to my mother and father a -thousand times ‘England is generous at heart. She loves fair play. Now -that victory is hers she will put away base passions and make a noble -peace that will help us out of our agony and ruin. All our hope is with -England, and with the American President, who is the noblest man on -earth.’” - -“And your father and mother?” asked Brand. “What do they say?” - -The girl smiled rather miserably. - -“They belong to the old school. Franz and I are of the younger -generation ... my father denounces England as the demon behind all -the war-devils, and Little Mother finds it hard to forgive England -for joining the war against us, and because the English Army killed -Heinrich. You must be patient with them.” - -She spoke as though Brand belonged already to their family life and -would need great tact. - -She moved towards the door, and stood framed there in its white -woodwork, a pretty figure. - -“We have two maidservants for this great house,” she said. “The war -has made us poor. Truda and Gretchen, they are called. They are -both quarrelling for the pleasure of waiting on you. They are both -frightfully excited to have an English officer in the house!” - -“Queer!” said Brand, laughing. - -“Why queer?” asked Elsa von Kreuzenach. “I am a little excited, too.” - -She made a half-curtsey, like an Early Victorian girl, and then closed -his door, and Brand was sorry, as he told me quite frankly, that he was -left alone. - -“The girl’s a pretty piece of Dresden china,” he said. - -When I chaffed him with a “Take care, old lad!” he only growled and -muttered, “Oh, to hell with that! I suppose I can admire a pretty -thing, even if it’s made in Germany?” - -Brand told me that he met Elsa’s father and brother on the third -evening that he slept in the Kreuzenachs’ house. When he arrived that -evening, at about five o’clock, the maidservant Truda, who “did” -his bedroom and dusted his sitting-room with a German passion for -cleanliness and with many conversational advances, informed him with a -look of mysterious importance that the Old Man wanted to see him in the -drawing-room. - -“What old man?” asked Brand, at which Truda giggled and said, “the old -Herr Baron.” - -“He hates the English like ten thousand devils,” added Truda, -confidentially. - -“Perhaps I had better not go, then,” was Brand’s answer. - -Truda told him that he would have to go. When the Old Herr Baron asked -for a thing it had to be given him. The only person who dared to -disobey him was Fräulein Elsa, who was very brave, and a “_hübsches -Mädchen_.” - -Brand braced himself for the interview, but felt extremely nervous when -Truda rapped at the drawing-room door, opened it and announced, in -German, - -“The English officer!” - -The family von Kreuzenach was in full strength, obviously waiting for -his arrival. The Baroness was in an evening gown of black silk showing -her bare neck and arms. She was sitting stiffly in a high-backed chair -by the piano, and was very handsome in her cold way. - -Her husband, General von Kreuzenach, was pretending to read a book by -the fireside. He was a tall, bald-headed, heavy-jowled man with a short -white moustache. The ribbon of the Iron Cross was fastened to the top -buttonhole of his frock-coat. - -Elsa was sitting on a stool by his side, and on a low seat, with his -back to the fire, was a tall young man with his left arm in a sling, -whom Brand knew at once to be Franz von Kreuzenach, Eileen O’Connor’s -friend. - -When Brand came into the room, everybody rose in a formal, frightening -way, and Elsa’s mother rose very graciously and, spoke to her husband. - -“This, Baron, is Captain Brand, the English officer who is billeted in -our house.” - -The Baron bowed stiffly to Brand. - -“I hope, sir, that my servants are attending to your needs in every -way. I beg of you to believe that as an old soldier I wish to fulfil my -duty as an officer and a gentleman, however painful the circumstances -in which you find us.” - -Brand replied with equal gravity, regretting his intrusion, and -expressing his gratitude for the great courtesy that had been shown to -him. Curiously, he told me, he had a strong temptation to laugh. The -enormous formality of the reception touched some sense of absurdity -so that he wanted to laugh loudly and wildly. Probably that was sheer -nervousness. - -“Permit me to present my son,” said the lady. “Lieutenant Franz von -Kreuzenach.” - -The young man came forward and clicked heels in the German fashion, -but his way of shaking hands, and his easy “How do you do?” were -perfectly English. For a moment Brand met his eyes, and found them -frank and friendly. He had a vision of this man sitting in Eileen -O’Connor’s room, gazing at her with love in his eyes, and, afterwards, -embarrassed, shameful, and immensely sad in that trial scene. - -Elsa also shook hands with him, and helped to break the hard ice of -ceremony. - -“My brother is very glad to meet you. He was at Oxford, you know. Come -and sit here. You will take tea, I am sure.” - -They had prepared tea for him specially, and Elsa served it like an -English girl, charmingly. - -Brand was not an easy conversationalist His drawing-room manners were -gauche always, and that evening in the German drawing-room he felt, -he told me, “a perfect fool,” and could think of no small-talk. Franz -von Kreuzenach helped him out by talking about Oxford, and Brand felt -more at ease when he found that the young German officer knew some of -his old college friends, and described a “rag” in his own third year. -The old Baron sat stiffly, listening with mask-like gravity to this -conversation. Elsa laughed without embarrassment at her brother’s -description of a “debagging” incident, when the trousers of a Proctor -had been removed in “the High,” and the Frau von Kreuzenach permitted -herself a wintry smile. - -“Before the war,” she said, “we wished our children to get an English -education. Elsa went to a school at Brighton---- We were very fond of -England.” - -The General joined in the conversation for the first time. - -“It was a weakness. Without offence, sir, I think that our German youth -would have been better employed at German universities, where education -is more seriously regarded, and where the national spirit is fostered -and strengthened.” - -Brand announced that he had been to Heidelburg University, and agreed -that German students take their studies more seriously than English. - -“We go to our universities for character more than for knowledge.” - -“Yes,” said the elder von Kreuzenach. “It is there the English learn -their Imperialism and political ambitions. From their point of view -they are right. English pride--so arrogant--is a great strength.” - -Franz von Kreuzenach toned down his father’s remark. - -“My father uses the word pride in its best sense--pride of race and -tradition. Personally, what struck me most at Oxford was the absence of -all deliberate philosophical influence. The men were very free in their -opinions. Most of those in my set were anti-Imperialists and advanced -Liberals, in a light-hearted way. But I fancy most of them did not -worry very much about political ideas. They were up for ‘a good time,’ -and made the most of Youth, in sport and companionship. They laughed -enormously. I think the Germans laugh too little. We are lacking in a -national sense of humour, except of a coarse and rustic type.” - -“I entirely disagree with you, Franz,” said the elder man, sternly. “I -find my own sense of humour sufficiently developed. You are biassed by -your pro-English sympathy, which I find extraordinary and regrettable, -after what has happened.” - -He turned to Brand and said that as a soldier he would understand that -courtesy to individuals did not abolish the sacred duty of hating a -country which was essentially hostile to his own in spirit and in act. - -“England,” he added, “has behaved in an unforgivable way. For many -years before the war she plotted the ruin of Germany in alliance -with Russia and France. She challenged Germany’s trade interests and -national development in every part of the globe, and built a great -fleet for the sole purpose of preventing Germany’s colonial expansion. -England has always been our enemy since she became aware of our -increasing strength, for she will brook no rival. I do not blame her, -for that is the right of her national egotism. But as a true German I -have always recognised the inevitability of our conflict.” - -Brand had no need to answer this denunciation, for Elsa von Kreuzenach -broke into her father’s speech impatiently. - -“You are too bad, Father! Captain Brand does not wish to spend the -evening in political argument. You know what Franz and I think. -We believe that all the evil of the war was caused by silly old -hatred and greedy rivalries. Isn’t the world big enough for the free -development of all its peoples? If not, then life is not worth living, -and the human race must go on killing each other until the world is a -wilderness.” - -“I agree,” said Brand, looking at Elsa. “The peoples of Europe must -resist all further incitements to make war on each other. Surely the -American President has given us all a new philosophy by his call for a -League of Nations, and his promise of peace without vengeance, with the -self-determination of peoples.” - -“That is true,” said Franz von Kreuzenach. “The Allies are bound by -Wilson’s Fourteen Points. We agreed to the Armistice on that basis, and -it is because of the promise that lies in those clauses--the charter of -a New World--that the German people, and the Austrians--accept their -defeat with resignation, and look forward with hope--in spite of our -present ruin--to a greater liberty and to a more beautiful democracy.” - -“Yes,” said Elsa, “what my brother says, Captain Brand, explains the -spirit with which your English soldiers have been received on the -Rhine. Perhaps you expected hostility, hatred, black looks? No, the -German people welcome you, and your American comrades, because the -bitterness of defeat is softened by the knowledge that there is to be -no more bloodshed--alas, we are drained of blood!--and that the Peace -will begin a nobler age in history, for all of us.” - -The General shifted in his chair so that it scraped the polished -boards. A deep wave of colour swept up to his bald head. - -“Defeat?” he said. “My son and daughter talk of defeat!... There was no -defeat. The German Armies were invincible to the last. They never lost -a battle. They fell back not because of their own failure but because -the heart of the German people was sapped by the weakness of hunger, -caused by the infamous English blockade, which starved our women and -children. _Ja_, even our manhood was weakened by starvation. Still -more, our civilians were poisoned by a pestilential heresy learnt in -Russia, a most damnable pacifism, which destroyed their will to win. -Our glorious Armies were stabbed in the back by anarchy and treachery.” - -“It is defeat, sir, all the same,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, with -grim deference, to his father. “Let us face the tragedy of the facts. -As an officer of the rearguard defence, I have to admit, too, that -the German Armies were beaten in the field. Our war machines were -worn out and disintegrated, by the repeated blows that struck us. Our -man-power was exhausted, and we could no longer resist the weight of -the Allied Armies. The Americans had immense reserves of men to throw -in against us. We could only save ourselves by retreat. Field Marshal -von Hindenburg, himself, has admitted that.” - -The General’s face was no longer flushed with angry colour. He was very -white, with a kind of dead look, except for the smouldering fire of his -eyes. He spoke in a low, choking voice, in German. - -“If I had known that a son of mine, bearing the name of Franz von -Kreuzenach, would have admitted the defeat of the German Army, before -an officer of an enemy power, I would have strangled him at birth.” - -He grasped the arms of his chair and made one or two efforts to rise, -but could not do so. - -“Anna!” he commanded, harshly, to his wife, “give me your arm. This -officer will excuse me, I trust. I feel unwell.” - -Franz von Kreuzenach went quickly over to his father, before his mother -could rise. - -“Father, I deeply regret having pained you. The truth is tragic -enough----” - -The old man answered him ferociously. - -“You have not spoken truth, but lies. You are a disgrace to the rank of -a German officer, and to my name. You have been infected by the poison -of socialism and anarchy. Anna--your arm!” - -Elsa’s mother stooped over her husband, and lifted his hand to her lips. - -“_Mein lieber Mann_,” she said, very softly. - -The old man rose stiffly, leaning on his wife’s arm, and bowed to Brand. - -“I beg you to excuse me, sir. As a German soldier I do not admit the -words ‘defeat’ or ‘retreat,’ even when spoken within my own household. -The ever-glorious German Army has never been defeated, and has never -retreated--except according to plan. I wish you good-night.” - -Brand was standing, and bowed to the General in silence. - -It was a silence which lasted after the husband and wife had left the -room. The girl Elsa was mopping her eyes. Franz von Kreuzenach stood, -very pale, by the empty chair in which his father had sat. He was the -first to speak. - -“I’m awfully sorry. I ought not to have spoken like that before my -father. He belongs to the old school.” - -Brand told me that he felt abominably uncomfortable, and wished with -all his heart that he had not been billeted in this German house. - -Elsa rose quickly and put her hand on her brother’s arm. - -“I am glad you spoke as you did, Franz. It is hateful to hurt our dear -father, but it is necessary to tell the truth now, or we cannot save -ourselves, and there will be no new era in the world. It is the younger -generation that must re-shape the world, and that cannot be done if we -yield to old falsehoods, and go the way of old traditions.” - -Franz raised his sister’s hand to his lips, and Brand told me that -his heart softened at the sight of that caress, as it had when Elsa’s -mother kissed the hand of her old husband. It seemed to him symbolical -of the two generations, standing together, the old against the young, -the young against the old. - -“In England, also,” he said, “we have those who stand by hate, and -those who would break with the old traditions and forget, as soon as -possible, old enmities.” - -“It is the new conflict,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, solemnly. “It will -divide the world, and many houses, as Christ’s gospel divided father -from son, and blood-brothers. It is the new agony.” - -“The new Hope,” said Elsa, passionately. - -Brand made an early excuse to retire to his room, and Franz von -Kreuzenach conducted him upstairs, and carried his candlestick. - -“Thanks,” said Brand in the doorway of his room. Then suddenly he -remembered Eileen O’Connor’s letter, and put his hand into his -breast-pocket for his case. - -“I have a letter for you,” he said. - -“So?” The young German was surprised. - -“From a lady in Lille,” said Brand. “Miss Eileen O’Connor.” - -Franz von Kreuzenach started violently, and for a moment or two he -was incapable of speech. When he took the letter from Brand his hand -trembled. - -“You know her?” he said, at last. - -“I knew her in old days, and met her in Lille,” answered Brand. “She -told me of your kindness to her. I promised to thank you when I met -you. I do so now.” - -He held out his hand, and Franz von Kreuzenach grasped it in a hard -grip. - -“She is well?” he asked, with deep emotion. - -“Well and happy,” said Brand. - -“That is good.” - -The young German was immensely embarrassed, absurdly self-conscious and -shy. - -“In Lille,” he said, “I had the honour of her friendship.” - -“She told me,” answered Brand. “I saw some of your songs in her room.” - -“Yes, I sang to her.” - -Franz von Kreuzenach laughed, awkwardly. Then suddenly a look of -something like fear--certainly alarm--changed his expression. - -“I must beg of you to keep secret any knowledge of my--my -friendship--with that lady. She acted--rashly. If it were known, even -by my father, that I did--what I did--my honour, perhaps even my life, -would be unsafe. You understand, I am sure.” - -“Perfectly,” said Brand. - -“As a German officer,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, “I took great risk.” - -He emphasised his words. - -“As a German officer I took liberties with my duty--because of a higher -law.” - -“A higher law than discipline,” said Brand. “Perhaps a nobler duty than -the code of a German officer.” - -He spoke with a touch of irony, but Franz von Kreuzenach was -unconscious of that. - -“Our duty to God,” he said gravely. “Human pity. Love.” - -An expression of immense sentiment filled his eyes. An Englishman would -have masked it more guardedly. - -“Good night,” said Brand, “and thanks again.” - -The young German clicked his heels and bowed. - -“Good night, sir.” - -Brand went to bed, in a leisurely way, and before sleeping heard -a violin being played in the room above his own. By the tune he -remembered the words of an old song, as Eileen O’Connor had sung it in -Lille, and as he had learnt it in his own home before the war. - - - There’s one that is pure as an angel, - And fair as the flowers of May, - They call her the gentle maiden - Wherever she takes her way. - - -Franz von Kreuzenach was having an orgy of sentiment, and Brand somehow -envied him. - - - - -V - - -Our entry into Cologne and life among the people whom we had been -fighting for four years, and more, was an amazing psychological -experience, and not one of us there on the Rhine could escape its -subtle influence upon our opinions and sub-conscious state of mind. -Some of our officers, I am sure, were utterly unaware of the change -being wrought in them by daily association with German civilians. They -did not realise how, day by day, their old beliefs on the subject of -“the Hun” were being broken down by contact with people who behaved -with dignity, for the most part, and according to the ordinary rules -of human nature. Charles Fortune, our humorist, delighted to observe -these things, and his irony found ready targets in Cologne, both among -British officers and German civilians, neither of whom he spared. -I remember that I was walking one day down Hohestrasse with young -Harding, after the proclamation had been issued (and enforced with -numerous arrests and fines by the A.P.M. and the military police) that -all German civilians were to salute British officers by doffing their -hats in the streets. The absurdity of it was so great that in a crowded -street like the Hohestrasse the civilian people would have had to -remain bareheaded, owing to the constant passing of our officers. - -Fortune saluted Harding and myself not only with one hand but with two. -He wore his “heroic” face, wonderfully noble and mystical. - -“How great and glorious is the British Army!” he said. “How immense -are the power and majesty of the temporary lieutenant! For four -years and a half we have fought to crush militarism. Nine hundred -thousand men of ours have died explosive deaths in order to abolish -the philosophy of Zabernism--you remember!--the claim of the military -caste to the servility of civilian salutes. Two million men of ours are -blind, crippled, shell-shocked, as martyrs for democracy made free of -Junkerdom by the crushing of the Hun. Now, by a slight error in logic -(the beautiful inconsistency of our English character!) we arrest, -fine, or imprison any German man or child who does not bare his head -before a little English subaltern from Peckham Rye or Tooting in a -Gor’blimy cap! How great and good we are! How free from hypocrisy! How -splendid our victory for the little peoples of the earth!” - -Young Harding, who had been returning salutes solemnly and mechanically -to great numbers of Germans, flushed a little. - -“I suppose it’s necessary to enforce respect. All the same, it’s a -horrid bore.” - -Fortune wagged his hand behind his ear to an elderly German who took -off his bowler hat. The man stared at him in a frightened way, as -though the English officer had suddenly gone mad and might bite him. - -“Strange!” said Fortune. “Not yet have they been taught the beauty of -the Guards’ salute. That man ought to be put into a dark cell, with -bread and water, and torture from 9 a.m. till mid-day, on Wednesdays -and Fridays.” - -Fortune was vastly entertained by the sight of British soldiers -walking about with German families in whose houses they were billeted. -Some of them were arm-in-arm with German girls, a sergeant-major was -carrying a small flaxen-haired boy on whose sailor’s cap was the word -“_Vaterland_.” - -“Disgraceful!” said Fortune, looking sternly at Harding. “In spite of -all our atrocity tales, our propaganda of righteous hate, our training -of the young idea that a Hun must be killed at sight--‘the only good -German is a dead German,’ as you remember, Harding--these soldiers of -ours are fraternising with the enemy and flirting with the enemy’s -fair-haired daughters, and carrying infant Huns shoulder-high. Look at -that sergeant-major forgetting all my propaganda. Surely he ought to -cut the throat of that baby Hindenburg? My heart aches for Blear-eyed -Bill, the Butcher of the Boche. All his work undone. All his fury -fizzled. Sad! sad!” - -Harding looked profoundly uncomfortable at this sarcasm. He was -billeted with a German family who treated him as an honoured friend. -The mother, a dear old soul, as he reluctantly admitted, brought him an -early cup of tea in the morning, with his shaving-water. Three times -he had refused it, remembering his oath never to accept a favour from -male or female Hun. On the fourth time his will-power weakened under -the old lady’s anxious solicitations and his desire for the luxury of -tea before dressing. He said _Danke schön_, and afterwards reproached -himself bitterly for his feeble resistance. He was alarmed at his own -change of heart towards these people. It was impossible for him to draw -back solemnly or with pompous and aloof dignity when the old lady’s -grandchild, a little girl of six, waylaid him in the hall, dropped a -curtsey in the pretty German style, and then ran forward to kiss his -hand and say, “_Guten Tag, Herr Officer_!” - -He bought a box of chocolate for her in the Hohestrasse and then walked -with it irresolutely, tempted to throw it into the Rhine, or to give -it to a passing Tommy. Half-an-hour later he presented it to little -Elizabeth, who received it with a cry of delight, and, jumping on to -his knee, kissed him effusively on both cheeks. Young Harding adored -children, but felt as guilty at these German kisses as though he had -betrayed his country and his faith. - -One thing which acted in favour of the Germans was the lack of manners -displayed by some young English officers in the hotels, restaurants, -and shops. In all armies there are cads, and ours was not without -them, though they were rare. The conditions of our military occupation -with absolute authority over the civilian people provided a unique -opportunity for the caddish instincts of “half-baked” youth. They came -swaggering into Cologne determined to “put it across the Hun” and “to -stand no nonsense.” So they bullied frightened waiters, rapped their -sticks on shop-counters, insulted German shop-girls, and talked loudly -about “Hunnish behaviour” in restaurants where many Germans could hear -and understand. - -Harding, Fortune and I were in the Domhof Hotel when one such scene -occurred. A group of noisy subalterns were disputing the cost of their -meal and refusing to pay for the wine. - -“You stole all the wine in Lille,” shouted one lieutenant of ours. “I’m -damned if I’ll pay for wine in Cologne.” - -“I stole no wine in Lille, sir,” said the waiter politely. “I was never -there.” - -“Don’t you insult English officers,” said one of the other subalterns. -“We are here to tread on your necks.” - -Fortune looked at me and raised his eye-brows. - -“It isn’t a good imitation,” he said. “If they want to play the game of -frightfulness, they really ought to do better than that. They don’t -even make the right kind of face.” - -Harding spoke bitterly. - -“Cads!... Cads!... Somebody ought to put them under arrest.” - -“It doesn’t really impress the Germans,” said Fortune. “They know it’s -only make-believe. You see, the foolish boys are paying their bill! -Now, if I, or Blear-eyed Bill, were to do the Junker stunt, we should -at least look the real ogres.” - -He frowned horribly, puffed out his cheeks, and growled and grumbled -with an air of senile ferocity--to the great delight of a young German -waiter watching him from a corner of the room, and already aware that -Fortune was a humourist. - -The few cads among us caused a reaction in the minds of all men of -good manners, so that they took the part of the Germans. Even various -regulations and restrictions ordered by the military governor during -the first few months of our occupation were resented more by British -officers and men than by the Germans themselves. The opera was closed, -and British officers said, “What preposterous nonsense! How are the -poor devils going to earn their living, and how are we going to amuse -ourselves?” The wine-concerts and restaurants were ordered to shut down -at ten o’clock, and again the British Army of Occupation “groused” -exceedingly and said, “We thought this war had been fought for liberty. -Why all this petty tyranny?” Presently these places were allowed -to stay open till eleven, and all the way down the Hohestrasse, as -eleven o’clock struck, one saw groups of British officers and men, and -French and American officers, pouring out of a Wein-stube, a _Kunstler -Conzert_ or a _Bier-halle_, with farewell greetings or promises of -further rendezvous with laughing German girls, who seemed to learn -English by magic. - -“Disgraceful!” said young Harding, who was a married man with a pretty -wife in England for whom he yearned with a home-sickness which he -revealed to me boyishly when we became closer friends in this German -city. - -“Not disgraceful,” said the little American doctor, who had joined us -in Cologne, “but only the fulfilment of nature’s law, which makes man -desire woman. Allah is great!... But juxtaposition is greater.” - -Dr. Small was friends with all of us, and there was not one among our -crowd who had not an affection and admiration for this little man whose -honesty was transparent, and whose vital nervous energy was like a -fresh wind to any company in which he found himself. It was Wickham -Brand, however, who had captured the doctor’s heart, most of all, and -I think I was his “second best.” Anyhow, it was to me that he revealed -his opinion of Brand, and some of his most intimate thoughts. - -“Wickham has the quality of greatness,” he said. “I don’t mean to say -he’s great now. Not at all. I think he’s fumbling and groping, not sure -of himself, afraid of his best instincts, thinking his worst may be -right. But one day he will straighten all that out and have a call as -loud as a trumpet. What I like is his moodiness and bad-temper.” - -“Queer taste, doctor!” I remarked. “When old Brand is in the sulks -there’s nothing doing with him. He’s like a bear with a sore ear.” - -“Sure!” said Dr. Small. “That’s exactly it. He is biting his own sore -ear. I guess with him, though, it’s a sore heart. He keeps moping -and fretting, and won’t let his wounds heal. That’s what makes him -different from most others, especially you English. You go through -frightful experiences and then forget them and say, ‘Funny old world, -young fellah! Come and have a drink.’ You see civilisation rocking like -a boat in a storm, but you say, in your English way, ‘Why worry?’ ... -Wickham worries. He wants to put things right, and make the world safer -for the next crowd. He thinks of the boys who will have to fight in the -next war--wants to save them from his agonies.” - -“Yes, he’s frightfully sensitive underneath his mask of ruggedness,” I -said. - -“And romantic,” said the doctor. - -“Romantic?” - -“Why, yes. That girl, Eileen O’Connor, churned up his heart all right. -Didn’t you see the worship in his eyes? It made me feel good.” - -I laughed at the little doctor, and accused him of romanticism. - -“Anyhow,” I said, more seriously, “Eileen O’Connor is not without -romance herself, and I don’t know what she wrote in that letter to -Franz von Kreuzenach, but I suspect she re-opened an episode which had -best be closed.... As for Brand, I think he’s asking for trouble of the -same kind. If he sees much of that girl Elsa I won’t answer for him. -She’s amazingly pretty, and full of charm, from what Brand tells me.” - -“I guess he’ll be a darned fool if he fixes up with that girl,” growled -the doctor. - -“You’re inconsistent,” I said. “Are you shocked that Wickham Brand -should fall in love with a German girl?” - -“Not at all, sonny,” said Dr. Small. “As a biologist, I know you can’t -interfere with natural selection, and a pretty girl is an alluring -creature, whether she speaks German or Icelandic. But this girl, Elsa -von Kreuzenach, is not up to a high standard of eugenics.” - -I was amused by the doctor’s scientific disapproval. - -“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. “And when did you meet her?” - -“Sonny,” said the doctor, “what do you think I’ve been doing all these -weeks in Cologne? Drinking coffee at the Domhof Hotel with the A.P.M. -and his soldier-policemen? Watching the dancing-girls every evening in -wine-rooms like this?” - -We sat in a _Wein-stube_ as we talked, for the sake of light and a -little music. It was typical of a score of others in Cologne, with -settees of oak divided from each other in “cosy corners” hung with -draperies of green and red silk; and little tables to which waiters -brought relays of Rhine wines in tall thin bottles for the thirstiness -of German civilians and British officers. At one end of the room was a -small stage, and an orchestra composed of a pianist who seemed to be -suffering from a mild form of shell-shock (judging from a convulsive -twitch), a young German-Jew who played the fiddle squeakily, and a -thin, sad-faced girl behind a ’cello. Every now and then a bald-headed -man in evening clothes mounted the stage and begged the attention of -the company for a dance by the well-known artist Fräulein So-and-So. -From behind a curtain near the wine-bar came a dancing-girl, in the -usual ballet dress and the usual fixed and senseless smile, who -proceeded to perform Pavlova effects on a stage two yards square, while -the young Jew fiddler flattened himself against the side curtain, with -a restricted use of his bow, and the pianist with the shell-shock -lurched sideways as he played, to avoid her floppy skirts, and the girl -behind the ’cello drew deep chords with a look of misery. - -“These are pretty dull spots,” I said to the little doctor, “but where -have you been spending your time? And when did you meet Elsa von -Kreuzenach?” - -Dr. Small told me that he had been seeking knowledge in the only place -where he could study social health and social disease--hospitals, -work-shops, babies’ crèches, slum tenements. He was scornful of English -officers and correspondents who summed up the social state of Germany -after a stroll down the Hohestrasse, a gorge of _ersatz_ pastry -(“filth!” he said) in the tea-shops, and a dinner of four courses in a -big hotel on smuggled food at fantastic prices. - -“You might as well judge Germany by the guzzling swine in this place as -England by a party of profiteers at Brighton. The poor middle-classes -and the labourers stay indoors after their day’s job, and do not -exhibit their misery in the public ways.” - -“Real misery?” I asked. “Hunger?” - -Dr. Small glowered at me through his goggles. - -“Come and see. Come and see the mothers who have no milk for their -babes, and the babes who are bulbous-headed, with rickets. Come and see -the tenement lodgings where working-families sit round cabbage-soup, as -their chief meal, with bread that ties their entrails into knots but -gives ’em a sense of fulness, not enjoyed by those who have no bread. -Man, it’s awful. It tears at one’s heart. But you needn’t go into -the slums to find hunger--four years of under-nourishment which has -weakened growing girls so that they swoon at their work, or fall asleep -through weakness in the tram-cars. In many of the big houses where life -looks so comfortable, from which women come out in furs, looking so -rich, these German people have not enough to eat, and what they eat is -manufactured in the chemist’s shop and the _ersatz_ factories. I found -that out from that girl, Elsa von Kreuzenach.” - -“How?” I asked. - -“She is a nurse in a babies’ _crèche_, poor child. Showed me round -with a mother-look in her eyes, while all the scrofulous kiddies -cried, ‘_Guten Tag! Guten Tag!_’ like the quacking of ducks. ‘After -to-morrow,’ she said, ‘there will be no more milk for them. What can -we do for them then, doctor? They will wither and die.’ Those were her -words, and I saw her sadness. I saw something else, presently. I saw -her sway a little, and she fell like that girl Marthe on the door-step -at Lille. ‘For the love of Mike!’ I said, and when she pulled round -bullied her. - -“‘What did you have for breakfast?’ I asked. - -“‘_Ersatz_ coffee,’ she said, laughing, ‘and a bit of bread. A good -_Frühstuck_, doctor.’ - -“‘Good be hanged!’ I said. ‘What did you have for lunch?’ - -“‘Cabbage-soup, and _ein kleines Brödchen_,’ she says. ‘After four -years one gets used to it.’ - -“‘What will you have for dinner?’ said I, not liking the look of things. - -“She laughed, as though she saw a funny joke. - -“‘Cabbage soup and turnips,’ she said, ‘and a regular feast.’ - -“‘I thought your father was a Baron,’ I remarked in my sarcastic way. - -“‘That’s true,’ she says, ‘and an honest man he is, and therefore -poor. It is only the profiteers who feed well in Germany. All through -the war they waxed fat on the flesh-and-blood of the men who fought -and died. Now they steal the food of the poor by bribing the peasants -to sell their produce at any price. _Schleichandlung_ is the word she -used. That means ‘smuggling.’ It also means hell’s torture, I hope, for -those who do it.... So there you are. If Wickham Brand marries Elsa -von Kreuzenach, he marries a girl whose health has been undermined by -four years’ semi-starvation. What do you think their children will be? -Ricketty, tuberculous, undersized, weak-framed. Wickham Brand deserves -better luck than that, sonny.’” - -I roared with laughter at the little doctor, and told him he was -looking too far ahead, as far as Brand and the German girl were -concerned. This made him angry, in his humourous way, and he told me -that those who don’t look ahead fail to see the trouble under their -nose until they fall over it. - -We left the _Weinstube_ through a fog of smoke. Another dancing girl -was on the tiny stage, waving her arms and legs. An English officer, -slightly fuddled, was writing a cheque for his bill and persuading the -German manager to accept it. Two young French officers were staring at -the dancing-girl with hostile eyes. Five young Germans were noisy round -six tall bottles of Liebfraumilch. The doctor and I walked down to the -bank of the Rhine below the Hohenzollern bridge. Our sentries were -there, guarding heavy guns which thrust their snouts up from tarpaulin -covers. - -Two German women passed, with dragging footsteps, and one said wearily, -“_Ach, lieber Gott!_” - -The doctor was silent for some time after his long monologue. He stared -across the Rhine, on whose black surface lights glimmered with a milky -radiance. Presently he spoke again, and I remember his words, which -were, in a way, prophetic. - -“These German people are broken. They _had_ to be broken. They are -punished. They _had_ to be punished. Because they obeyed the call of -their leaders, which was to evil, their power has been overthrown -and their race made weak. You and I, an Englishman, an American, -stand here, by right of victory, overlooking this river which has -flowed through two thousand years of German history. It has seen the -building-up of the German people, their industry, their genius, their -racial consciousness. It has been in the rhythm of their poetry and -has made the melody of their songs. On its banks lived the little -people of German fairy-tales, and the heroes of their legends. Now -there are English guns ready to fire across the water, and English, -French and American soldiers pacing this road along the Rhine, as -victors and guards of victory. What hurt to the pride of this people! -What a downfall! We must be glad of that because the German challenge -to the world was not to be endured by free peoples. That is true, and -nothing can ever alter its truth or make it seem false. I stand firm -by that faith. But I see also, what before I did not see, that many of -these Germans were but slaves of a system which they could not change, -and spellbound by old traditions, old watch-words, belonging to the -soul of their race, so that when they were spoken they had to offer -their lives in sacrifice. High power above them arranged their destiny, -and the manner and measure of their sacrifice, and they had no voice, -or strength, or knowledge, to protest--these German peasants, these -boys who fought, these women and children who suffered and starved. Now -it is they, the ignorant and the innocent, who must go on suffering, -paying in peace for what their rulers did in war. Men will say that is -the justice of God. I can see no loving God’s work in the starvation -of babes, nor in the weakening of women so that mothers have no milk. -I see only the cruelty of men. It is certain now that, having won the -war, we must be merciful in peace. We must relieve the Blockade, which -is still starving these people. We must not go out for vengeance but -rather to rescue. For this war has involved the civilian populations -of Europe and is not limited to armies. A treaty of peace will be with -Famine and Plague rather than with defeated generals and humiliated -diplomats. If we make a military peace, without regard to the agonies -of peoples, there will be a tragic price to pay by victors as well as -by vanquished. For the victors are weak too. Their strength was nearly -spent. They--except my people--were panting to the last gasp when their -enemy fell at last. They need a peace of reconciliation for their own -sakes, because no new frontiers may save them from sharing the ruin of -those they destroy, nor the disease of those they starve. America alone -comes out of the war strong and rich. For that reason we have the power -to shape the destiny of the human race, and to heal, as far as may be, -the wounds of the world. It is our chance in history. The most supreme -chance that any race has had since the beginning of the world. All -nations are looking to President Wilson to help them out of the abyss -and to make a peace which shall lead the people out of the dark jungle -of Europe. My God!... If Wilson will be noble and wise and strong, he -may alter the face of the world, and win such victory as no mortal -leader ever gained. If not--if not--there will be anguish unspeakable, -and a worse darkness, and a welter of anarchy out of whose madness -new wars will be bred, until civilisation drops back to savagery, or -disappears.... _I am afraid!_” - -He spoke those last words with a terrible thrill in his rather high, -harsh voice, and I, too, standing there in the darkness, by the -Rhine, had a sense of mighty powers at work with the destiny of many -peoples, and of risks and chances and hatreds and stupidities thwarting -the purpose of noble minds and humble hearts after this four years’ -massacre.... And I was afraid. - - - - -VI - - -Symptoms of restless impatience which had appeared almost as soon as -the signing of the Armistice began to grow with intensity among all -soldiers who had been long in the zone of war. Their patience, so -enduring through the bad years, broke at last. They wanted to go home, -desperately. They wanted to get back to civil life, in civil clothes. -With the Armistice all meaning had gone out of their khaki uniform, out -of military discipline, out of distinctions of rank, and out of the -whole system of their soldiers’ life. They had done the dirty job, they -had faced all its risks, and they had gained what glory there might be -in human courage. Now they desired to get back to their own people, and -their own places, and the old ways of life and liberty. - -They remembered the terms of their service--these amateurs who had -answered the call in early days. “For the duration of the war.” Well, -the war was finished. There was to be no more fighting--and the wife -wanted her man, and the mother her son. “Demobilisation” became the -word of hope, and many men were sullen at the delays which kept them in -exile and in servitude. The men sent deputations to their officers. The -officers pulled wires for themselves which tinkled little bells as far -away as the War Office, Whitehall, if they had a strong enough pull. -One by one, friends of mine slipped away after a word of farewell and a -cheerful grin. - -“Demobbed!... Back to civvies!... Home!” - -Harding was one of those who agonised for civil liberty, and release -from military restraint, and the reason of it lay in his pocket-book, -where there was the photograph of a pretty girl--his wife. - -We had become good friends, and he confided to me many things about -his state of mind with a simplicity and a sincerity which made me -like him. I never met a man more English in all his characteristics, -or more typical of the quality which belongs to our strength and our -weakness. As a Harrow boy, his manners were perfect, according to the -English code--quiet, unemotional, easy, unobtrusively thoughtful of -other people’s comfort in little things. According to the French Code, -he would have been considered cold, arrogant, conceited and stupid. -Certainly he had that touch of arrogance which is in all Englishmen -of the old tradition. All his education and environment had taught -him to believe that English civilisation--especially in the hunting -set--was perfect and supreme. He had a pity rather than contempt for -those unlucky enough to be born Frenchmen, Italians, or of any other -race. He was not stupid by nature--on the contrary, he had sound -judgment on matters within his range of knowledge and a rapid grasp of -detail, but his vision was shut in by those frontiers of thought which -limit public-school life in England and certain sets at Oxford who do -not break free, and do not wish to break free, from the conventional -formula of “good form,” which regulates every movement of their brain -as well as every action of their lives. It is, in its way, a noble -formula, and makes for aristocracy. My country, right or wrong; loyalty -to King and State; the divine right of the British race to rule -uncivilised peoples for their own good; the undoubted fact that an -English gentleman is the noblest work of God; the duties of “_noblesse -oblige_,” in courage, in sacrifice, in good manners, and in playing the -game, whatever the game may be, in a sporting spirit. - -When I was in Harding’s company I knew that it was ridiculous to -discuss any subject which lay beyond that formula. It was impossible -to suggest that England had ever been guilty of the slightest -injustice, a touch of greed, or a tinge of hypocrisy, or something -less than wisdom. To him that was just traitor’s talk. A plea for -the better understanding of Ireland, for a generous measure of -“self-determination” would have roused him to a hot outburst of anger. -The Irish to him were all treacherous, disloyal blackguards, and the -only remedy of the Irish problem was, he thought, martial law and -machine-gun demonstrations, stern and, if need be, terrible. I did not -argue with him, or chaff him as some of his comrades did, and, keeping -within the prescribed limits of conversation set by his code, we got on -together admirably. Once only in those days on the Rhine did Harding -show an emotion which would have been condemned by his code. It was -due, no doubt, to that nervous fever which made some wag change the -word “demobilisation” into “demoralisation.” - -He had a room in the Domhof Hotel, and invited me to drink a whiskey -with him there one evening. When I sat on the edge of the bed while he -dispensed the drink, I noticed on his dressing-table a large photograph -of a girl in evening dress--a wonderfully pretty girl, I thought. - -He caught my glance, and after a moment’s hesitation and a visible -blush, said: - -“My wife.... We were married before I came out, two years ago exactly.” - -He put his hand into the breast-pocket of his tunic and pulling out a -pocket-book, opened it with a snap, and showed me another photograph. - -“That’s a better one of her.” - -I congratulated him, but without listening to my words he asked me -rather awkwardly whether I could pull any strings for him to get -“demobbed.” - -“It’s all a question of ‘pull,’” he said, “and I’m not good at that -kind of thing. But I want to get home.” - -“Everybody does,” I said. - -“Yes, I know, and of course I want to play the game, and all that. But -the fact is, my wife--she’s only a kid, you know--is rather hipped with -my long absence. She’s been trying to keep herself merry and bright, -and all that, with the usual kind of war-work. You know--charity -bazaars, fancy-dress balls for the wounded, Red Cross work, and all -that. Very plucky, too. But the fact is, some of her letters lately -have been rather--well--rather below par,--you know--rather chippy and -all that. The fact is, old man, she’s been too much alone, and anything -you can do in the way of a pull at the War Office----” - -I told him bluntly that I had as much influence at the War Office as -the charwoman in Room M.I.8, or any other old room--not so much--and -he was damped, and apologised for troubling me. However, I promised to -write to the one High Bird with whom I had a slight acquaintance, and -this cheered him up considerably. - -I stayed chatting for some time--the usual small-talk--and it was -only when I said good-night that he broached another subject which -interested me a good deal. - -“I’m getting a bit worried about Wickham Brand,” he remarked in a -casual kind of way. - -“How’s that?” - -I gathered from Harding’s vague, disjointed sentences that Brand was -falling into the clutches of a German hussy. He had seen them together -at the Opera--they had met as if by accident--and one evening he had -seen them together down by the Rhine outside Cologne. He was bound -to admit the girl was remarkably good-looking, and that made her -all the more dangerous. He hated to mention this, as it seemed like -scandal-mongering about “one of the best,” but he was frightfully -disturbed by the thought that Brand, of all men, should fall a victim -to the wiles of a “lady Hun.” He knew Brand’s people at home--Sir Amyas -Brand, the Member of Parliament, and his mother, who was a daughter of -the Harringtons. They would be enormously “hipped” if Wickham were to -do anything foolish. It was only because he knew that I was Wickham’s -best chum that he told me these things, in the strictest confidence. -A word of warning from me might save old Brand from getting into a -horrible mess--“and all that.” - -I pooh-poohed Harding’s fears, but when I left him to go to my own -billet I pondered over his words, and knew that there was truth in them. - -There was no doubt to my mind that Brand was in love with Elsa von -Kreuzenach. At least, he was going through some queer emotional phase -connected with her entry into his life, and he was not happy about -it, though it excited him. The very day after Harding spoke to me on -the subject I was, involuntarily, a spy upon Brand and Fräulein Elsa -on a journey when we were fellow-travellers, though they were utterly -unaware of my presence. It was in one of the long electric trams which -go without a stop from Cologne to Bonn. I did not see Brand until -I had taken my seat in the small first-class smoking-car. Several -middle-class Germans were there, and I was wedged between two of them -in a corner. Brand and a girl whom I guessed to be Elsa von Kreuzenach -were on the opposite seat, but farthest away from me, and screened a -little by a German lady with a large feathered hat. If Brand had looked -round the compartment he would have seen me at once, and I waited to -nod to him, but never once did he glance my way, but turned slightly -sideways towards the girl, so that I only saw his profile. Her face was -in the same way turned a little to him, and I could see every shade -of expression which revealed her moods as she talked, and the varying -light in her eyes. She was certainly a pretty thing, exquisite, even, -in delicacy of colour and fineness of feature, with that “spun-gold” -hair of hers; though I thought (remembering Dr. Small’s words) that -she had a worn and fragile look which robbed her of the final touch of -beauty. For some time they exchanged only a few words now and then, -which I could not hear, and I was reading a book when I heard Brand say -in his clear, rather harsh voice: - -“Will your people be anxious about you?” - -The girl answered in a low voice. I glanced up and saw that she was -smiling, not at Brand, but at the countryside which seemed to travel -past us as the tram went on its way. It was the smile of a girl to whom -life meant something good just then. - -Brand spoke again. - -“I should hate to let your mother think that I have been disloyal to -her confidence. Don’t let this friendship of ours be spoilt by secrecy. -I am not afraid of it!” - -He laughed in a way that was strange to me. There was a note of joy -in it. It was a boy’s laugh, and Brand had gone beyond boyhood in the -war. I saw one or two of the Germans look up at him curiously, and then -stare at the girl, not in a friendly way. She was unconscious of their -gaze, though a wave of colour swept her face. For a second she laid her -hand on Brand’s brown fist, and it was a quick caress. - -“Our friendship is good!” she said. - -She spoke these words very softly, in almost a whisper, but I heard -them in spite of the rattle of the tramcar and the guttural argument -of two Germans next to me. Those were the only words I heard her say on -that journey to Bonn, and after that Brand talked very little, and then -only commonplace remarks about the time and the scenery. But what I had -heard was revealing, and I was disturbed, for Brand’s sake. - -His eyes met mine as I passed out of the car, but they were unseeing -eyes. He stared straight through me to some vision beyond. He gave -his hand to Elsa von Kreuzenach and they walked slowly up from -the station and then went inside the Cathedral. I had business in -Bonn with officers at our headquarters in the hotel, “Die Goldene -Stern.” Afterwards I had lunch with them, and then, with one, went to -Beethoven’s house--a little shrine in which the spirit of the master -still lives, with his old instruments, his manuscript sheets of music -and many relics of his life and work. - -It was at about four o’clock in the afternoon that I saw Brand and the -German girl again. There was a beautiful dusk in the gardens beyond the -University, with a ruddy glow through the trees when the sun went down, -and then a purple twilight. Some German boys were playing leap-frog -there, watched by British soldiers, and townsfolk passed on their way -home. I strolled the length of the gardens and at the end which is near -the old front of the University buildings I saw Brand and Elsa von -Kreuzenach together on a wooden seat. It was almost dark where they -sat under the trees, but I knew Brand by his figure and by the tilt of -his field-cap, and the girl by the white fur round her neck. They were -holding hands like lovers in a London park, and when I passed them I -heard Brand speak. - -“I suppose this was meant to be. Fate leads us....” - -When I went back to Cologne by tram that evening I wondered whether -Brand would confide his secret to me. We had been so much together -during the last phase of the war and had talked so much in intimate -friendship that I guessed he would come one day and let me know this -new adventure of his soul. - -Several weeks passed and he said no word of this, though we went for -walks together and sat smoking sometimes in cafés after dinner. It had -always been his habit to drop into deep silences, and now they lasted -longer than before. Now and then, however, he would be talkative, -argumentative, and passionate. At times there was a new light in -his eyes, as though lit by some inward fire. And he would smile -unconsciously as he blew out clouds of smoke, but more often he looked -worried, nervous, and irritable, as though passing through some new -mental crisis. - -He spoke a good deal about German psychology and the German point of -view, illustrating his remarks sometimes by references to conversations -with Franz von Kreuzenach, with whom he often talked. He had come -to the conclusion that it was quite hopeless to convince even the -broadest-minded Germans that they were guilty of the war. They -admitted freely enough that their military party had used the Serbian -assassination and Austrian fury as the fuel for starting the blaze -in Europe. Even then they believed that the Chancellor and the civil -Ministry of State had struggled for peace until the Russian movements -of troops put the military party into the saddle so that they might -ride to Hell. But in any case it was, Brand said, an unalterable -conviction of most Germans that sooner or later the war had been bound -to come, as they were surrounded by a ring of enemies conspiring to -thwart their free development and to overthrow their power. They -attacked first as a means of self-defence. It was an article of faith -with them that they had fought a defensive warfare from the start. - -“That is sheer lunacy!” I said. Brand laughed, and agreed. - -“Idiotic in the face of plain facts, but that only shows, how strong -is the belief of people in their own righteousness. I suppose even now -most English people think the Boer war was just and holy. Certainly -at the time we stoned all who thought otherwise. Yet the verdict of -the whole world was against us. They regarded that war as the brutal -aggression of a great Power upon a small and heroic people.” - -“But surely,” I said, “a man like Franz von Kreuzenach admits -the brutality of Germany in Belgium--the shooting of priests and -civilians--the forced labour of girls--the smashing of machinery--and -all the rest of it?” - -Brand said that Franz von Kreuzenach deplored the “severity” of German -acts, but blamed the code of war which justified such acts. It was not -his view that Germans had behaved with exceptional brutality, but that -war itself is a brutal way of argument. “‘We must abolish war,’ he -says, ‘not pretend to make it kind.’ As far as that goes, I agree with -him.” - -“How about poison gas, the _Lusitania_, the sinking of hospital ships, -submarine warfare?” - -Brand shrugged his shoulders. - -“The German answer is always the same. War is war, and they were -hard-pressed by our superiority in material, man-power and sea power. -We were starving them to death with our blockade. They saw their -children dying from disease, their old people carried to the grave, -their men weakened. They had to break through somehow, anyhow, to save -their race. I don’t think we should have stopped at much if England -had been ringed round with enemy ships and the kids were starving in -Mayfair and Maida Vale, and every town and hamlet.” - -He laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he lit his pipe for about -the fifteenth time. - -“Argument is no good,” he said. “I’ve argued into the early hours of -the morning with that fellow Franz von Kreuzenach, who is a fine fellow -and the whitest man I’ve met in Germany. Nothing will convince him -that his people were more guilty than ourselves. Perhaps he’s right. -History will decide. Now we must start afresh--wipe out the black past, -confess that though the Germans started the war we were all possessed -by the devil--and exorcise ourselves. I believe the German people are -ready to turn over a new leaf and start a fresh chapter of history, if -we will help them and give them a chance. They have an immense hope -that England and America will not push them over into the bottomless -abyss, now that they have fulfilled Wilson’s demand to get rid of their -old rulers and fall into line with the world’s democracy. If that -hope fails them they will fall back to the old philosophy of hatred -with vengeance as its goal--and the Damned Thing will happen again in -fifteen--twenty--thirty years.” - -Brand made one remark that evening which referred, I fancy, to his -love-affair with Elsa von Kreuzenach. - -“There is so much folly in the crowd that one despairs of reaching a -higher stage of civilisation. I am falling back on individualism. The -individual must follow his own ideals, strive for his own happiness, -find friendship and a little love where he can, and stand apart from -world problems, racial rivalries, international prejudices, as far as -he may without being drawn into the vortex. Nothing that he can do -will alter human destiny, or the forces of evolution, or the cycles of -history, which make all striving futile. Let him get out of the rain -and comfort himself with any human warmth he can find. Two souls in -contact are company enough.” - -“Sometimes,” I said, “mob passion tears them asunder and protests -against their union with stones or outlaw judgment. Taboo will -exist for ever in human society, and it is devilish unpleasant for -individuals who violate the rules.” - -“It needs courage,” said my friend. “The risk is sometimes worth -taking.” - - - - -VII - - -Brand decided to take the risk, and though he asked my advice -beforehand, as a matter of friendship, I knew my warnings were useless. -It was about a month after that tram journey to Bonn that he came into -my room at the Domhof, looking rather pale but with a kind of glitter -in his eyes. - -“I may as well tell you,” he said abruptly, “that I am going to marry a -German girl.” - -“Elsa von Kreuzenach?” - -“Yes. How did you know?” - -“Just a guess.” - -“It’s against her parents’ wish,” he said, “to say nothing of my -parents, who think I have gone mad. Elsa and I will have to play a lone -hand.” - -“‘Lone’ is not the word,” I suggested. “You are breaking that taboo -we talked of. You will be shunned by every friend you have in the -world--except one or two queer people like myself”--(Here he said, -“Thanks,” and grinned rather gratefully) “and both you and she will be -pariahs in England, Germany, and anywhere on the wide earth where there -are English, Germans, French, Americans and others who fought the war. -I suppose you know that?” - -“Perfectly,” he answered, gravely. - -I told him that I was amazed that he of all men should fall in love -with a German girl--he who had seen all the abomination of the war, -and had come out to it with a flaming idealism. To that he answered -savagely: - -“Flaming idealism be blowed! I came out with blood-lust in my heart, -and having killed until I was sick of killing--German boys who popped -their heads over the parapet--I saw that the whole scheme of things was -wrong, and that the grey men had no more power of escape than the brown -men. We had to go on killing each other because we were both under the -same law, thrust upon us by those directing the infernal machinery -of world-politics. But that’s not the point, and it’s old and stale, -anyhow.” - -“The point is,” I said, “that you will be looked upon as a traitor by -many of your best pals, that you will smash your father and mother, and -that this girl Elsa and you will be profoundly miserable.” - -“We shall be enormously and immensely happy,” he answered, “and that -outweighs everything.” - -He told me that he needed happiness. For more than four years he had -suffered agony of mind in the filth and mud of war. He craved for -beauty, and Elsa fulfilled his ideal. He had been a lonely devil, and -Elsa had offered him the only cure for the worst disease in life, -intimate and eternal love. - -Something prompted me to say words which I deeply regretted as soon as -they were spoken. It was the utterance of a subconscious thought. - -“There is a girl, not German, who might have cured your loneliness. You -and Eileen O’Connor would have made good mates.” - -For some reason he was hit rather hard by that remark. He became -exceedingly pale, and for a moment or two did not answer me. I thought -he would blurt out some angry reply, damning my impudence, but when he -spoke it was in a grave, gentle way which seemed to me more puzzling. - -“Eileen would make a fine wife for any man she liked. But she’s above -most of us.” - -We stayed up, talking, nearly all that night, and Wickham Brand -described one scene within his recent experiences which must have been -sensational. It was when he announced to the family von Kreuzenach that -he loved Elsa and desired her hand in marriage. - -Brand’s sense of humour came back to him when he told me of this -episode, and he laughed now at the frightfulness of his ordeal. It was -he who had insisted upon announcing the news to Elsa’s parents, to -avoid any charge of dishonesty. Elsa herself was in favour of hiding -their love until Peace was declared, when perhaps the passionate -hostility of her parents to England might be abated. For Brand’s sake -also she thought it would be better. But she yielded to his argument -that secrecy might spoil the beauty of their friendship, and give it an -ugly taint. - -“We’ll go through with it straight from the start,” he had cried. - -Elsa’s answer was quick and glad. - -“I have no fear now of anything in the world except the loss of you!” - -Franz von Kreuzenach was the first to know, and Elsa told him. He -seemed stunned with surprise, and then immensely glad, as he took his -sister in his arms and kissed her. - -“Your marriage with an English officer,” he said, “will be the symbol -of reconciliation between England and Germany.” - -After that he remembered his father and mother, and was a coward at the -thought of their hostility. The idea of telling his father, as Elsa -asked him to do, put him into what Brand called “the bluest of blue -funk.” He had the German reverence for parental authority and though -he went as far as the door-handle of his father’s study, he retreated, -and said in a boyish way, speaking in English, as usual, with Brand and -his sister: - -“I haven’t the pluck! I would rather face shell-fire than my father’s -wrath.” - -It was Brand who “went over the top.” - -He made his announcement formally, in the drawing-room after dinner, in -the curiously casual way which proved him a true Englishman. He cleared -his throat (he told me, grinning at his own mannerism), and during a -gap in the conversation said to the General: - -“By the way, sir, I have something rather special to mention to-night.” - -“_Bitte?_” said the old General, with his hard, deliberate courtesy. - -“Your daughter and I,” said Brand, “wish to be married as soon as -possible. I have the honour to ask your consent.” - -Brand told me of the awful silence which followed his statement. It -seemed interminable. Franz von Kreuzenach, who was present, was as -white as though he had been condemned to death by court-martial. Elsa -was speechless, but came over to Brand’s side and held his hand. Her -mother had the appearance of a lady startled by the sudden appearance -of a poisonous snake. The General sat back in his chair, grasping its -arms and gasping for breath as though Brand had hit him in the stomach. - -It was the mother who spoke first, and ignoring Brand completely, she -addressed her daughter harshly. - -“You are mad, Elsa!” - -“Yes, Mother,” said the girl. “I am mad with joy.” - -“This English officer insults us intolerably,” said the mother, still -ignoring Brand by any glance. “We were forced to receive him into our -house. At least he might have behaved with decency and respect.” - -“Mother,” said Elsa, “this gentleman has given me the great honour of -his love.” - -“To accept it,” said the lady, “would be a dishonour so dreadful for a -good German girl that I refuse to believe it possible.” - -“It is true, Mother, and I am wonderfully happy.” - -Elsa went over to her mother, sinking down on her knees, and kissing -the lady’s hand. But Frau von Kreuzenach withdrew her hand quickly, and -then rose from her chair and stood behind her husband, with one hand on -his shoulder. - -The old man had found his means of speech at last. - -He spoke in a low, stern voice to his daughter. Brand was ignored by -him as by the mother. They did not recognise his presence. - -“My daughter,” he said (if Brand remembered his words), “the German -people have been brought to ruin and humiliated by one nation in Europe -who was jealous of our power and genius. That nation was England, our -treacherous, hypocritical enemy. Without England, France would have -been smashed. Without England our Emperor would have prevailed over -all his enemies. Without the English blockade we should not have been -weakened by hunger, deprived of the raw material necessary to victory, -starved so that our children died, and our will to win was sapped. -They were English soldiers who killed my dear son Heinrich, and your -brother. The flower of German manhood was slain by the English in -Flanders and on the Somme.” - -The General spoke very quietly, with an intensity of effort to be calm. -But suddenly his voice rose, said Brand, to a kind of harsh shout. - -“Any German girl who permits herself to love an Englishman is a -traitorous hussy. I would have her stripped and flogged. The curse of -our old German God shall follow her.” - -Another silence, in which there was no sound except the noisy breathing -of the old man, was broken by the hard voice of Frau von Kreuzenach. - -“Your father has spoken, Elsa. There is no more to say.” - -Elsa had become very pale, but she was smiling at Brand, he told me, -and still held his hand in a tight grip. - -“There is something more to say, my dear father and mother,” she -answered. “It is that I love Captain Brand, and that I will follow him -anywhere in the world if he will take me. For love is stronger than -hate, and above all nationality.” - -It was Franz von Kreuzenach who spoke now. He was standing at the -table, facing his father, and it was to his father that he talked. He -said that Elsa was right about love. In spite of the war, the souls of -men and women were not separated by racial boundaries. When two souls -touched and mingled, no hatred of peoples, no patriotic passion, could -intervene. Elsa’s love for an English gentleman was but a symbol of -the peace that was coming, when all countries would be united in a -Society of Nations with equal rights and equal duties, and a common -brotherhood. They saw in the streets of Cologne that there was no -natural, inevitable hatred between English and Germans. The Army of -Occupation had proved itself to be an instrument of good will between -those who had tried to kill each other for four years of slaughter. -Captain Brand had behaved with the most charming courtesy and chivalry, -according to the traditions of an English gentleman, and he, Franz von -Kreuzenach, was glad and honoured because this officer desired to take -Elsa for his wife. Their marriage would be a consecration of the new -peace. - -The father listened to him silently, except for that hard noise of -breathing. When his son uttered those last words, the old man leaned -forward in his chair, and his eyes glittered. - -“Get out of my house, _Schweinhund_! Do not come near me again, or I -will denounce you as a traitor, and shoot you like a dog.” - -He turned to Elsa with outstretched hand. - -“Go up to bed, girl. If you were younger I would flog you with my -hunting-whip.” - -For the first time he spoke to Brand, controlling his rage with a -convulsive effort. - -“I have not the power to evict you from the house. For the time being -the German people of the Rhineland are under hostile orders. Perhaps -you will find another billet more to your convenience, and more -agreeable to myself.” - -“To-night, sir,” said Brand, and he told me that he admired the old -man’s self-control and his studied dignity. - -Elsa still clasped his hand, and before her family he kissed her. - -“With your leave, or without leave,” he said, “your daughter and I will -be man and wife, for you have no right to stand between our love.” - -He bowed and left the room, and in an hour, the house. - -Franz von Kreuzenach came into his room before he left, and wrung his -hand. - -“I must go, too,” he said. “My father is very much enraged with me. It -is the break between the young and the old--the new conflict, as we -were saying, one day.” - -He was near weeping, and Brand apologised for being the cause of so -much trouble. - -In the hall Elsa came to Brand, as the orderly carried out his bags. - -“To-morrow,” she said, “we will meet at Elizabeth von Detmold’s--my -true friend.” - -Her eyes were wet with tears, but she was smiling, and there was, said -Brand, a fine courage shining in her face. - -She put her hands on Brand’s shoulders, and kissed him, to the deep -astonishment and embarrassment of the orderly, who stood by. It was -from this man, Brock, that the news of Brand’s “entanglement” spread, -through other orderlies, to officers of his mess, as he knew by the -cold shoulder that some of them turned to him. - - - - -VIII - - -I met Elsa and Franz von Kreuzenach at the house of Elizabeth von -Detmold in the Hohenzollern ring, which became a meeting-place for -Brand and the girl to whom he was now betrothed. Dr. Small and I -went round there to tea, at Brand’s invitation, and I spent several -evenings there, owing to the friendship of Elizabeth von Detmold, who -seemed to like my company. That lady was in many ways remarkable, and -I am bound to say that in spite of my repugnance to many qualities -of the German character I found her charming. The tragedy of the -war had hit her with an almost particular malignancy. Married in -1914 to a young officer of the Prussian Guard, she was widowed at -the first battle of Ypres. Her three brothers had been killed in -1915, ’16 and ’17. Both her parents had died during the war, owing -to its accumulating horror. At twenty-six years of age she was left -alone in her big house, with hardly enough money for its upkeep, and -not enough to supplement the rigid war rations which were barely -sufficient for life. I suppose there were thousands of young women in -Germany--hundreds of thousands--who had the same cause for sorrow (we -do not realise how German families were massacred in that blood-bath -of war, so that even French and British losses pale in tragedy before -their piled dead), but there were few, I am sure, who faced their -grief with such high courage, and such unembittered charity. Like -Elsa von Kreuzenach, she devoted her days to suffering childhood in -the _crèches_ and feeding-centres which she had helped to organise, -and she spent many of her evenings in working-women’s clubs, and -sometimes in working-men’s clubs, where she read and lectured to them -on social problems. The war had made her an ardent Pacifist, and to -some extent a revolutionary of the Liebknecht school. She saw no hope -for civilisation so long as the Junker caste remained in Europe, and -the philosophy of militarism, which she believed stood fast not only -in Germany but in France and England, and other nations. She had a -passionate belief, like many other German people at that time, in -President Wilson and his League of Nations, and put all her hopes in -the United States as the one power in the world who could make a peace -of reconciliation and establish a new brotherhood of peoples. After -that she looked to a social revolution throughout the world by which -the working-classes should obtain full control of their own destiny and -labour. - -I found it strange to hear that patrician girl, for she was one of the -aristocratic caste, with an elegance that came from long breeding, -adopting the extreme views of revolutionary socialism, not as a pretty -intellectual theory but with a passionate courage that might lead her -to prison or to death in the conflict between the old powers and the -new. - -To Elsa von Kreuzenach she behaved in a protective and mothering way, -and it seemed to me that “Brand’s girl,” as Dr. Small called her, -was the spiritual child of this stronger and more vital character. -Elsa was, I fancy, timid of those political and pacifist ideas which -Elizabeth von Detmold stated with such frank audacity. She cherished -the spirit of the human charity which gave them their motive power, -but shrank from the thought of the social strife and change which -must precede them. Yet there was nothing doll-like in her character. -There were moments when I saw her face illumined by a kind of mediæval -mysticism which was the light of a spirit revealed perhaps by the -physical casket which held it, insecurely. Truly she was as pretty and -delicate as a piece of Dresden china, but for Brand’s sake I did not -like the fragile look which hinted at a quick fading of her flower-like -beauty. Her adoration for Brand was, in my opinion, rather pitiful. -It was very German, too, in its meek reverence, as of a mediæval maid -to knighthood. I prefer the way of French womanhood, convinced of -intellectual equality with men, and with their abiding sense of humour; -or the arrogance of the English girl, who makes her lover prove his -mettle by quiet obedience. Elsa followed Brand with her eyes wherever -he moved, touched his hard, tanned hand with little secret caresses, -and whenever he spoke her eyes shone with gladness at the sound of his -voice. I liked her better when she was talking to our little doctor or -to myself, and therefore not absorbed in sentiment. At these times she -was frank and vivacious, and, indeed, had an English way with her which -no doubt she had learnt in her Brighton school. - -Brand interested me intensely at these times. Sometimes I found myself -doubting whether he was really so much in love with his German girl -as he imagined himself to be. I noticed that he was embarrassed by -Elsa’s public demonstrations of love--that way she had of touching his -hand, and another trick of leaning her head against his shoulder. As -a typical Englishman, in some parts of his brain, at least, he shrank -from exposing his affection. It seemed to me also that he was more -interested in political and psychological problems than in the by-play -of love’s glances and revealings. He argued long and deeply with -Elizabeth von Detmold on the philosophy of Karl Marx, the anarchist -movement in Berlin, and on the possibility of a Rhineland Republic -which was then being advocated by a party in Cologne and Mainz whose -watchword was “_Los von Berlin!_” and freedom from Prussian domination -for the Rhine provinces. Even with Elsa he led the conversation to -discussions about German mentality, the system of German education, and -the possible terms of peace. Twice, at least, when I was present he -differed with her rather bluntly--a little brutally I thought--about -the German administration of Belgium. - -“Our people did no more than was allowed by the necessities of war,” -said Elsa. “It was stern and tragic, but not more barbarous than what -other nations would have done.” - -“It was horrible, bloody, and unjustified,” said Brand. - -“All war,” said Elizabeth von Detmold, “is bloody and unjustified. -Directly war is declared the moral law is abrogated. It is simply the -reign of devildom. Why pretend otherwise--or weaken the devilish logic -by a few inconsistencies of sentiment?” - -Brand’s answer to Elsa was not exactly lover-like. I saw the colour -fade from her face at the harshness of his answer, but she leaned her -head against his body (she was sitting by his side on a low stool), and -was silent until her friend Elizabeth had spoken. Then she laughed, -bravely, I thought. - -“We differ in expression, but we all agree. What Wickham thinks is my -thought. I hate to remember how Belgium suffered.” - -Brand was utterly unconscious of his harsh way of speech and of his -unconcealed acknowledgment of Elizabeth von Detmold’s intellectual -superiority in her own drawing-room, so that when she spoke his -interest was directed from Elsa to this lady. - -“Daddy” Small was also immensely impressed by Frau von Detmold’s -character, and he confessed to me that he made notes of her -conversation every time he left her house. - -“That woman,” he said, “will probably be a martyr for civilisation. I -find myself so cussedly in agreement with her that when I go back to -New York I shall probably hang a Red Flag out of my window and lose all -my respectable patients. She has the vision of the future.” - -“What about Brand and Elsa?” I asked, dragging him down to -personalities. - -He put his arm through mine as we walked down the Hohestrasse. - -“Brand,” he said in his shrewd way, “is combining martyrdom with -romance--an unsafe combination. The pretty Elsa has lighted up his -romantic heart because of her adoration and her feminine sentiment. I -don’t blame him. At his age--after four years of war and exile--her -golden-spun hair would have woven a web round my heart. Youth is youth, -and don’t you forget it, my lad.” - -“Where does the martyrdom come in?” I asked. - -The little doctor blinked through his horn spectacles. - -“Don’t you see it? Brand has been working out new ideals of life. After -killing a good many German boys, as sniper and Chief Assassin of the -11th Corps, he wants to marry a German girl as a proclamation to the -world that he--Wickham Brand--has done with hatred and is out for the -brotherhood of man, and the breaking-down of the old frontiers. For -that ideal he is going to sacrifice his reputation, and make a martyr -of himself--not forgetting that romance is pleasant and Elsa von -Kreuzenach as pretty as a peach! Bless his heart, I admire his courage -and his boyishness.” - -Any doubt I had about the reality of Brand’s passion for Elsa was at -least partly dispelled when he told me, a few nights later, of a tragic -thing that had happened to both of them. - -He came into my room at the Domhof as though he had just seen a ghost. -And indeed it was a ghost that had frightened him and put a cold hand -between him and Elsa. - -“My dear old man!” I cried at the sight of him. “What on earth has -happened?” - -“A damnable and inconceivable thing!” - -I poured him out some brandy and he drank it in gulps. Then he did a -strange and startling thing. Fumbling in his breast-pocket he pulled -out a silver cigarette-case and going over to the fireplace dropped it -into the blaze of the wood logs which I had had lighted because of the -dampness of the room. - -“Why do you do that?” I asked. - -He watched the metal box blacken, and then begin to melt. Several times -he poked it so as to get it deeper into the red embers. - -“My poor little Elsa!” he said in a pitiful way. “_Mein hübsches -Mädel!_” - -The story he told me later was astounding. Even now to people who were -not in the war, who do not know many strange, fantastic things happened -in that wild nightmare, it will seem improbable and untrue. Indeed, I -think the central fact was untrue, except as a subjective reality in -the minds of Brand and Elsa. - -It happened when they were sitting alone in Elizabeth von Detmold’s -drawing-room. I fancy they must have been embracing each other, -though Brand did not tell me that. Anyhow, Elsa put her hand into his -breast-pocket and in a playful way pulled out his cigarette-case. - -“May I open it?” she asked. - -But she did not open it. She stared at a little monogram on its cover, -and then began to tremble so that Brand was scared. - -“What is the matter?” he said. - -Elsa let the cigarette-case drop on to the carpet. - -“That box!” she said in an agonised voice. “Where did you find it?” - -Brand remembered where he had found it, though he had not given a -thought to it for more than two years. He had found it on a night in -No Man’s Land out by the Bois Français, near Fricourt. He had been -lying out there on the lip of a mine-crater below a hummock of white -chalk. Just before dawn a German patrol had crept out and he had shot -at them. One man dropped quite close to where Brand lay. After an hour, -when dawn came with a thick white mist rising from the moist earth, -Brand crawled over to the body and cut off its shoulder-straps for -identification. It was the body of a young man, almost a boy, and Brand -saw, with a thrill of satisfaction (it was his “tiger” time), that -he had shot him clean through the heart. A good shot in the twilight -of the dawn! He thrust his hands into the man’s pockets for papers, -and found his pay-book and some letters, and a cigarette-case. With -these he crawled back into his own trench. He remembered reading the -letters. One was from the boy’s sister lamenting the length of the -war, describing the growing hunger of civilians in Germany and saying -how she prayed every night for her brother’s safety, and for peace. -He had read thousands of German letters, as an Intelligence officer -afterwards, but he remembered those because of the night’s adventure. -He had handed them over to the adjutant, for headquarters, and had -kept the cigarette-case, having lost his own. It had the monogram of -H. v. K. He had never thought about it from that time to this. Now he -thought about it with an intensity of remembrance. - -Brand told Elsa von Kreuzenach that he had found the box in No Man’s -Land. - -“It is my brother Heinrich’s,” she cried. “I gave it to him.” - -She drew back, shivering, from the cigarette-case--or was it from -Brand? When she spoke next it was in a whisper. - -“Did you kill him?” - -Brand lied to her, and she knew he was lying. She wept bitterly and -when Brand kissed her she was cold, and fainted in his arms. - -That was Brand’s story, and it was incredible. Even now I cannot help -thinking that such a coincidence could not have happened. There is -plenty of room for doubt about that cigarette-case. It was of a usual -pattern, plain, with a wreath engraved round a monogram. That monogram -H. v. K. was astonishing in relation to Elsa von Kreuzenach, but there -are thousands of Germans, I imagine, with the same initials. I know -two, Hermann von Kranitz and Hans von Kurtheim. In a German directory -I have found many other names with those initials. I refuse to believe -that Brand should have gone straight to the house of that boy whom he -had killed in No Man’s Land. - -He believed it, and Elsa was sure of it. That was the tragedy, and the -ghost of the girl’s dead brother stood between them now. - -For an hour or more, he paced up and down my room in an agony of mind, -and none of my arguments would convince him or comfort him. - -Several times he spoke one sentence which puzzled me. - -“It makes no difference,” he said. “It makes no difference.” - -I think he meant that it made no difference to his love or purpose. -When one thinks over this incident one is inclined to agree with that -view. He was no more guilty in killing Elsa’s brother, if he did, than -in killing any other German. If their love were strong enough to cross -over fields of dead, the fact that Elsa’s brother lay there, shot by -Brand’s bullet, made, as he said, “no difference.” It only brought home -more closely to two poor individuals the meaning of that world-tragedy. - -Elsa, after her first shock of horror, argued that too, and at the -beginning of March Brand and she stood at the altar together, in a -church at the end of the Hohenzollern ring, and were made man and wife. - -At the ceremony there were present Elizabeth von Detmold, Franz von -Kreuzenach, Dr. Small, and myself as Brand’s best man. There was, I -think, another presence there, visible only to the minds of Brand and -Elsa, and, strangely enough, to mine. As the bride and bridegroom stood -together before the priest I had a most uncomfortable vision of the -dead body of a German boy lying on the altar beyond them, huddled up as -I had seen many grey figures in the mud of Flanders and Picardy. This -idea was, of course, due to that war-neurosis which, as Dr. Small said, -was the malady of the world. I think at one moment of the service Elsa -and Brand felt some cold touch upon them, for they both looked round in -a startled way. It may have been a draught stealing through the aisle. - -We had tea at Elizabeth von Detmold’s house, and Brand and his wife -were wonderfully self-controlled. They could not be happy beyond the -sense of a spiritual union, because Brand had been ordered by telegram -to report at the War Office in London, and was leaving Cologne at four -o’clock that afternoon, while Elsa was going home to her parents, who -were ignorant of her marriage. Brand’s recall, I am convinced, had -been engineered by his father, who was determined to take any step to -prevent his son’s marriage with a German girl. - -Young Harding was going with him, having been given his demobilisation -papers, and being desperately anxious, as I have told, to get home. It -was curious that Brand should be his fellow-traveller that night, and -I thought of the contrast of their journey, one man going to his wife -with eager gladness, the other man leaving his wife after a few hours -of marriage. - -At the end, poor Elsa clung to her husband with most passionate grief -and, without any self-consciousness now, because of the depth of his -emotion, Brand, with tears in his eyes, tenderly embraced her. She -walked back bravely, with her brother, to her mother’s house, while -Brand and I raced to the station, where his orderly was waiting with -his kit. - -“See you again soon,” said Brand, gripping my hand. - -“Where?” I asked, and he answered gloomily: - -“God knows.” - -It was not on the Rhine. There was a general exodus of all officers -who could get “demobbed” on any claim or pretext, the small Army of -Occupation settled down to a routine life, without adventure, and the -world’s interest shifted to Paris, where the fate of Europe was being -settled by a company of men with the greatest chance in history. I -became a wanderer in a sick world. - - - - -BOOK THREE: BUILDERS OF PEACE - - - - -BOOK THREE: BUILDERS OF PEACE - - - - -I - - -Those of us who had been in exile during the years of war and now -returned to peace found that England had changed in our absence. We -did not know this new England. We did not understand its spirit or -its people. Nor did they understand the men who came back from the -many fronts of war, by hundreds of thousands, now that demobilisation -had become a spate after murmurings that were loud with the menace of -revolt from men who had been long patient. - -These “_revenants_,” the men who came back out of the Terror, were -so many Rip van Winkles (of a youthful kind), looking round for the -companions of their boyhood, going to old places, touching old stones, -sitting by the same fireside, but with a sense of ghostliness. A new -generation had arrived since 1914. The children had become boys and -girls, the girls had grown into womanhood precociously. There were -legions of “flappers” in London and other big cities, earning good -wages in Government offices and factories, spending most of their money -on the adornment of their prettiness, self-reliant, audacious, out for -the fun of life, and finding it. The tragedy of the war had not touched -them. It had been a great “lark” to them. They accepted the slaughter -of their brothers or their fathers light-heartedly, after a few bursts -of tears and a period of sentiment in which pride was strongest. -They had grown up to the belief that a soldier is generally killed or -wounded and that he is glad to take the risk, or, if not, ought to -be, as part of the most exciting and enjoyable game of war. Women had -filled many of the jobs which formerly were the exclusive possession of -men, and the men coming back looked at these legions of women clerks, -tram-conductors, ticket-collectors, munition-workers, plough-girls, and -motor-drivers with the brooding thought that they, the men, had been -ousted from their places. A new class had arisen out of the whirlpool -of social upheaval. The Profiteers, in a large way of business, had -prospered exceedingly out of the supply and demand of massacre. The -Profiteer’s wife clothed herself in furs and jewels. The Profiteer’s -daughters were dancing by night and sleeping by day. The farmers and -the shop-keepers had made a good thing out of war. They liked war, so -long as they were untouched by air-raids or not afflicted by boys who -came back blind or crippled. They had always been Optimists. They were -Optimists now, and claimed a share in the merit of the Victory that had -been won by the glorious watchword of “business as usual.” They hoped -the terms of peace would be merciless upon the enemy, and they demanded -the Kaiser’s head as a pleasant sacrifice, adding spice to the great -banquet of Victory celebrations. - -Outwardly England was gay and prosperous and light-spirited. It was -only by getting away from the seething crowds in the streets, from the -dancing crowds and the theatre crowds, and the shopping crowds, that -men came face to face with private and hidden tragedy. In small houses, -or big, there were women who had lost their men and were listless -and joyless, the mothers of only sons who did not come back with the -demobilised tide, and the sweethearts of boys who would never fulfil -the promise that had given hope in life to lonely girlhood. There was -a New Rich, but there was also a New Poor, and people on small fixed -incomes or with little nest-eggs of capital, on which they scraped out -life, found themselves reduced to desperate straits by the soaring of -prices and the burden of taxation. Underneath the surface joy of a -victorious people there was bitterness to which Victory was a mockery, -and a haggard grief at the cost of war in precious blood. But the -bitterness smouldered without any flame of passion, and grief nagged at -people’s hearts silently. - -Many of the men who came back were in a strange mood: restless, morbid, -neurotic. Their own people did not understand them. They could not -understand themselves. They had hated war, most of them, but this -peace seemed flat and unprofitable to their souls. All purpose and -meaning seemed suddenly to have gone out of life. Perhaps it was the -narrowness of English home-life. Men who had travelled to far places -of the world, who had seen the ways of foreign people, and had been -part of a great drama, found themselves back again in a little house -closed in and isolated by the traditions of English individualism, so -that often the next-door neighbour is a stranger. They had a sense of -being suffocated. They could not stay indoors with the old pleasure in -a pipe, or a book by the fireside, or a chat with mother or wife. Often -they would wander out on the chance of meeting some of the “old pals,” -or after a heavy sigh say, “Oh, God!... let’s go to a theatre or a -‘movie’ show!” The theatres were crammed with men seeking distraction, -yet bored with their pleasures and relapsing into a deeper moodiness -afterwards. Wives complained that their husbands had “changed.” Their -characters had hardened and their tempers were frayed so that they were -strangely irritable, and given to storms of rage about nothing at -all. It was frightening.... There was an epidemic of violence and of -horrible sensual crimes with women-victims, ending often in suicide. -There were mob riots by demobilised soldiers, or soldiers still waiting -in camps for demobilisation. Police-stations were stormed and wrecked -and policemen killed by bodies of men who had been heroes in the war -and now fought like savages against their fellow-citizens. Some of -them pleaded guilty in court and made queer statements about an utter -ignorance of their own actions after the disorder had begun. It seemed -as though they had returned to the psychology of that war when men, -doped with rum, or drunk with excitement, had leapt over the parapet -and remembered nothing more of a battle until they found themselves -panting in an enemy trench, or lying wounded on a stretcher. It was a -dangerous kind of psychology in civil life. - -Labourers back at work in factories or mines or railway-stations -or dock-yards, after months or years of the soldier-life, did not -return to their old conditions or their old pay with diligence and -thankfulness. They demanded higher wages to meet the higher cost of -life, and after that a margin for pleasure, and after that shorter -hours for higher pay, and less work in shorter hours. If their demands -were not granted they downed tools and said, “What about it?” Strikes -became frequent and general, and at a time when the cost of war -was being added up to frightful totals of debt which could only be -reduced by immense production, the worker slacked off, or suspended -his labours, and said, “Who gets the profits of my sweat?... I want -a larger share.” He was not frightened of a spectre that was scaring -all people of property and morality in the Western world. The spectre -of Bolshevism, red-eyed, dripping with blood, proclaiming anarchy as -the new gospel, did not cause a shiver to the English working-man. He -said, “What has Russia to do with me? I’m English. I have fought this -war to save England, I have done the job; now then, where’s my reward?” - -Men who looked round for a living while they lived on an unemployment -dole that was not good enough for their new desires, became sullen -when they returned home night after night with the same old story of -“Nothing doing.” The women were still clinging to their jobs. They -had earned their independence by good work in war-time. They hated -the thought of going back to little homes to be household drudges, -dependent for pocket-money on father and brothers. They had not only -tasted liberty. They had made themselves free of the large world. They -had proved their quality and strength. They were as good as men, and -mostly better. Why should they slink back to the little narrow rut of -life? But the men said, “Get out. Give us back our jobs.” - -It was hard on the officer boys--hardest of all on them. They had gone -straight from school to the war, and had commanded men twice as old as -themselves, and drawn good pay for pocket-money as first lieutenants, -captains, even majors of air-squadrons and tank battalions. They had -gained immense experience in the arts and crafts of war, and that -experience was utterly useless in peace. - -“My dear young man,” said the heads of prosperous businesses who had -been out to “beat the Boche,” even though they sacrificed their only -sons, or all their sons (with heroic courage!). “You have been wasting -your time. You have no qualifications whatever for a junior clerkship -in this office. On the contrary, you have probably contracted habits -of idleness and inaccuracy which would cause a lot of trouble. This -vacancy is being filled by a lad who has not been vitiated by military -life, and has nothing to unlearn. Good morning!” - -And the young officers, after a statement like that, went home with -swear-words learnt in Flanders, and said, “That’s the reward of -patriotism, eh? Well, we seem to have been fooled, pretty badly. Next -time we shan’t be so keen to strew the fields of death with our fresh -little corpses.” - -These words, all this murmur from below, did not reach those who sat in -High Places. They were wonderfully complacent, except when outbreaks -of violence, or the cessation of labour, shocked them with a sense of -danger. They arranged Peace celebrations before the Peace, Victory -marches when the fruits of Victory were as bitter as Dead Sea fruit in -the mouths of those who saw the ruin of the world; and round a Council -Table in Paris statesmen of Europe abandoned all the ideals for which -the war had been fought by humble men, and killed the hopes of all -those who had looked to them as the founders of a new era of humanity -and commonsense. - - - - -II - - -It was when the Peace Treaty had been signed but not ratified by the -representatives of Germany and Austria that I met some of the friends -with whom I had travelled along many roads of war or had met in scenes -which already seemed far back in history. In London, after a journey -to America, I came again in touch with young Harding, whom I had seen -last on his way home to his pretty wife, who had fretted at his long -absence, and Charles Fortune, whose sense of humour had made me laugh -so often in the time of tragedy. Those were chance meetings in the -eddies of the great whirlpool of London life, as I saw other faces, -strange for a moment or two, until the difference between a field-cap -and a bowler hat, a uniform and civil clothes, was wiped out by a look -of recognition, and the sound of a remembered voice. - -Not by chance but by a friendship which had followed me across the -world with written words, I found myself once more in the company of -Wickham Brand, and with him went again to spend some evenings with -Eileen O’Connor, who was now home in Kensington, after that grim drama -which she had played so long in Lille. - -With “Daddy” Small I had been linked up by a lucky chain of -coincidences which had taken us both to New York at the same time and -brought us back to Europe on the same boat, which was the White Star -liner _Lapland_. - -My chance meeting with Harding led to a renewal of friendship which was -more of his seeking than mine, though I liked him a good deal. But he -seemed to need me, craving sympathy which I gave with sincerity, and -companionship, which I could not give so easily, being a busy man. - -It was on the night when London went mad, because of Peace, though not -so mad, I was told, as on the night of Armistice. It all seemed mad to -me when I was carried like a straw in a raging torrent of life which -poured down the Strand, swirled round Trafalgar Square, and choked -all channels westwards and eastwards of Piccadilly Circus. The spirit -of London had broken bounds. It came wildly from mean streets in the -slum quarters to the heart of the West End. The worst elements had -surged up and mingled with the middle-class folk and those who claim -exclusiveness by the power of wealth. In ignorance that all barriers -of caste were to be broken that night, “society” women, as they are -called, rather insolent in their public display of white shoulders, and -diamonds, and furs, set out in motor-cars for hotels and restaurants -which had arranged Peace dinners, and Peace dances. Some of them, -I saw, were unaccompanied by their own men, whom they were to meet -later, but the vacant seats in their open cars were quickly filled by -soldiers, seamen, or merry devils in civil clothes who climbed over the -backs of the cars when they were brought to a standstill in the crush -of vast crowds. Those uninvited guests, some of them wearing women’s -bonnets, most of them fluttering with flags pinned to their coats, all -of them provided with noise-making instruments, behaved with ironical -humour to the pretty ladies, touched their coiled hair with “ticklers,” -blew loud blasts on their toy trumpets, delivered cockney orations to -them for the enjoyment of the crowds below. Some of the pretty ladies -accepted the situation with courage and good-humour, laughing with -shrill mirth at their grotesque companions. Others were frightened, -and angry. I saw one girl try to beat off the hands of men clambering -about her car. They swarmed into it and paid no heed to her cries of -protest.... - -All the flappers were out in the Strand, and in Trafalgar Square, and -many streets. They were factory-girls, shop-girls, office-girls, and -their eyes were alight with adventure and a pagan ecstasy. Men teased -them as they passed with the long “ticklers,” and they, armed with -the same weapon, fought duels with these aggressors, and then fled, -and were pursued into the darkness of side-streets, where they were -caught and kissed. Soldiers in uniform, English, Scots, Canadians, -Australians, came lurching along in gangs, arm-in-arm, then mingled -with the girls, changed head-gear with them, struggled and danced and -stampeded with them. Seamen, three sheets in the wind, steered an -uneven course through this turbulent sea of life, roaring out choruses, -until each man had found a maid for the dance of joy. - -London was a dark forest with nymphs and satyrs at play in the glades -and Pan stamping his hoofs like a giddy goat. All the passions let -loose by war, the breaking-down of old restraints, the gladness of -youth at escape from death, provided the motive-power, unconscious and -primitive, behind this Carnival of the London crowds. - -From some church a procession came into Trafalgar Square, trying -to make a pathway through the multitude. A golden Cross was raised -high and clergymen in surplices, with acolytes and faithful women, -came chanting solemn words. The crowd closed about them. A mirthful -sailor teased the singing women with his tickler. Loud guffaws, shrill -laughter, were in the wake of the procession, though some men stood -to attention as the Cross passed, and others bared their heads and -something hushed the pagan riot a moment. - -At the windows in Pall Mall men in evening clothes who had been -officers in the world-war, sat by the pretty women who had driven -through the crowds, looking out on the noisy pageant of the street. A -piano-organ was playing, and two young soldiers danced with ridiculous -grace, imitating the elegance and languorous ecstasy of society -dancers. One of them wore a woman’s hat and skirt and was wonderfully -comic. - -I stood watching them, a little stupefied by all the noise and tumult -of this “Peace” night, and with a sense of tragic irony, remembering -millions of boys who lay dead in quiet fields and the agony of many -peoples in Europe. It was then that I saw young Harding. He was sitting -in his club window just above the dancing soldiers, and looking out -with a grave and rather woebegone face, remarkable in contrast with -the laughing faces of fellow-clubmen and their women. I recognised him -after a moment’s query in my mind, and said, “Hulloa, Harding!” - -He stared at me and I saw the sudden dawning of remembrance. - -“Come in,” he answered. “I had no idea you were back again!” - -So I went into his club and sat by his side at the open window, glad of -this retreat from the pressure and tumult of the mob below. - -He talked conventionally for a little while, and asked me whether I -had had “a good time” in the States, and whether I was busy, and why -the Americans seemed so hostile to President Wilson. I understood from -him that he approved of the Peace Treaty and was glad that Germany and -Austria had been “wiped off the map” as far as it was humanly possible. - -We chatted like that for what I suppose was something more than -half-an-hour, while we looked out upon the seething multitude in the -street below, when suddenly the boy’s mask fell from him, so abruptly, -and with such a naked revelation of a soul in anguish, that concealment -was impossible. - -I saw him lean forward with his elbows on the window-sill and his -hands clenching an iron bar. His face had become like his shirt front, -almost as white as that. A kind of groan came from him, like that of -a man badly wounded. The people on either side of him turned to look -at him, but he was unconscious of them, as he stared at something in -the street. I followed the direction of his eyes and guessed that he -was looking at a motor-car which had been stopped by the crowd who -were surging about it. It was an open car and inside were a young man -and woman in fancy-dress as Pierrot and Columbine. They were standing -up and pelting the crowd with long coloured streamers, which the mob -caught, and tossed back again, with shouts of laughter. The girl was -very pretty, with an audacious little face beneath the white sugar-loaf -cap, and her eyes were on fire. Her companion was a merry-eyed fellow, -clean-shaven and ruddy-faced (for he had not chalked it to Pierrot’s -whiteness), and looked to me typical of a naval officer or one of our -young air men. I could see nothing to groan about in such a sight. - -“What’s wrong, Harding?” - -I touched him on the elbow, for I did not like him to give himself away -before the other company in the window-seat. - -He rose at once, and walked, in a stumbling way, across the room, while -I followed. The room was empty where we stood. - -“Aren’t you well?” I asked. - -He laughed in a most tragic way. - -“Did you see those two in the car? Pierrot and Columbine?” - -I nodded. - -“Columbine was my wife. Pierrot is now her husband. Funny, isn’t it?” - -My memory went back to that night in Cologne less than six months -before, when Harding had asked me to use my influence to get him -demobilised, and as an explanation of his motive opened his pocket-book -and showed me the photograph of a pretty girl, and said, “That’s my -wife ... she is hipped because I have been away so long.” I felt -enormously sorry for him. - -“Come and have a whiskey in the smoke-room,” said Harding. “I’d like a -yarn, and we shall be alone.” - -I did not want him to tell me his tale. I was tired of tragic history. -But I could not refuse. The boy wanted to unburden himself. I could see -that, though for quite a time after we had sat on each side of the wood -fire, he hesitated in getting to the point and indulged in small-talk -about his favourite brand of cigars, and my evil habit of smoking the -worst kind of cigarettes. - -Suddenly we plunged into what was the icy waters of his real thoughts. - -“About my wife.... I’d like you to know. Others will tell you, and -you’d have heard already if you hadn’t been away so long. But I think -you would get a wrong notion from others. The fact is, I don’t blame -Evelyn. I would like you to understand that. I blame the Germans for -everything.” - -“The Germans?” - -That was a strange statement, and I could not see the drift of it until -he explained his meaning. - -“The Germans made the war, and the war took me away from Evelyn, just -after our marriage.... Imagine the situation. A kid of a girl, wanting -to be merry and bright, eager for the fun of life and all that, left -alone in a big old house in the country, or when she got fed up with -that, in a big gloomy house in town. She got fed up with both pretty -quick. I used to get letters from her--every day for a while--and she -used to say in every one of them, ‘I’m fed up like Billy-O.’ That was -her way of putting it, don’t you know, and I got scared. But what could -I do--out there--except write and tell her to try and get busy with -something? Well, she got busy all right!” - -Harding laughed again in his woful way, which was not good to hear. -Then he became angry and passionate, and told me it was all the fault -of “those damned women.” - -I asked him what “damned women,” and he launched into a wild -denunciation of a certain set of women--most of the names he mentioned -were familiar to me from full-length portraits in the _Sketch_ and -_Tatler_--who had spent the years of war in organising fancy bazaars, -charity matinées, private theatricals for Red Cross funds--“and all -that,” as Harding remarked in his familiar phrase. He said they were -rotten all through, utterly immoral, perfectly callous of all the death -and tragedy about them, except in a false, hysterical way at times. - -“They were ghouls,” he said. - -Many of them had married twice, three times, even more than that, -before the boys who were killed were cold in their graves. Yet those -were the best, with a certain respect for convention. Others had just -let themselves go. They had played the devil with any fellow who came -within their circle of enticement, if he had a bit of money, or could -dance well, or oiled his hair in the right way. - -“They corrupted English society,” said Harding, “while they smiled, -and danced, and dressed in fancy clothes, and posed for their photos -in the papers. It was they who corrupted Evelyn, when the poor kid was -fighting up against her loneliness, and very hipped, and all that.” - -“Who was the man?” I asked, and Harding hesitated before he told me. It -was with frightful irony that he answered. - -“The usual man in most of these cases. The man who is always one’s best -pal. Damn him!” - -Harding seemed to repent of that curse, at least his next words were -strangely inconsistent. - -“Mind you, I don’t blame him, either. It was I who sent him to Evelyn. -He was in the Dragoons with me, and when he went home on leave I said, -‘Go and cheer up my little wife, old man. Take her to a theatre or -two, and all that. She’s devilish lonely.’ Needless to say, he fell in -love with her. I might have known it. As for Evelyn, she was immensely -taken with young Dick. He was a bit of a humourist and made her laugh. -Laughter was a devilish good thing in war-time. That was where Dick had -his pull. I might have known _that_! I was a chuckle-headed idiot.” - -The end of the story was abrupt, and at the time I found it hard -to find extenuating circumstances in the guilt of the girl who had -smashed this boy Harding. She lied to him up to the very moment of his -demobilisation--at least, she gave him no clue to her purpose until -she hit him, as it were, full in the face with a mortal blow to his -happiness. - -He had sent her a wire with the one word “Demobilised,” and then had -taken the next train back, and a cab from Charing Cross to that house -of his at Rutland Gate. - -“Is the mistress well?” he had asked one of the maids, when his kit was -bundled into the hall. - -“The mistress is out, sir,” said the maid, and he remembered afterwards -that she looked queerly at him, with a kind of pity. - -There was the usual note waiting for him. Evelyn was “very sorry.” She -hated causing her husband the grief she knew he would feel, but she and -Dick could not do without each other. The war had altered everything, -and many wives to many husbands. She hoped Harding would be happy after -a bit.... - -Harding was not happy. When he read that note he went a little mad, and -roamed round London with an automatic pistol, determined to kill his -former friend if he could set eyes on him. Fortunately, he did not find -him. Evelyn and Dick had gone off to a village in Devonshire, and after -three days with murder in his heart Harding had been very ill, and had -gone into a nursing-home. There in his weakness he had, he told me, -“thought things out.” The result of his meditations amounted to no more -than the watchword of many people in years of misery: - -“_C’est la guerre!_” - -It was the war which had caused his tragedy. It had put too great a -strain on human nature, or at least on human nerves and morals. It -had broken down the conventions and traditions of civilised life. The -Germans had not only destroyed many towns and villages, but many homes -and hearts far from the firing-line. They had let the devil loose. - -“Quite a number of my pals,” said Harding, “are in the same boat with -me. They either couldn’t stick to their wives, or their wives couldn’t -stick them. It gives one a sense of companionship!” - -He smiled in a melancholy way, but then confessed to loneliness--so -many of his real pals had gone West--and asked whether he could call on -me now and then. It was for that reason that he came to my house fairly -often, and sometimes Fortune, who came too at times, made him laugh, as -in the old days. - - - - -III - - -Fortune and I met also in a crowd, but indoors. Brand and Eileen -O’Connor were both to be at one of the evening parties which assembled -every now and then in a flat at Chelsea belonging to Susy Whincop, -designer of stained-glass, driver of ambulances for the Scottish -Women’s Convoy, and sympathetic friend, before the war, of any ardent -soul who grew long hair if a man, short hair if a woman, and had some -special scheme, philosophy, or inspiration for the welfare of humanity. - -I had known Susy and her set in the old days. They were the minor -intellectuals of London, and I had portrayed some of them in a novel -called “Intellectual Mansions,” which they did not like, though I -loved them all. They wrote little poems, painted little pictures, -produced little plays, and talked about all subjects under heaven, with -light-hearted humour, an arrogance towards popular ideas, and a quick -acceptance of the new, the unusual and the revolutionary, in art and -thought. Into their way of life war crashed suddenly with its thunder -notes of terror. All that they had lived for seemed to be destroyed, -and all their ideals overthrown. They had believed in beauty, and it -was flung into the mud and bespattered with blood, and buried beneath -the ugly monsters of war’s idolatry. They had been devotees of liberty, -and were made slaves of the drill-sergeant and other instruments of -martial law. They had been enemies of brutality, cruelty, violence, but -all human effort now was for the slaughter of men, and the hero was he -who killed most, with bayonet or bomb. Their pretty verses were made -of no account. Their impressionistic paintings were not so useful as -the camouflage of tin huts. Their little plays were but feeble drama -to that which now was played out on the world’s stage to the roar of -guns and the march of armies. They went into the tumult and fury of -it all, and were lost. I met some of them, like Fortune and Brand, in -odd places. Many of them died in the dirty ditches. Some of them wrote -poems before they died, stronger than their work before the war, with -a noble despair, or the exaltation of sacrifice. Others gave no sign -of their previous life, and were just absorbed into the ranks--ants -in these legions of soldier-ants. Now those who had escaped with life -were coming back to their old haunts, trying to pick up old threads, -getting back, if they could, to the old ways of work, hoping for a new -inspiration out of immense experience, but not yet finding it. - -In Susy Whincop’s flat some of them had gathered when I went there, and -when I looked round upon them, seeing here and there vaguely-remembered -faces, I was conscious of a change that had overtaken them, and, with -a shock, wondered whether I too had altered so much in those five -years. I recognised Peter Hallam, whom I had known as a boy just down -from Oxford, with a genius (in a small way) for satirical verse, and a -talent for passionate lyrics of a morbid and erotic type. Yes, it was -certainly Peter, though his face had hardened and he had cropped his -hair short and walked with one leg stiff. - -He was talking to a girl with bobbed hair--it was Jennie Southcombe, -who had been one of the heroines of the Serbian retreat, according to -accounts of newspaper-correspondents. - -“My battery,” said Peter, “plugged into old Fritz with open sights for -four hours. We just mowed ’em down.” - -Another face rang a little bell in my memory. Surely that was Alfred -Lyon, the Futurist painter? No, it could not be, for Lyon had dressed -like an apache and this man was in conventional evening clothes and -looked like a Brigadier in mufti. Alfred Lyon?... Yes, there he was, -though he had lost his pose--cribbed from Mürger’s _Vie de Bohème_--and -his half-starved look, and the wildness in his eyes. As he passed Susy -Whincop he spoke a few words, which I overheard. - -“I’ve abandoned Futurism. The Present knocked that silly. Our little -violence, which shocked Suburbia, was made ridiculous by the enormous -Thing that smashed every convention into a cocked hat. I’m just going -to put down some war-scenes--I made notes in the trenches--with that -simplicity of the primitive soul to which we went back in that way of -life. The soldier’s point of view, his vision, is what I shall try for.” - -“Splendid!” said Susy. “Only, don’t shrink from the abomination. We’ve -got to make the world understand--and remember.” - -I felt a touch on my sleeve, and a voice said, “Hulloa!... Back again?” - -I turned and saw an oldish-young man, with white hair above a lean, -clean-shaven face, and sombre eyes. I stared, but could not fix him. - -“Don’t you remember?” he said. “Wetherall, of the State Society.” - -“Oh, Lord, yes!” - -I grasped his hand, and tried to keep the startled look out of my eyes. -But he saw it, and smiled. - -“Four years as a prisoner of the Turk has altered me a bit. This white -hair, eh? And I feel like Rip van Winkle.” - -He put into words something which I had been thinking since my arrival -in Susy’s rooms. - -“We are the _revenants_, the ghosts who have come back to their old -haunts. We are pretending that everything is the same as before, and -that we are the same. But it’s all different, and we have changed most -of all. Five years of war have dug their hoofs into the faces of most -people in this crowd. Some of them look fifteen--twenty years older, -and I expect they’ve been through a century of experience and emotion.” - -“What’s coming out of it?” I asked. “Anything big?” - -“Not from us,” said Wetherall. “Most of us are finished. Our nerves -have gone to pieces, and our vitality has been sapped. We shall put -down a few notes of things seen and understood. But it’s the next -generation that will get the big vision--or the one after next.” - -Then I was able to shake hands with Susy Whincop, and, as I have said, -she left me in no doubt about the change that four years of war had -made to me. - -She held me at arm’s-length, studying my face. - -“Soul alive!” she said. “You’ve been through it all right! Hell’s -branding-irons have been busy with a fair-faced man.” - -“As bad as that?” I asked, and she answered very gravely, “As bad as -that.” - -She had hardly changed, except for a few streaks of grey in her brown -hair. Her low, broad forehead was as smooth as before, her brown eyes -shown with their old steady light. She had not lost her sense of -humour, though she had seen a good deal of blood and agony and death. - -“How’s humanity?” I asked, and she laughed and shrugged her shoulders. - -“What can one do with it? I thought we were going to catch the old -devil by the tail and hold him fast, but he’s broken loose again. This -Peace! Dear God!... And all the cruelty and hatred that have survived -the massacre! But I don’t despair, even now. In this room there is -enough good-will and human kindness to create a new world. We’re going -to have a good try to make things better by-and-by.” - -“Who’s your star to-night?” I asked. “Who is the particular -Hot-Gospeller with a mission to convert mankind?” - -“I’ve several,” said Susy. - -She glanced round the room, and her eyes rested on a little man with -goggles and a goatee beard--none other than my good friend Dr. Small, -with whom I had travelled down many roads. I had no notion that he knew -Susy or was to be here to-night. - -“There’s one great soul--a little American doctor whose heart is as big -as humanity itself, and whose head is filled with the wisdom of the -wise.” - -“I know him,” I said. “And I agree with you.” - -He caught our eyes fixed on him, and blinked through his goggles, and -then waved his hand, and made his way to us. - -“Hulloa, doc,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you know Susy Whincop?” - -“No need,” he answered. “Miss Whincop is the golden link between all -men of good-will.” - -Susy was pleased with that. She patted the little doctor’s hand and -said, “Bully for you, Doctor--and may the Stars and Stripes wave over -the League of Nations!” - -Then she was assailed by other guests, and the Doctor and I took refuge -in a corner. - -“How’s everything?” I asked. - -The doctor was profoundly dejected, and did not hide the gloom that -possessed his soul. - -“Sonny,” he answered, “we shall have to fight with our backs to the -wall, because the enemy--the old Devil--is prevailing against us. I -have just come over from Paris, and I don’t mind telling you that -what I saw during the Peace Conference has made me doubt the power of -goodness over evil.” - -“Tell me,” I said. - -Daddy Small’s story was not pleasant to hear. It was the story of the -betrayal, one by one, of every ideal for which simple men had fought -and died, a story of broken pledges, of hero-worship dethroned, and of -great peoples condemned to lingering death. The Peace Treaty, he said, -would break the heart of the world and prepare the way for new, more -dreadful, warfare. - -“How about Wilson?” I asked. - -The little doctor raised his hands like a German crying, “_Kamerad!_” - -“Wilson was not big enough. He had the future of civilisation in his -hands, but his power was filched from him, and he never knew until -the end that he had lost it. He was like a simple Gulliver among the -Lilliputians. They tied him down with innumerable threads of cotton -while he slept in self-complacency with a sense of righteousness. -He was slow-thinking among quick-witted people. He stated a general -principle and they drafted out clauses which seemed to fulfil the -principle while violating it in every detail. They juggled with facts -and figures so that black seemed white through his moral spectacles, -and he said Amen to their villainy, believing that God had been served -by righteousness. Bit by bit they broke his pledges and made a jigsaw -puzzle of them, so artfully that he believed they were uncracked. -Little by little they robbed him of his honour, and he was unaware of -the theft. In preambles and clause-headings and interpretations they -gave lip-service to the Fourteen Points upon which the Armistice was -granted, and to which the Allied Nations were utterly pledged, not -only to the Germans and all enemies, but to their own people. Not one -of those Fourteen Points is in the reality of the Treaty. There has -been no self-determination of peoples. Millions have been transferred -into unnatural boundaries. There have been no open covenants openly -arrived at. The Conference was within closed doors. The clauses of -the Peace Treaty were kept secret from the world until an American -journalist got hold of a copy and sent it to his paper. What has -become of the equality of trade conditions and the removal of economic -barriers among all nations consenting to peace? Sonny, Europe has been -carved up by the spirit of vengeance, and multitudes of men, women, and -children have been sentenced to death by starvation. Another militarism -is enthroned above the ruin of German militarism. Wilson was hoodwinked -into putting his signature to a peace of injustice which will lead by -desperation to world anarchy and strife. When he understands what thing -he has done, he will be stricken by a mortal blow to his conscience and -his pride.” - -“Doctor,” I said, “there is still hope in the League of Nations. We -must all back that.” - -He shook his head. - -“The spirit has gone out of it. It was born without a soul. I believe -now that the future welfare of the world depends upon a change of heart -among the peoples, inspired by individuals in all nations who will -work for good, and give a call to humanity, indifferent to statesmen, -treaties and governments.” - -“The International League of Good-will?” - -He nodded and smiled. - -“Something like that.” - -I remembered a dinner-party in New York, after the Armistice. I had -been lecturing on the League of Nations at a time when the Peace -Treaty was still unsigned, but when already there was a growing -hostility against President Wilson, startling in its intensity. The -people of the United States were still moved by the emotion and -idealism with which they had roused great armies and sent them to the -fields of France. Some of the men were returning home again. I stood -outside a club in New York when a darky regiment returned its colours, -and I heard the roars of cheering that followed the march of the -negro troops. I saw Fifth Avenue filled with triumphal arches, strung -across with jewelled chains, festooned with flags and trophies of the -home-coming of the New York Division. The heart of the American people -was stirred by the pride of its achievement on the way to victory and -by a new sense of power over the destiny of mankind. But already there -was a sense of anxiety about the responsibilities to which Wilson in -Europe was pledging them without their full and free consent. They -were conscious that their old isolation was being broken down and that -by ignorance or rash promise they might be drawn into other European -adventures which were no concern of theirs. They knew how little was -their knowledge of European peoples, with their rivalries and racial -hatreds, and secret intrigues. Their own destiny as a free people might -be thwarted by being dragged into the jungle of that unknown world. In -any case, Wilson was playing a lone hand, pledging them without their -advice or agreement, subordinating them, it seemed, to the British -Empire with six votes on the Council of the League to their poor one. -What did he mean? By what right did he do so? - -At every dinner-table these questions were asked, before the soup -was drunk; at the coffee end of the meal every dinner-party was a -debating-club, and the women joined with the men in hot discussion, -until some tactful soul laughed loudly, and some hostess led the way to -music or a dance. - -The ladies had just gone after one of those debates, leaving us to our -cigars and coffee, when Daddy Small made a proposition which startled -me at the time. - -“See here,” he said to his host and the other men. “Out of this -discussion one thing stands clear and straight. It is that in -this room, now, at this table, are men of intellect--American and -English--men of good-will towards mankind, men of power in one way -or another, who agree that whatever happens there must be eternal -friendship between England and the United States.” - -“Sure!” said a chorus of voices. - -“In other countries there are men with the same ideals as -ourselves--peace, justice between men and nations, a hatred of cruelty, -pity for women and children, charity, and truth. Is that agreed?” - -“Sure!” said the other guests. - -They were mostly business men, well-to-do, but not of the “millionaire” -class, with here and there a writingman, an artist and, as I remember, -a clergyman. - -“I am going to be a commercial traveller in charity,” said the little -doctor. “I am going across the frontiers to collect clients for an -international society of Good-will. I propose to establish a branch at -this table.” - -The suggestion was received with laughter by some of the men, but, as I -saw, with gravity by others. - -“What would be the responsibilities, Doctor? Do you want money?” - -This was from the manager of an American railroad. - -“We shall want a bit,” said the doctor. “Not much. Enough for stamps -and occasional booklets and typewriting. The chief responsibility would -be to spot lies leading to national antagonism, and to kill them by -exposure to cold truth; also, to put in friendly words, privately and -publicly, on behalf of human kindness, across the barriers of hate and -malignity. Any names for the New York branch?” - -The doctor took down twelve names, pledged solemnly to his programme.... - -I remembered that scene in New York when I stood with the little man in -Susy Whincop’s drawing-room. - -“What about this crowd?” I asked. - -“Sonny,” he said, “this place is reeking with humanity. The real stuff. -Idealists who have seen Hell pretty close, most of them. Why, in this -room there’s enough good-will to move mountains of cruelty, if we could -get a move on all together.” - -It was then that I saw Charles Fortune, though I was looking for Brand. - -Fortune was wearing one of his special “faces.” I interpreted it as his -soulful and mystical face. It broke a little as he winked at me. - -“Remarkable gathering,” he said. “The Intellectuals come back to their -lair. Some of them, like Little Bo-peep who lost her sheep and left -their tails behind them.” - -“What does that mean?” I asked. - -“Nothing,” he answered. “We used to talk like that. I’m trying to grope -back.” - -He put his hand over his forehead wearily. - -“God!” he said. “How terrible was war in a Nissen hut! I cannot even -now forget that I was every yard a soldier!” - -He began to hum his well-remembered anthem, “Blear-eyed Bill, the -Butcher of the Boche,” and then checked himself. - -“Nay, let us forget that melody of blood. Let us rather sing of -fragrant things of peace.” He hummed the nursery ballad of “Twinkle, -twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!” - -Susy Whincop seized him by the wrist. - -“So the Fat Boy has escaped the massacre? Come and make us laugh. We -are getting too serious at the piano end of the room.” - -“Lady,” said Fortune, “tempt me not to mirth-making. My irony is -terrible when roused.” - -As he went to the piano I caught sight of Brand just making his way -through a group by the door. - -I had never seen him in civil clothes, but he looked as I had imagined -him, in an old pre-war dinner-jacket and baggy trousers, and a shirt -that bulged abominably. A tuft of hair stuck up behind--the tuft that -Eileen O’Connor had pulled for Auld Lang Syne. But he looked fine and -distinguished, with his hard, lean face, and strong jaw, and melancholy -eyes. - -He caught sight of me and gripped my hand, painfully. - -“Hullo, old man! Welcome back. I have heaps to tell you.” - -“Good things?” I asked. - -He shook his head. - -“Not good.... Damned bad, alas!” - -He did not continue the conversation. He stared across my shoulder at -the door as though he saw an apparition. I turned to see the object of -his gaze. It was Eileen O’Connor, whom I had first met in Lille. - -She was in an evening frock cut low at the neck, and her arms were -bare. There was a smile in her dark Irish eyes, and about her long, -humourous mouth. The girl I had seen in Lille was not so elegant as -this, not so pretty. The lifting of care perhaps had made the change. - -Susy Whincop gave a cry of “Is that Eileen?” and darted to her. - -“It’s myself,” said Eileen, releasing herself from an ardent embrace, -“and all the better for seeing you. Who’s who in this distinguished -crowd?” - -“Old friends,” I said, being nearest to her. “Four men who walked one -day of history up a street in Lille, and met an Irish girl who had the -worship of the crowd.” - -She took my hand and I was glad of her look of friendship. - -“Four?” she said. “That’s too good to be true. All safe and home again?” - -It was astonishing that four of us should be there in a room in London -with the girl who had been the heroine of Lille. But there was Fortune, -and Daddy Small, and Brand, and myself. - -The crowd gave us elbow-room while we stood round Eileen. To each she -gave her hands--both hands--and merry words of greeting. It was only I, -and she perhaps, who saw the gloom on Brand’s face when she greeted him -last and said, - -“Is it well with you, Wickham?” - -Her colour rose a little at the sight of him, and he was paler than -when I saw him first that night. - -“Pretty well,” he said. “One still needs courage--even in Peace.” - -He laughed a little as he spoke, but I knew that his laughter was the -camouflage of hidden trouble, at which he had hinted in his letters to -me. - -We could not have much talk that evening. The groups shifted and -re-shifted. The best thing was when Eileen sang “The Gentle Maiden” as -on a night in Lille. Brand, standing near the door, listened, strangely -unconscious of the people about him. - -“It’s good to hear that song again,” I said. - -He started, as though suddenly awakened. - -“It stirs queer old memories.” - -It was in Eileen’s own house that Brand and I renewed a friendship -which had been made in a rescued city where we had heard the adventure -of this girl’s life. - - - - -IV - - -As Brand admitted to me, and as he had outlined the trouble in his -letters, he was having “a bad time.” Since his marriage with Elsa -von Kreuzenach he had not had much peace of mind nor any kind of -luck. After leaving Cologne the War Office, prompted by some unknown -influence,--he suspected his father, who knew the Secretary for -War--had sent him off on a special mission to Italy and had delayed -his demobilisation until a month before this meeting of ours. That had -prevented his plan of bringing Elsa to England, and now, when he was -free and her journey possible, he was seriously embarrassed with regard -to a home for her. There was plenty of room in his father’s house at -Cheyne Walk, Chelsea--too big a house for his father and mother and -younger sister, now that the eldest girl had married and his younger -brother lay dead on the Somme. It had been his idea that he and Elsa -would live in the upper rooms--it made a kind of flat--while he got -back to novel-writing until he earned enough to provide a home of -his own. It was still his idea, as the only possible place for the -immediate future, but the family was dead against it and expressed the -utmost aversion, amounting almost to horror, at the idea of receiving -his German wife. By violent argument, by appeals to reason and charity, -most of all by the firm conviction of his father that he was suffering -from shell-shock and would go over the border-line of sanity if -thwarted too much, a grudging consent had been obtained from them to -give Elsa house-room. Yet he dreaded the coldness of her welcome, and -the hostility not only of his own people but of any English society in -which she might find herself. - -“I shouldn’t have believed,” said Brand, “that such vindictive hatred -could have outlasted the war, in England. The people here at home, who -have never seen war closer than an air-raid, are poisoned, twisted and -envenomed with hate. And the women are worst. My own mother--so sweet -and gentle in the old days--would see every German baby starve rather -than subscribe to a single drop of milk. My own sister--twenty years -of age, and as holy as an angel--would scratch out the eyes of every -German girl. She reads the papers every day with a feverish desire for -the Kaiser’s trial. She licks her lips at the stories of starvation -in Austria. ‘They are getting punished,’ she says. ‘Who?’ I ask her. -‘Austrian babies?’ and she says, ‘The people who killed my brother -and yours.’ What’s the good of telling her that I have killed _their_ -brothers--many of them--even the brother of my wife----” - -I shook my head at that, but Brand was insistent. - -“I’m sure of it.... It is useless telling her that the innocent are -being punished for the guilty, and that all Europe was involved in the -same guilt. She says, ‘You have altered your ideas. The strain of war -has been too much for you.’ She means I’m mad or bad!... Sometimes -I think I may be, but when I think of those scenes in Cologne, the -friendly way of our fighting-men with their former enemy, the charity -of our Tommies, their lack of hatred now the job is done, I look at -these people in England, the stay-at-homes, and believe it is they who -are warped.” - -The news of Brand’s marriage with a German girl had leaked out, though -his people tried to hush it up. It came to me now and then as a tit-bit -of scandal from men who had been up at Oxford with him in the old days. - -“You know that fellow Wickham Brand?” - -“Yes.” - -“Heard the rumour about him?” - -“No.” - -“They say he’s got a German wife. Married her after the Armistice.” - -“Why not?” - -That question of mine made them stare as though I had uttered -some blasphemy. Generally they did not attempt to answer it, but -shrugged their shoulders with a look of unutterable disgust, or said, -“Disgraceful!” They were men, invariably, who had done _embusqué_ work -in the war, in Government offices and soft jobs. Soldiers who had -fought their way to Cologne were more lenient. One of them said, “Some -of the German girls are devilish pretty. Not my style, perhaps, but -kissable.” - -I saw something of Brand’s trouble when I walked down Knightsbridge -with him one day on the way to his home in Chelsea. Horace Chipchase, -the novelist, came face to face with us and gave a whoop of pleasure -when he saw us. Then suddenly, after shaking hands with me and -greeting Brand warmly, he remembered the rumour that had reached him. -Embarrassment overcame him, and ignoring Brand he confined his remarks -to me, awkwardly, and made an excuse for getting on. He did not look at -Brand again. - -“Bit strained in his manner,” I remarked, glancing sideways at Wickham. - -He strode on, with tightened lips. - -“Shared rooms with me once, and I helped him when he was badly in need -of it.... He’s heard about Elsa. Silly blighter!” - -But it hurt the man, who was very sensitive under his hard crust. - -It was on the way to his house that he told me he had made arrangements -at last for Elsa to join him in England. One of his friends at -headquarters in Cologne was providing her with a passport and had -agreed to let her travel with him to Paris, where he was to give -evidence before a committee of the Peace Conference. Brand could fetch -her from there in a week’s time. - -“I am going to Paris next week,” I told him, and he gave a grunt of -pleasure, and said, “Splendid! We can both meet Elsa.” - -I thought it curious then, and afterwards, that he was anxious for my -company when he met his wife and when she was with him. I think the -presence of a third person helped him to throw off a little of the -melancholy into which he relapsed when alone. - -I asked him if Elsa’s family knew of her marriage and were reconciled -to it, and he told me that they knew, but were less reconciled now than -when she had first broken the news to her father and mother on the -day of her wedding. Then there had been a family “scene.” The General -had raged and stormed, and his wife had wept, but after that outburst -had decided to forgive her, in order to avoid a family scandal. There -had been a formidable assembly of uncles, aunts and cousins of the -von Kreuzenach family to sit in judgment upon this affair which, as -they said, “touched their honour,” and Elsa’s description of it, -and of her terror and sense of guilt (it is not easy to break with -racial traditions) was very humourous, though at the same time rather -pathetic. They had graciously decided, after prolonged discussions -in which they treated Elsa exactly as though she were the prisoner -at a court-martial, to acknowledge and accept her marriage with -Captain Brand. They had been led to this decision mainly owing to -the information given by Franz von Kreuzenach that Captain Brand -belonged to the English aristocracy, his father being Sir Amyas Brand, -and a member of the English House of Parliament. They were willing -to admit that, inferior as Captain Brand’s family might be to that -of von Kreuzenach--so old and honoured in German history--it was yet -respectable and not unworthy of alliance with them. Possibly--it was an -idea suggested with enormous solemnity by Onkel von Kreuzenach--Elsa’s -marriage with the son of an English Member of Parliament might be of -service to the Fatherland in obtaining some amelioration of the Peace -Terms (the Treaty was not yet signed), and in counteracting the harsh -malignity of France. They must endeavour to use this opportunity -provided by Elsa in every possible way as a patriotic duty.... So at -the end of the family conclave Elsa was not only forgiven but was to -some extent exalted as an instrument of God for the rescue of their -beloved Germany. - -That position of hers lasted in her family until the terms of the -Peace Treaty leaked out, and then were published in full. A storm of -indignation rose in Germany, and Elsa was a private victim of its -violence in her own house. The combined clauses of the Treaty were -read as a sentence of death by the German people. Clause by clause, -they believed it fastened a doom upon them, and insured their ruin. It -condemned them to the payment of indemnities which would demand all -the produce of their industry for many and uncertain years. It reduced -them to the position of a Slave state, without an army, without a -fleet, without colonies, without the right to develop industries in -foreign countries, without ships to carry their merchandise, without -coal to supply their factories, or raw material for their manufactures. -To enforce the payment of these indemnities foreign commissions -would seize all German capital invested in former enemy or neutral -states, and would keep armed forces on the Rhine ready to march at -any time, years after the conclusion of peace, into the heart of -Germany. The German people might work, but not for themselves. They had -freed themselves of their own tyrants, but were to be subject to an -international tyranny depriving them of all hope of gradual recovery -from the ruin of defeat. On the West and on the East, Austria was to -be hemmed in by new States formed out of her own flesh-and-blood under -the domination of hostile races. She was to be maimed and strangled. -The Fourteen Points to which the Allies had pledged themselves before -the Armistice had been abandoned utterly, and Wilson’s promise of a -peace which would heal the wounds of the world had been replaced by a -peace of vengeance which would plunge Central Europe into deep gulfs of -misery, despair, and disease. That, at least, was the German point of -view. - -“They’re stunned,” said Brand. “They knew they were to be punished, and -they were willing to pay a vast price of defeat. But they believed that -under a Republican Government they would be left with a future hope of -progress, a decent hope of life, based upon their industry. Now they -have no hope, for we have given them a thin chance of reconstruction. -They are falling back upon the hope of vengeance and revolt. We have -prepared another inevitable war when the Germans, with the help of -Russia, will strive to break the fetters we have fastened on them. So -goes the only purpose for which most of us fought this war, and all our -pals have died in vain.” - -He stopped in the street and beat the pavement with his stick. - -“The damned stupidity of it all!” he said. “The infernal wickedness of -those Old Men who have arranged this thing!” - -Three small boys came galloping up Cheyne Walk with toy reins and -tinkling bells. - -“Those children,” said Brand, “will see the things that we have -seen and go into the ditches of death before their manhood has been -fulfilled. We fought to save them, and have failed.” - -He told me that even Elsa had been aghast at the Peace Terms. - -“I hoped more from the generous soul of England,” she had written to -him. - -Franz von Kreuzenach had written more bitterly than that. - -“We have been betrayed. There were millions of young men in Germany who -would have worked loyally to fulfil Wilson’s conditions of peace as -they were pledged in his Fourteen Points. They would have taken their -punishment, with patience and courage, knowing the penalty of defeat. -They would have worked for the new ideals of a new age, which were to -be greater liberty and the brotherhood of man in a League of Nations. -But what is that League? It is a combination of enemies, associated -for the purpose of crushing the German people and keeping her crushed. -I, who loved England and had no enmity against her even in war, cannot -forgive her now for her share in this Peace. As a German I find it -unforgivable, because it perpetuates the spirit of hatred, and thrusts -us back into the darkness where evil is bred.” - -“Do you agree with that?” I asked Brand. - -“On the whole, yes,” he said, gravely. “Mind you, I’m not against -punishing Germany. She had to be punished. But we are substituting -slow torture for just retribution, and like Franz I’m thinking of the -effect on the future. By generosity we should have made the world safe. -By vengeance we have prepared new strife. Europe will be given up to -anarchy and deluged in the blood of the boys who are now babes.” - -I had dinner with Brand’s people and found them “difficult.” Sir Amyas -Brand had Wickham’s outward hardness and none of his inner sensibility. -He was a stiff, pompous man who had done extremely well out of the war, -I guessed, by the manufacture of wooden huts, to which he attached a -patriotic significance, apart from his profits. He alluded to the death -of his younger son as his “sacrifice for the Empire,” though it seemed -to me that the boy Jack had been the real victim of sacrifice. To -Wickham he behaved with an exasperating air of forgiveness, as to one -who had sinned and was physically and morally sick. - -“How do you think Wickham is looking?” he asked me at table, and when I -said, “Very well,” he sighed and shook his head. - -“The war was a severe nervous strain upon him. It has changed him -sadly. We try to be patient with him, poor lad.” - -Brand overhead his speech and flushed angrily. - -“I’m sorry I try your patience so severely, sir,” he said in a bitter, -ironical way. - -“Don’t let’s argue about it, dear lad,” said Sir Amyas Brand suavely. - -“No,” said Lady Brand plaintively, “you know argument is bad for you, -Wickham. You become so violent, dear.” - -“Besides,” said Ethel Brand, the daughter, in a low and resigned voice, -“what’s done can’t be undone.” - -“Meaning Elsa?” asked Wickham savagely. I could see that but for my -restraining presence as a stranger there was all the inflammable stuff -here for a first-class domestic ‘flare-up.’ - -“What else?” asked Ethel coldly, and meeting her brother’s challenging -eyes with a perfectly steady gaze. She was a handsome girl with -regular, classical features, and tight lips, as narrow-minded, I -imagined, as a mid-Victorian spinster in a cathedral town, and as hard -as granite in principle and prejudice. - -Wickham weakened, after signs of an explosion of rage. He spoke gently, -and revealed a hope to which I think he clung desperately. - -“When Elsa comes you will all fall in love with her.” - -It was the worst thing he could have said, though he was unconscious of -his “gaffe.” - -His sister Ethel reddened, and I could see her mouth harden. - -“So far, I have remarkably little love for Germans, male or female.” - -“I hope we shall behave with Christian charity,” said Lady Brand. - -Sir Amyas Brand coughed uneasily, and then tried to laugh off his -embarrassment for my benefit. - -“There will be considerable scandal in my constituency!” - -“To hell with that!” said Brand irritably. “It’s about time the British -public returned to sanity.” - -“Ah!” said Sir Amyas, “there’s a narrow border-line between sanity and -shell-shock. Really, it is distressing what a number of men seem to -come back with disordered nerves. All these crimes, all these cases of -violence----” - -It gave him a chance of repeating a leading article which he had -read that morning in _The Times_. It provided a conversation without -controversy until the end of dinner. - -In the hall, before I left, Wickham Brand laughed, rather miserably. - -“It’s not going to be easy! Elsa will find the climate rather cold -here, eh?” - -“She will win them over,” I said hopefully, and these words cheered him. - -“Why, yes, they’re bound to like her.” - -We arranged for the Paris trip two weeks later, but before then we -were sure to meet at Eileen O’Connor’s. As a matter of fact, we dined -together with Daddy Small next day, and Eileen was with him. - - - - -V - - -I found Eileen O’Connor refreshing and invigorating, so that it was -good to be in her company. Most people in England at that time, at -least those I met, were “nervy,” depressed, and apprehensive of evil -to come. There was hardly a family I knew who had not one vacant chair -wherein a boy had sat when he had come home from school or office, and -afterwards on leave. Their ghosts haunted these homes and were present -in any company where people gathered for conversation or distraction. -The wound to England’s soul was unhealed, and the men who came back had -received grave hurt, many of them, to their nervous and moral health. - -This Irish girl was beautifully gay, not with that deliberate and -artificial gaiety which filled London theatres and dancing-halls, but -with an inner flame of happiness. It was difficult to account for that. -She had seen much tragedy in Lille. Death and the agony of men had been -familiar to her. She had faced death herself, very closely, escaping, -as she said, by a narrow “squeak.” She had seen the brutality of war -and its welter of misery for men and women, and now in time of Peace -she was conscious of the sufferings of many people, and did not hide -these things from her mental vision, or cry, “All’s right with the -world!” when all was wrong. But something in her character, something, -perhaps, in her faith, enabled her to resist the pressure of all this -morbid emotion and to face it squarely, with smiling eyes. Another -thing that attracted one was her fearlessness of truth. At a time when -most people shrank from truth her candour was marvellous, with the -simplicity of childhood joined to the wisdom of womanhood. - -I saw this at the dinner-party for four, arranged in her honour, -by Daddy Small. That was given, for cheapness’ sake, at a little -old restaurant in Whitehall which provided a good dinner for a few -shillings, and in an “atmosphere” of old-fashioned respectability which -appealed to the little American. - -Eileen knocked Brand edgewise at the beginning of his dinner by -remarking about his German marriage. - -“The news came to me as a shock,” she said, and when Wickham raised his -eyebrows and looked both surprised and dismayed (he had counted on her -sympathy and help), she patted his hand as it played a devil’s tattoo -on the table-cloth, and launched into a series of indiscretions that -fairly made my hair curl. - -“Theoretically,” she said, “I hadn’t the least objection to your -marrying a German girl. I have always believed that love is an instinct -which is beyond the control of diplomats who arrange frontiers and -Generals who direct wars. I saw a lot of it in Lille--and there was -Franz von Kreuzenach, who fell in love with me, poor child. What really -hurt me for a while was green-eyed jealousy.” - -“Daddy Small laughed hilariously, and filled up Eileen’s glass with -Moselle wine.” - -Brand looked blank. - -“Jealousy?” - -“Why, yes,” said Eileen. “Imagine me, an Irish girl, all soppy with -emotion at the first sight of English khaki (that’s a fantastic -situation anyhow!), after four years with the grey men, and then -finding that the first khaki tunic she meets holds the body of a man -she knew as a boy, when she used to pull his hair! And such a grave -heroic-looking man, Wicky! Why, I felt like one of Tennyson’s ladies -released from her dark tower by a Knight of the Round Table. Then you -went away and married a German Gretchen! And all my doing, because if I -hadn’t given you a letter to Franz you wouldn’t have met Elsa. So when -I heard the news, I thought, ‘There goes my romance!’” - -Daddy Small laughed again, joyously. - -“Say, my dear,” he said, “you’re making poor old Wickham blush like an -Englishman asked to tell the story of his V.C. in public.” - -Brand laughed, too, in his harsh, deep voice. - -“Why, Eileen, you ought to have told me before I moved out of Lille.” - -“And where would maiden modesty have been?” asked Eileen, in her -humourous way. - -“Where is it now?” asked the little doctor. - -“Besides,” said Brand, “I had that letter to Franz von Kreuzenach in my -pocket. I don’t mind telling you I detested the fellow for his infernal -impudence in making love to you.” - -“Sure now, it was a one-sided affair, entirely,” said Eileen, -exaggerating her Irish accent, “but one has to be polite to a gentleman -that saves one’s life on account of a romantic passion. Oh, Wickham, -it’s very English you are!” - -Brand could find nothing to say for himself, and it was I who came to -the rescue of his embarrassment by dragging a red herring across the -thread of Eileen’s discourse. She had a wonderful way of saying things -that on most girls’ lips would have seemed audacious, or improper, or -high-falutin, but on hers were natural with a simplicity which shone -through her. - -Her sense of humour played like a light about her words, yet beneath -her wit was a tenderness and a knowledge of tragic things. I remember -some of her sayings that night at dinner, and they seemed to me very -good then, though when put down they lose the deep melody of her voice -and the smile or sadness of her dark eyes. - -“England,” she said, “fought the war for Liberty and the rights of -small nations, but said to Ireland, ‘Hush, keep quiet there, damn you, -or you’ll make us look ridiculous.’” - -“Irish soldiers,” she said, “helped England to win all her wars but -mostly in Scottish regiments. When the poor boys wanted to carry an -Irish flag, Kitchener said, ‘Go to Hell,’ and some of them went to -Flanders ... and recruiting stopped with a snap.” - -“Now, how do you know these things?” asked Daddy Small. “Did Kitchener -go to Lille to tell you?” - -“No,” said Eileen, “but I found some of the Dublin boys in the prison -at Lille, and they told the truth before they died, and perhaps it was -that which killed them. That, and starvation, and German brutality.” - -“I believe you’re a Sinn Feiner,” said Dr. Small. “Why don’t you go to -Ireland and show your true colours, ma’am?” - -“I’m Sinn Fein all right,” said Eileen, “but I hated the look of a -white wall in Lille, and there are so many white walls in the little -green isle. So I’m stopping in Kensington and trying to hate the -English, but can’t because I love them.” - -She turned to Wickham and said: - -“Will you take me for a row in Kensington Gardens the very next day the -sun shines?” - -“Rather!” said Wickham, “on one condition!” - -“And that?” - -“That you’ll be kind to my little Elsa when she comes.” - -“I’ll be a mother to her,” said Eileen, “but she must come quick or -I’ll be gone.” - -“Gone?” - -Wickham spoke with dismay in his voice. I think he had counted on -Eileen as his stand-by when Elsa would need a friend in England. - -“Hush now!” said Daddy Small. “It’s my secret, you wicked lady with -black eyes and a mystical manner.” - -“Doctor,” said Eileen, “your own President rebukes you. ‘Open covenants -openly arrived at’--weren’t those his words for the new diplomacy?” - -“Would to God he had kept to them,” said the little doctor, bitterly, -launching into a denunciation of the Peace Conference until I cut him -short with a question. - -“What’s this secret, Doctor?” - -He pulled out his pocket-book with an air of mystery. - -“We’re getting on with the International League of Good-will,” he said. -“It’s making more progress than the League of Nations. There are names -here that are worth their weight in gold. There are golden promises -which by the grace of God”--Daddy Small spoke solemnly--“will be -fulfilled by golden deeds. Anyhow, we’re going to get a move on--away -from hatred towards charity, not for the making of wounds but for the -healing, not punishing the innocent for the sins of the guilty, but -saving the innocent--the Holy Innocents--for the glory of life. Miss -Eileen and others are going to be the instruments of the machinery of -mercy--rather, I should say, the spirit of humanity.” - -“With you as our gallant leader,” said Eileen, patting his hand. - -“It sounds good,” said Brand. “Let’s hear some more.” - -Dr. Small told us more in glowing language, and in Biblical utterance -mixed with American slang like Billy Sunday’s Bible. He was profoundly -moved. He was filled with hope and gladness, and with a humble pride -because his efforts had borne fruit. - -The scheme was simple. From his friends in the United States he had -promises, as good as gold, of many millions of American dollars. From -English friends he had also considerable sums. With this treasure he -was going to Central Europe to organise relief on a big scale for the -children who were starving to death. Eileen O’Connor was to be his -private secretary and assistant-organiser. She would have heaps of -work to do, and she had graduated in the prisons and slums of Lille. -They were starting in a week’s time for Warsaw, Prague, Buda-Pesth and -Vienna. - -“Then,” said Brand, “Elsa will lose a friend.” - -“Bring her too,” said Eileen. “There’s work for all.” - -Brand was startled by this, and a sudden light leapt into his eyes. - -“By Jove!... But I’m afraid not. That’s impossible.” - -So it was only a week we had with Eileen, but in that time we had some -good meetings and merry adventures. Brand and I rowed her on the lake -in Kensington Gardens, and she told us Irish fairy-tales as she sat in -the stern, with her hat in her lap, and the wind playing in her brown -hair. We took her to the Russian Ballet and she wept a little at the -beauty of it. - -“After four years of war,” she said, “beauty is like water to a parched -soul. It is so exquisite it hurts.” - -She took us one day into the Carmelite church at Kensington, and Brand -and I knelt each side of her, feeling sinners with a saint between us. -And then, less like a saint, she sang ribald little songs on the way to -her mother’s house in Holland Street, and said, “Drat the thing!” when -she couldn’t find her key to unlock the door. - -“Sorry, Biddy my dear,” she said to the little maidservant who opened -the door. “I shall forget my head one day.” - -“Sure, Miss Eileen,” said the girl, “but never the dear heart of you, -at all, at all.” - -Eileen’s mother was a buxom, cheery, smiling Irishwoman who did not -worry, I fancy, about anything in the world, and was sure of Heaven. -Her drawing-room was littered with papers and novels, some of which she -swept off the sofa with a careless hand. - -“Won’t you take a seat then?” - -I asked her whether she had not been anxious about her daughter when -Eileen was all those years under German rule. - -“Not at all,” said the lady. “I knew our dear Lord was as near to Lille -as to London.” - -Two of her boys had been killed in the war, “fighting,” she said, “for -an ungrateful country which keeps its heel on the neck of Ireland,” and -two were in the United States, working for the honour of Ireland on -American newspapers. Eileen’s two sisters had married during the war -and between them had given birth to four Sinn Feiners. Eileen’s father -had died a year ago, and almost his last word had been her name. - -“The dear man thought all the world of Eileen,” said Mrs. O’Connor. “I -was out of it entirely when he had her by his side.” - -“You’ll be lonely,” said Brand, “when your daughter goes abroad again.” - -Eileen answered him. - -“Oh, you can’t keep me back by insidious remarks like that! Mother -spends most of her days in church, and the rest of them reading naughty -novels which keep her from ascending straight to Heaven without the -necessity of dying first. She is never lonely because her spirit is in -touch with those she loves, in this world or the other. And isn’t that -the truth I’m after talking, Mother o’ mine?” - -“I never knew more than one O’Connor who told the truth yet,” said the -lady, “and that’s yourself, my dear. And it’s a frightening way you -have with it that would scare the devil out of his skin.” - -They were pleasant hours with Eileen, and when she went away from -Charing Cross one morning with Dr. Small, five hospital nurses and two -Americans of the Red Cross, I wished with all my heart that Wickham -Brand had asked her, and not Elsa von Kreuzenach, to be his wife. That -was an idle wish, for the next morning Brand and I crossed over to -France, and on the way to Paris my friend told me that the thought of -meeting Elsa after those months of separation excited him so that each -minute seemed an hour. And as he told me that he lit a cigarette, and I -saw that his hand was trembling, because of this nervous strain. - - - - -VI - - -We met Elsa at the _Gare de l’Est_ in Paris the evening after our -arrival. Brand’s nervous anxiety had increased as the hour drew near, -and he smoked cigarette after cigarette, while he paced up and down the -_salle d’attente_ as far as he could for the crowds which surged there. - -Once he spoke to me about his apprehensions. - -“I hope to God this will work out all right.... I’m only thinking of -her happiness.” - -Another time he said: - -“This French crowd would tear her to pieces if they knew she was -German.” - -While we were waiting we met a friend of old times. I was first to -recognise Pierre Nesle, who had been attached to us as interpreter and -_liaison_ officer. He was in civil clothes and was wearing a bowler -hat and a light overcoat, so that his transformation was astonishing. -I touched him on the arm as he made his way quickly through the crowd, -and he turned sharply and stared at me as though he could not place me -at all. Then a look of recognition leapt into his eyes and he grasped -both my hands, delightedly. He was still thin and pale, but some of his -old melancholy had gone out of his eyes and in its place there was an -eager, purposeful look. - -“Here’s Brand,” I said. “He’ll be glad to see you again.” - -“_Quelle chance!_” exclaimed Pierre, and he made a dash for his friend -and before Brand could remonstrate kissed him on both cheeks. They -had been good comrades, and after the rescue of Marthe from the mob -in Lille it was to Brand that Pierre Nesle had opened his heart and -revealed his agony. He could not stay long with us in the station as he -was going to some political meeting, and perhaps it was well, because -Brand was naturally anxious to escape from him before Elsa came. - -“I am working hard--speaking, writing, organising--on behalf of -the _Ligue des Tranchées_,” said Pierre. “You must come and see me -at my office. It’s the headquarters of the new movement in France. -Anti-militarist, to fulfil the ideals of the men who fought to end war.” - -“You’re going to fight against heavy odds,” said Brand. “Clémenceau -won’t love you, nor those who like his Peace.” - -Pierre laughed and used an old watchword of the war. - -“_Nous les aurons!_ Those old dead-heads belong to the past. Peace has -still to be made by the men who fought for a new world.” - -He gave us his address, pledged us to call on him, and slipped into the -vortex of the crowd. - -Brand and I waited another twenty minutes, and then in a tide of new -arrivals we saw Elsa. She was in the company of Major Quin, Brand’s -friend who had brought her from Cologne, a tall Irishman who stooped a -little as he gave his arm to the girl. She was dressed in a blue coat -and skirt, very neatly, and it was the glitter of her spun-gold hair -that made me catch sight of her quickly in the crowd. Her eyes had a -frightened look as she came forward, and she was white to the lips. -Thinner, too, than when I had seen her last, so that she looked older -and not, perhaps, quite so wonderfully pretty. But her face lighted up -with intense gladness when Brand stood in front of her, and then, under -an electric lamp, with a crowd surging around him, took her in his -arms. - -Major Quin and I stood aloof, chatting together. - -“Good journey?” I asked. - -“Excellent, but I’m glad it’s over. That little lady is too -unmistakably German. Everybody spotted her and looked unutterable -things. She was frightened, and I don’t wonder. Most of them thought -the worst of me. I had to threaten one fellow with a damned good hiding -for an impertinent remark I overheard.” - -Brand thanked him for looking after his wife, and Elsa gave him her -hand and said, “_Danke schön_.” - -Major Quin raised his finger and said, “Hush. Don’t forget you’re in -Paris now.” - -Then he saluted with a click of spurs, and took his leave. I put Brand -and his wife in a taxi and drove outside, by the driver, to a quiet old -hotel in the Rue St. Honoré, where we had booked rooms. - -When we registered, the manager at the desk stared at Elsa curiously. -She spoke English, but with an unmistakable accent. The man’s -courtesy to Brand, which had been perfect, fell from him abruptly -and he spoke with icy insolence when he summoned one of the boys to -take up the baggage. In the dining-room that night all eyes turned -to Elsa and Brand, with inquisitive, hostile looks. I suppose her -frock, simple and ordinary as it seemed to me, proclaimed its German -fashion. Or perhaps her face and hair were not so English as I had -imagined. It was a little while before the girl herself was aware of -those unpleasant glances about her. She was very happy sitting next -to Brand, whose hand she caressed once or twice and into whose face -she looked with adoration. She was still very pale, and I could see -that she was immensely tired after her journey, but her eyes shone -wonderfully. Sometimes she looked about her and encountered the stares -of people--elderly French _bourgeois_ and some English nurses and a -few French officers--dining at other tables in the great room with -gilt mirrors and painted ceiling. She spoke to Brand presently in a low -voice. - -“I am afraid. These people stare at me so much. They guess what I am.” - -“It’s only your fancy,” said Brand. “Besides, they would be fools not -to stare at a face like yours.” - -She smiled and coloured up at that sweet flattery. - -“I know when people like one’s looks. It is not for that reason they -stare.” - -“Ignore them,” said Brand. “Tell me about Franz, and Frau von Detmold.” - -It was unwise of him to sprinkle his conversation with German names. -The waiter at our tables was listening attentively. Presently I saw him -whispering behind the screen to one of his comrades and looking our -way sullenly. He kept us waiting an unconscionable time for coffee, -and when at last Brand gave his arm to Elsa and led her from the room, -he gave a harsh laugh as they passed, and I heard the words, “_Sale -Boche!_” spoken in a low tone of voice yet loud enough for all the room -to hear. From all the little tables there came titters of laughter and -those words “_Sale Boche!_” were repeated by several voices. I hoped -that Elsa and Brand had not heard, but I saw Elsa sway a little on her -husband’s arm as though struck by an invisible blow, and Brand turned -with a look of passion, as though he would hit the waiter or challenge -the whole room to warfare. But Elsa whispered to him, and he went with -her up the staircase to their rooms. - -The next morning when I met them at breakfast Elsa still looked -desperately tired, though very happy, and Brand had lost a little -of his haggard look, and his nerve was steadier. But it was an -uncomfortable moment for all of us when the manager came to the -table and regretted with icy courtesy that their rooms would not be -available another night, owing to a previous arrangement which he had -unfortunately overlooked. - -“Nonsense!” said Brand shortly. “I have taken these rooms for three -nights, and I intend to stay in them.” - -“It is impossible,” said the manager. “I must ask you to have your -baggage packed by twelve o’clock.” - -Brand dealt with him firmly. - -“I am an English officer. If I hear another word from you I will call -on the Provost Marshal and get him to deal with you.” - -The manager bowed. This threat cowed him, and he said no more about -a change of rooms. But Brand and his wife, and I as their friend, -suffered from a policy of passive resistance to our presence. The -chambermaid did not answer their bell, having become strangely deaf. -The waiter was generally engaged at other tables whenever we wanted -him. The hall porter turned his back upon us. The page-boys made -grimaces behind our backs, as I saw very well in the gilt mirror, and -as Elsa saw. - -They took to having their meals out, Brand insisting always that I -should join them, and we drove out to the Bois and had tea there in -the _Châlet des Iles_. It was a beautiful afternoon in September, -and the leaves were just turning to crinkled gold and the lake was -as blue as the cloudless sky above. Across the ferry came boatloads -of young Frenchmen with their girls, singing, laughing, on this day -of peace. Some of the men limped as they came up the steps from the -landing-stage. One walked on crutches. Another had an empty sleeve. -Under the trees they made love to their girls and fed them with -rose-tinted ices. - -“These people are happy,” said Elsa. “They have forgotten already the -agony of war. Victory is healing. In Germany there is only misery.” - -A little later she talked about the Peace. - -“If only the _Entente_ had been more generous in victory our despair -would not be so great. Many of us, great multitudes, believed that the -price of defeat would be worth paying because Germany would take a -place among free nations and share in the creation of a nobler world. -Now we are crushed by the militarism of nations who have used our -downfall to increase their own power. The light of a new ideal which -rose above the darkness has gone out.” - -Brand took his wife’s hand and stroked it in his big paw. - -“All this is temporary and the work of the Old Men steeped in the old -traditions which led to war. We must wait for them to die. Then out of -the agony of the world’s boyhood will come the new revelation.” - -Elsa clasped her hands and leaned forward, looking across the lake in -the Bois de Boulogne. - -“I would like to live long enough to be sure of that,” she said, -eagerly. “If we have children, my husband, perhaps they will listen to -our tales of the war as Franz and I read about wolves and goblins in -our fairy-tales. The fearfulness of them was not frightening, for we -knew we were safe.” - -“God grant that,” said Brand, gravely. - -“But I am afraid!” said Elsa. She looked again across the lake, so blue -under the sky, so golden in sunlight; and shivered a little. - -“You are cold!” said Brand. - -He put his arms about her as they sat side by side, and her head -drooped upon his shoulder and she closed her eyes, like a tired child. - -They went to the opera that night and I refused their invitation to -join them, protesting that they would never learn to know each other -if a third person were always present. I slipped away to see Pierre -Nesle, and found him at an office in a street somewhere off the Rue du -Louvre, which was filled with young men, whose faces I seemed to have -seen before under blue shrapnel helmets above blue tunics. They were -typewriting as though serving machine-guns, and folding up papers while -they whistled the tune of “Madelon.” Pierre was in his shirt-sleeves, -dictating letters to a _poilu_ in civil clothes. - -“Considerable activity on the Western front, eh?” he said when he saw -me. - -“Tell me all about it, Pierre.” - -He told me something about it in a restaurant where we dined in the -Rue du Marché St. Honoré. He was one of the organising secretaries of -a society made up exclusively of young soldiers who had fought in the -trenches. There was a sprinkling of intellectuals among them--painters, -poets, novelists, journalists--but the main body were simple soldiers -animated by one idea--to prevent another war by substituting the -commonsense and brotherhood of peoples for the old diplomacy of secret -alliances and the old tradition of powerful armies. - -“How about the Peace Treaty and the League of Nations?” I asked. - -Pierre Nesle shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. - -“The Peace Treaty belongs to the Napoleonic tradition. We’ve got beyond -that now. It is the programme that has carefully arranged another and -inevitable war. Look at the world now! Look at France, Italy, Germany, -Austria! We are all ruined together, and those most ruined will, by -their disease and death, drag down Europe into general misery. _Mon -vieux_, what has victory given to France? A great belt of devastated -country, cemeteries crowded with dead youth, bankruptcy, and -everything five times the cost of pre-war rates. Another such victory -will wipe us off the map. We have smashed Germany, it is true, for a -time. We have punished her women and children for the crimes of their -War Lords, but can we keep her crushed? Are our frontiers impregnable -against the time when her people come back for revenge, smashing the -fetters we have placed on them, and rising again in strength? For ten -years, for twenty years, for thirty years, perhaps, we shall be safe. -And after that, if the heart of Europe does not change, if we do not -learn wisdom from the horror that has passed, France will be ravaged -again, and all that we have seen our children will see, and their -suffering will be greater than ours, and they will not have the hope we -had.” - -He stared back into the past, not a very distant past, and I fancy that -among the figures he saw was Marthe, his sister. - -“What’s the remedy?” I asked. - -“A Union of Democracy across the frontiers of hate,” he answered, and I -think it was a phrase that he had written and learnt by heart. - -“A fine phrase!” I said, laughing a little. - -He flared up at me. - -“It’s more than a phrase. It’s the heart-beat of millions in Europe.” - -“In France?” I asked pointedly. “In the France of Clémenceau?” - -“More than you imagine,” he answered, boldly. “Beneath our present -chauvinism, our natural exultation in victory, our inevitable hatred of -the enemy, commonsense is at work, and an idealism higher than that. -At present its voice is not heard. The old men are having their day. -Presently the new men will arrive with the new ideas. They are here, -but do not speak yet.” - -“The Old Men again!” I said. “It is strange. In Germany, in France, in -England, even in America, people are talking strangely about the Old -Men as though they were guilty of all this agony. That is remarkable.” - -“They were guilty,” said Pierre Nesle. “It is against the Old Men in -all countries of Europe that Youth will declare war. For it was their -ideas which brought us to our ruin.” - -He spoke so loudly that people in the restaurant turned to look at him. -He paid his bill and spoke in a lower voice. - -“It is dangerous to talk like this in public. Let us walk up the Champs -Élysées, where I am visiting some friends.” - -Suddenly a remembrance came back to him. - -“Your friends, too,” he said. - -“My friends?” - -“But yes; Madame Chéri and Hélène. After Edouard’s death they could not -bear to live in Lille.” - -“Edouard, that poor boy who came back? He is dead?” - -“He was broken by the prison life,” said Pierre. “He died within a -month of Armistice, and Hélène wept her heart out.” - -He confided a secret to me. Hélène and he had come to love each other, -and would marry when they could get her mother’s consent--or, one day, -if not. - -“What’s her objection?” I asked. “Why, it’s splendid to think that -Hélène and you will be man and wife. The thought of it makes me feel -good.” - -He pressed my arm and said, “_Merci, mille fois, mon cher_.” - -Madame Chéri objected to his political opinions. She regarded them as -poisonous treachery. - -“And Hélène?” - -I remembered that outburst, months back, when Hélène had desired the -death of many German babies. - -“Hélène loves me,” said Pierre simply. “We do not talk politics.” - -On our way to the Avenue Victor Hugo I ventured to ask him a question -which had been a long time in my mind. - -“Your sister, Marthe? She is well?” - -Even in the pearly twilight of the Champs Élysées I was aware of -Pierre’s sudden change of colour. I had touched a nerve that still -jumped. - -“She is well and happy,” he answered gravely. “She is now a -_religieuse_, a nun, in the convent at Lille. They tell me she is a -saint. Her name in religion is Soeur Angélique.” - -I called on Madame Chéri and her daughter with Pierre Nesle. They -seemed delighted to see me, and Hélène greeted me like an old and -trusted friend, giving me the privilege of kissing her cheek. She had -grown taller, and beautiful, and there was a softness in her eyes when -she looked at Pierre which made me sure of his splendid luck. - -Madame Chéri had aged, and some of her fire had burnt out. I guessed -that it was due to Edouard’s death. She spoke of that, and wept a -little, and deplored the mildness of the Peace Treaty which had not -punished the evil race who had killed her husband and her boy and the -flower of France. - -“There are many German dead,” said Pierre. “They have been punished.” - -“Not enough!” cried Madame Chéri. “They should all be dead.” - -Hélène kissed her hand and snuggled down to her as once I had seen in -Lille. - -“_Petite maman_,” she said, “let us talk of happy things to-night. -Pierre has brought us a good friend.” - -Later in the evening, when Pierre and Hélène had gone into another room -to find some biscuits for our wine, Madame Chéri spoke to me about -their betrothal. - -“Pierre is full of strange and terrible ideas,” she said. “They are -shared by other young men who fought bravely for France. To me they -seem wicked, and the talk of cowards, except that their medals tell of -courage. But the light in Hélène’s eyes weakens me. I’m too much of a -Frenchwoman to be stern with love.” - -By those words of hers I was able to give Pierre a message of -good-cheer when he walked back with me that night, and he went away -with gladness. - -With gladness also did Elsa Brand set out next day for England where, -as a girl, she had known happy days, and where now her dream lived with -the man who stood beside her. Together we watched for the white cliffs, -and when suddenly the sun glinted on them she gave a little cry, and -putting her hand through Brand’s arm, said, “Our home!” - - - - -VII - - -I saw very little of Brand in London after Elsa’s arrival in his -parents’ house at Chelsea. I was busy, as usual, watching the way of -the world, and putting my nose down to bits of blank paper which I -proceeded to spoil with futile words. Brand was doing the same thing -in his study on the top floor of the house in Cheyne Walk, while Elsa, -in true German style, was working embroidery, or reading English -literature to improve her mind and her knowledge of the language. - -Brand was endeavouring strenuously to earn money enough to make him -free of his father’s house. He failed, on the whole, rather miserably. -He began a novel on the war, became excited with it for the first six -chapters, then stuck hopelessly, and abandoned it. - -“I find it impossible,” he wrote to me, “to get the real thing into -my narrative. It is all wooden, unnatural, and wrong. I can’t get the -right perspective on paper, although I think I see it clear enough -when I’m not writing. The thing is too enormous, the psychology too -complicated, for my power of expression. A thousand characters, four -years of experience, come crowding into my mind, and I can’t eliminate -the unessential and stick the point of my pen into the heart of truth. -Besides, the present state of the world, to say nothing of domestic -trouble, prevents anything like concentration.... And my nerves have -gone to hell.” - -After the abandonment of his novel he took to writing articles for -magazines and newspapers, some of which appeared, thereby producing -some useful guineas. I read them and liked their strength of style and -intensity of emotion. But they were profoundly pessimistic and “the -gloomy Dean,” who was prophesying woe, had an able seconder in Wickham -Brand, who foresaw the ruin of civilisation and the downfall of the -British Empire because of the stupidity of the world’s leaders and the -careless ignorance of the multitudes. He harped too much on the same -string, and I fancied that editors would soon begin to tire of his -melancholy tune. I was right. - -“I have had six articles rejected in three weeks,” wrote Brand. “People -don’t want the truth. They want cheery insincerity. Well, they won’t -get it from me, though I starve to death.... But it’s hard on Elsa. -She’s having a horrible time, and her nerve is breaking. I wish to God -I could afford to take her down to the country somewhere, away from -spiteful females and their cunning cruelty. Have you seen any Christian -charity about in this most Christian country? If so, send me word, and -I’ll walk to it, on my knees, from Chelsea.” - -It was in a postscript to a letter about a short story he was writing -that he wrote an alarming sentence. - -“I think Elsa is dying. She gets weaker every day.” - -Those words sent me to Chelsea in a hurry. I had been too careless of -Brand’s troubles, owing to my own pressure of work, and my own fight -with a nervous depression which was a general malady, I found, with -most men back from the war. - -When I rapped the brass knocker on the house in Cheyne Walk the door -was opened by a different maid from the one I had seen on my first -visit there. The other one, as Brand told me afterwards, had given -notice because “she couldn’t abide them Huns” (meaning Elsa), and -before her had gone the cook, who had been with Wickham’s mother for -twenty years. - -Brand was writing in his study upstairs when the new maid showed me in. -Or, rather, he was leaning over a writing-block, with his elbows dug -into the table, and his face in his hands, while an unlighted pipe--his -old trench pipe--lay across the inkpot. - -“Thinking out a new plot, old man?” I asked cheerily. - -“It doesn’t come,” he said. “My own plot cuts across my line of -thought.” - -“How’s Elsa?” - -He pointed with the stem of his pipe to the door leading from his room. - -“Sleeping, I hope.... Sit down, and let’s have a yarn.” - -We talked about things in general for a time. They were not very -cheerful, anyhow. Brand and I were both gloomy souls just then, and -knew each other too well to camouflage our views about the state of -Europe and the “unrest” (as it was called) in England. - -Then he told me about Elsa, and it was a tragic tale. From the very -first his people had treated her with a studied unkindness which had -broken her nerve and spirit. She had come to England with a joyous hope -of finding happiness and friendship with her husband’s family, and glad -to escape from the sadness of Germany and the solemn disapproval of her -own people, apart from Franz, who was devoted to her. - -Her first dismay came when she kissed the hand of her mother-in-law, -who drew it away as though she had been stung by a wasp, and when her -movement to kiss her husband’s sister Ethel was repulsed by a girl who -drew back icily and said, “How do you do?” - -Even then she comforted herself a little with the thought that this -coldness was due to English reserve, and that in a little while English -kindness would be revealed. But the days passed with only unkindness. - -At first Lady Brand and her daughter maintained a chilly silence -towards Elsa, at breakfast, luncheon, and other meals, talking to each -other brightly, as though she did not exist, and referring constantly -to Wickham as “poor Wicky.” Ethel had a habit of reading out morsels -from the penny illustrated papers, and often they referred to “another -trick of the Huns” or “fresh revelations of Hun treachery.” At these -times Sir Amyas Brand said “Ah!” in a portentous voice, but, privately, -with some consciousness of decency, begged Ethel to desist from -“controversial topics.” She “desisted” in the presence of her brother, -whose violence of speech scared her into silence. - -A later phase of Ethel’s hostility to Elsa was in the style of amiable -enquiry. In a simple, child-like way, as though eager for knowledge, -she would ask Elsa such questions as “Why the Germans boiled down their -dead?” “Why they crucified Canadian prisoners?” “Was it true that -German school-children sang the Hymn of Hate before morning lessons?” -“Was it by order of the Kaiser that English prisoners were starved to -death?” - -Elsa answered all these questions by passionate denials. It was a -terrible falsehood, she said, that the Germans had boiled down bodies -for fats. On the contrary, they paid the greatest reverence to their -dead, as her brother had seen in many cemeteries on the Western front. -The story of the “crucified Canadians” had been disproved by the -English Intelligence officers after a special enquiry, as Wickham had -told her. She had never heard the Hymn of Hate. Some of the English -prisoners had been harshly treated--there were brutal commandants--but -not deliberately starved. Not starved more than German soldiers, who -had very little food during the last years of the war. - -“But surely,” said Lady Brand, “you must admit, my dear, that Germany -conducted this war with the greatest possible barbarity? Otherwise why -should the world call them Huns?” - -Elsa said it was only the English who called the Germans Huns, and that -was for a propaganda of hatred which was very wicked. - -“Do _I_ look like a Hun?” she asked, and then burst into tears. - -Lady Brand was disconcerted by that sign of weakness. - -“You mustn’t think us unkind, Elsa, but of course we have to uphold the -truth.” - -Ethel was utterly unmoved by Elsa’s tears, and, indeed, found a holy -satisfaction in them. - -“When the German people confess their guilt with weeping and -lamentation, the English will be first to forgive. Never till then.” - -The presence of a German girl in the house seemed to act as a blight -upon all domestic happiness. It was the cook who first “gave notice.” -Elsa had never so much as set eyes upon that cross-eyed woman -below-stairs who had prepared the family food since Wickham had sat -in a high chair, with a bib round his neck. But Mary, in a private -interview with Lady Brand, stormy in its character, as Elsa could hear -through the folding-doors, vowed that she would not live in the same -house with “one of those damned Germings.” - -Lady Brand’s tearful protestations that Elsa was no longer German, -being “Mr. Wickham’s wife,” and that she had repented sincerely of -all the wrong done by the country in which she had unfortunately been -born, did not weaken the resolution of Mary Grubb, whose patriotism -had always been “above suspicion,” “which,” as she said, “I hope to -remain so.” She went next morning, after a great noise of breathing -and the descent of tin boxes, while Lady Brand and Ethel looked with -reproachful eyes at Elsa as the cause of this irreparable blow. - -The parlour-maid followed in a week’s time, on the advice of her young -man, who had worked in a canteen of the Y. M. C. A. at Boulogne and -knew all about German spies. - -It was very awkward for Lady Brand, who assumed an expression of -Christian martyrdom, and told Wickham that his rash act was bearing sad -fruit, a mixed metaphor which increased his anger, as he told me, to a -ridiculous degree. - -He could see that Elsa was very miserable. Many times she wept when -alone with him, and begged him to take her away to a little home of -their own, even if it were only one room in the poorest neighbourhood. -But Wickham was almost penniless, and begged her to be patient a -little longer, until he had saved enough to fulfil their hope. There -I think he was unwise. It would have been better for him to borrow -money--he had good friends--rather than keep his wife in such a hostile -atmosphere. She was weak and ill. He was alarmed at her increasing -weakness. Once she fainted in his arms, and even to go upstairs to -their rooms at the top of the house tired her so much that afterwards -she would lie back in a chair, with her eyes closed, looking very -white and worn. She tried to hide her ill-health from her husband, and -when they were alone together she seemed gay and happy, and would have -deceived him but for those fits of weeping at the unkindness of his -mother and sister, and those sudden attacks of “tiredness” when all -physical strength departed from her. - -Her love for him seemed to grow with the weakness of her body. She -could not bear him to leave her alone for any length of time, and while -he was writing, sat near him, so that she might have her head against -his shoulder, or touch his hand, or kiss it. It was not conducive to -easy writing, or the invention of plots. - -Something like a crisis happened, after a painful scene in the -drawing-room downstairs, on a day when Brand had gone out to walk off a -sense of deadly depression which prevented all literary effort. - -Several ladies had come to tea with Lady Brand and Ethel, and they -gazed at Elsa as though she were a strange and dangerous animal. - -One of them, a thin and elderly schoolmistress, cross-questioned Elsa -as to her nationality. - -“I suppose you are Swedish, my dear?” she said, sweetly. - -“No,” said Elsa. - -“Danish, then, no doubt?” continued Miss Clutter. - -“I am German,” said Elsa. - -That announcement had caused consternation among Lady Brand’s guests. -Two of the ladies departed almost immediately. The others stayed to see -how Miss Clutter would deal with this amazing situation. - -She dealt with it firmly, and with the cold intelligence of a High -School mistress. - -“How _very_ interesting!” she said, turning to Lady Brand. “Perhaps -your daughter-in-law will enlighten us a little about German -psychology, which we have found so puzzling. I should be so glad if -she could explain to us how the German people reconcile the sinking -of merchant ships, the unspeakable crime of the _Lusitania_ with any -belief in God, or even with the principles of our common humanity. It -is a mystery to me how the drowning of babies could be regarded as -legitimate warfare by a people proud of their civilisation.” - -“Perhaps it would be better to avoid controversy, dear Miss Clutter,” -said Lady Brand, alarmed at the prospect of an “unpleasant” scene -which would be described in other drawing-rooms next day. - -But Miss Clutter had adopted Ethel’s method of enquiry. She so much -wanted to know the German point of view. Certainly they must have a -point of view. - -“Yes, it would be so interesting to know!” said another lady. - -“Especially if we could believe it,” said another. - -Elsa had been twisting and re-twisting a little lace handkerchief in -her lap. She was very pale, and tried to conceal a painful agitation -from all these hostile and enquiring ladies. - -Then she spoke to them in a low, strained voice. - -“You will never understand,” she said. “You look out from England with -eyes of hate, and without pity in your hearts. The submarine warfare -was shameful. There were little children drowned on the _Lusitania_, -and women. I wept for them, and prayed the dear God to stop the war. -Did you weep for our little children, and our women? They too were -killed by sea warfare, not only a few, as on the _Lusitania_, but -thousands and tens of thousands. Your blockade closed us in with an -iron ring. No ship could bring us food. For two years we starved on -short rations and chemical foods. We were without fats and milk. -Our mothers watched their children weaken, and wither, and die, -because of the English blockade. Their own milk dried up within their -breasts. Little coffins were carried down our streets day after day, -week after week. Fathers and mothers were mad at the loss of their -little ones. ‘We must smash our way through the English blockade!’ -they said. The U-boat warfare gladdened them. It seemed a chance of -rescue for the children of Germany. It was wicked. But all the war -was wickedness. It was wicked of you English to keep up your blockade -so long after Armistice, so that more children died, and more women -were consumptive, and men fainted at their work. Do you reconcile that -with God’s good love? Oh, I find more hatred here in England than I -knew even in Germany. It is cruel, unforgiving, unfair! You are proud -of your own virtue, and hypocritical. God will be kinder to my people -than to you, because now we cry out for His mercy, and you are still -arrogant, with the name of God on your lips but a devil of pride in -your hearts. I came here with my dear husband believing that many -English would be like him, forgiving, hating cruelty, eager to heal the -world’s broken heart. You are not like him. You are cruel and lovers -of cruelty, even to one poor German girl who came to you for shelter -with her English man. I am sorry for you. I pity you because of your -narrowness. I do not want to know you.” - -She stood up, swaying a little, with one hand on the mantelpiece, as -afterwards she told her husband. She did not believe that she could -cross the floor without falling. There was a strange dizziness in her -head, and a mist before her eyes. But she held her head high and walked -out of the drawing-room, and then upstairs. When Wickham Brand came -back, she was lying on her bed, very ill. He sent for a doctor, who was -with her for half-an-hour. - -“She is very weak,” he said. “No pulse to speak of. You will have to be -careful of her. Deuced careful.” - -He gave no name to her illness. “Just weakness,” he said. “Run down -like a worn-out clock. Nerves all wrong, and no vitality.” - -He sent round a tonic, which Elsa took like a child, and for a little -while it seemed to do her good. But Brand was frightened because her -weakness had come back. - -I am glad now that I had an idea which helped Brand in this time of -trouble and gave Elsa some weeks of happiness and peace. It occurred -to me that young Harding was living alone in his big old country -house near Weybridge, and would be glad and grateful, because of -his loneliness, to give house-room to Brand and his wife. He had a -great liking for Brand, as most of us had, and his hatred of Germany -had not been so violent since his days in Cologne. His good-nature, -anyhow, and the fine courtesy which was the essential quality of his -character, would make him kind to Elsa, so ill and so desperately in -need of kindness. I was not disappointed. When I spoke to him over the -telephone, he said, “It will be splendid for me. This lonely house is -getting on my nerves badly. Bring them down.” - -I took them down in a car two days later. It was a fine autumn day, -with a sparkle in the air and a touch of frost on the hedgerows. Elsa, -wrapped up in heavy rugs, lay back next to Brand, and a little colour -crept back into her cheeks and brought back her beauty. I think a -shadow lifted from her as she drove away from that house in Chelsea -where she had dwelt with enmity among her husband’s people. - -Harding’s house in Surrey was at the end of a fine avenue of beeches, -glorious in their autumn foliage of crinkled gold. A rabbit scuttled -across the drive as we came, and bobbed beneath the red bracken of the -undergrowth. - -“Oh,” said Elsa, like a child, “there is Peterkin! What a rogue he -looks!” - -Her eyes were bright when she caught sight of Harding’s house in the -Elizabethan style of post-and-plaster splashed with scarlet where the -Virginia creeper straggled on its walls. - -“It is wonderfully English,” she said. “How Franz would love this -place!” - -Harding came down from the steps to greet us, and I thought it noble -of him that he should kiss the girl’s hand when Brand said, “This is -Elsa.” For Harding had been a Hun-hater--you remember his much-repeated -phrase, “No good German but a dead German!”--and that little act was -real chivalry to a woman of the enemy. - -There was a great fire of logs burning in the open hearth in the hall, -flinging a ruddy glare on the panelled walls and glinting on bits -of armour and hunting trophies. Upstairs also, Brand told me, there -was a splendid fire in Elsa’s room, which had once been the room of -Harding’s wife. It warmed Elsa not only in body but in soul. Here was -an English welcome, and kindness of thought. On her dressing-table -there were flowers from Harding’s hot-houses, and she gave a little -cry of pleasure at the sight of them, for there had been no flowers in -Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. That night she was strong enough to come down to -dinner, and looked very charming there at the polished board, lit only -by candlelight whose soft rays touched the gold of her hair. - -“It is a true English home,” she said, glancing up at the panelled -walls and at portraits of Harding’s people in old-fashioned costumes -which hung there. - -“A lonely one when no friends are here,” said Harding, and that was the -only time he referred in any way to the wife who had left him. - -That dinner was the last one which Elsa had sitting at table with us. -She became very tired again. So tired that Brand had to carry her -upstairs and downstairs, which he did as though she weighed no more -than a child. During the day she lay on a sofa in the drawing-room, and -Brand did no writing now, nor any kind of work, but stayed always with -his wife. For hours together he sat by her side, and she held his hand -and touched his face and hair, and was happy in her love. - -A good friend came to stay with them, and brought unfailing -cheerfulness. It was Charles Fortune, who had come down at Harding’s -invitation. He was as comical as ever, and made Elsa laugh with ripples -of merriment while he satirised the world as he knew it, with shrewd -and penetrating wit. He played the jester industriously to get that -laughter from her, though sometimes she had to beg of him not to make -her laugh so much because it hurt her. Then he played the piano late -into the afternoon, until the twilight in the room faded into darkness -except for the ruddy glow of the log fire, or after dinner in the -evenings until Brand carried his wife to bed. He played Chopin best, -with a magic touch, but Elsa liked him to play Bach and Schumann, and -sometimes Mozart, because that brought back her girlhood in the days -before the war. - -So it was one evening when Brand sat on a low stool by the sofa on -which Elsa lay, with her fingers playing in his hair, or resting on his -shoulder, while Fortune filled the room with melody. - -Once or twice Elsa spoke to Brand in a low voice. I heard some of her -words as I lay on a bearskin by the fire. - -“I am wonderfully happy, my dear,” she said once, and Brand pulled her -hand down and kissed it. - -A little later she spoke again. - -“Love is so much better than hate. Then why should people go to war?” - -“God knows, my dear,” said Brand. - -It was some time after that, when Fortune was playing softly, that I -heard Elsa give a big, tired sigh, and say the word “Peace!” - -Charles Fortune played something of Beethoven’s now, with grand -crashing chords which throbbed through the room as the last glow of -the sunset flushed through the windows. - -Suddenly Brand stirred on his stool, made an abrupt movement, then -rose, and gave a loud, agonising cry. Fortune stopped playing, with a -slur of notes. Harding leapt up from his chair in a dark corner and -said, “Brand! ... what’s the matter?” - -Brand had dropped to his knees, and was weeping, with his arms about -his dead wife. - - - - -VIII - - -I was again a wanderer in the land, and going from country to country -in Europe saw the disillusionment that had followed victory, and the -despair that had followed defeat, and the ravages that were bequeathed -by war to peace, not only in devastated earth and stricken towns, but -in the souls of men and women. - -The victors had made great promises to their people, but for the most -part they were still unredeemed. They had promised them rich fruits -of victory to be paid out of the ruin of their enemies. But little -fruit of gold or treasure could be gathered from the utter bankruptcy -of Germany and Austria, whose factories stayed idle for lack of -raw material and whose money was waste paper in value of exchange. -“Reconstruction” was the watchword of statesmen, uttered as a kind of -magic spell, but when I went over the old battlefields in France I -found no sign of reconstruction, but only the vast belt of desolation -which in war I had seen swept by fire. No spell-word had built up -those towns and villages which had been blown into dust and ashes, -nor had given life to riven trees and earth choked and deadened by -high-explosives. Here and there poor families had crept back to the -place where their old homes had stood, grubbing in the ruins for some -relic of their former habitations and building wooden shanties in the -desert as frail shelters against the wind and the rain. In Ypres--the -City of Great Death--there were wooden _estaminets_ for the refreshment -of tourists who came from Paris to see the graveyard of youth, and -girls sold picture-postcards where boys of ours had gone marching up -the Menin Road under storms of shell-fire which took daily toll of -them. No French statesman by optimistic words could resurrect in a -little while the beauty that had been in Artois and Picardy and the -fields of Champagne. - -On days of national thanksgiving the spirit of France was exalted by -the joy of victory. In Paris it was a feverish joy, wild-eyed, with -laughing ecstasy, with troops of dancing girls, and a carnival that -broke all bounds between Montmartre and Montparnasse. France had saved -herself from death. She had revenged herself for 1870 and the years -just passed. She had crushed the Enemy that had always been a brutal -menace across the frontier. She had her sword deep in the heart of -Germany, which lay bleeding at her feet. I who love France with a -kind of passion, and had seen during the years of war the agony and -the heroism of her people, did not begrudge them their ecstasy, and -it touched my spirit with its fire so that in France I could see and -understand the French point of view, of ruthlessness towards the beaten -foe. But I saw also what many people of France saw slowly but with a -sense of fear, that the Treaty made by Clémenceau did not make them -safe, except for a little while. This had not been, after all, “the war -to end war.” There was no guarantee of world-peace. Their frontiers -were not made impregnable against the time when the Germans might -grow strong again and come back for vengeance. They could not stand -alone, but must make new alliances, new secret treaties, new armies, -new armaments, because Hate survived, and the League of Nations was a -farce, as it had come from the table at Versailles. - -They looked round and counted their cost--a million and a half dead. -A multitude of maimed, and blind, and nerve-shocked men. A birth-rate -that had sunk to zero. A staggering debt which they could not pay. A -cost of living which mounted higher and ever higher. A sense of revolt -among the soldiers who had come back, because their reward for four -years of misery was no more than miserable. - -So it was in Italy, stricken by a more desperate poverty, disappointed -by a lack of spoil, angry with a sense of “betrayal,” afraid of -revolution, exultant when a mad poet seized the port of Fiume which had -been denied to her by President Wilson and his conscience. - -Across the glittering waters of the Adriatic I went to Trieste and -found it a dead port, with Italian officers in possession of its -deserted docks and abandoned warehouses, and Austrians dying of typhus -in the back streets, and starving to death in tenement houses. - -And then, across the new State of Jugo-Slavia cut out of the body of -the old Austrian Empire now lying dismembered, I came to Vienna, which -once I had known as the gayest capital of Europe, where charming people -played the pleasant game of life, with music, and love, and laughter. - -In Vienna there was music still, but it played a _danse macabre_, a -Dance of Death, which struck one with a sense of horror. The orchestras -still fiddled in the restaurants; at night the opera house was crowded. -In cafés bright with gilt and glass, in restaurants rich in marble -walls, crowds of people listened to the waltzes of Strauss, ate -smuggled food at monstrous prices, laughed, flirted, and drank. They -were the profiteers of war, spending paper money with the knowledge -that it had no value outside Vienna, no value here except in stacks, to -buy warmth for their stomachs, a little warmth for their souls, while -their stock of Kronen lasted. They were the vultures from Jugo-Slavia -and Czecho-Slovakia come to feed on the corpse of Austria while it -still had flesh on its bones, and while Austrian Kronen still had -some kind of purchase power.... And outside, two million people were -starving slowly but very surely to death. - -The children were starving quickly to death. Their coffins passed -me in the streets. Ten--twelve--fifteen--in one-half-hour between -San Stefan’s Church and the Favoritenstrasse. Small living skeletons -padded after one with naked feet, thrusting out little claw-like hands, -begging for charity. In the great hospital of Vienna children lay in -crowded wards, with twisted limbs and bulbous heads, diseased from -birth, because of their mother’s hunger, and a life without milk, and -any kind of fat. - -Vienna, the capital of a great Empire, had been sentenced to death by -the Treaty of Peace which had so carved up her former territory that -she was cut off from all her natural resources and from all means of -industry, commerce and life. - -It was Dr. Small, dear Daddy Small, who gave me an intimate knowledge -of what was happening in Vienna a year after Armistice, and it was -Eileen O’Connor who still further enlightened me by taking me into the -babies’ crèches, the _Kinderspital_ and the working people’s homes, -where disease and death found their victims. She took me to these -places until I sickened and said, “I can bear no more.” - -Dr. Small had a small office in the _Kärtnerstrasse_, where Eileen -worked with him, and it was here that I found them both a day after -my arrival in Vienna. Eileen was on her knees, making a wood fire and -puffing it into a blaze for the purpose of boiling a tin kettle which -stood on a trivet, and after that, as I found, for making tea. Outside -there was a raw, horrible day, with a white mist in which those coffins -were going by, and with those barefoot children with pallid faces and -gaunt cheeks padding by one’s side, so that I was glad to see the -flames in the hearth and to hear the cheerful clink of tea-cups which -the doctor was getting out. Better still was I glad to see these two -good friends, so sane, so vital, so purposeful, as I found them, in a -world of gloom and neurosis. - -The doctor told me of their work. It was life-saving, and increasing -in range of action. They had organised a number of feeding centres -in Vienna, and stores from which mothers could buy condensed milk -and cocoa, and margarine, at next to nothing, for their starving -babes. Austrian ladies were doing most of the actual work apart from -organisation at headquarters, and doing it devotedly. From America, and -from England, money was flowing in. - -“The tide of thought is turning,” said the doctor. “Every dollar we -get, and every shilling, is a proof that the call of humanity is being -heard above the old war-cries.” - -“And every dollar, and every shilling,” said Eileen, “is helping to -save the life of some poor woman or some little mite, who had no guilt -in the war, but suffered from its cruelty.” - -“This job,” said the doctor, “suits my peculiar philosophy. I am not -out so much to save these babies’ lives----” - -Here Eileen threatened to throw the teapot at his head. - -“Because,” he added, “some of them would be better dead, and anyhow you -can’t save a nation by charity. But what I am out to do is to educate -the heart of the world above the baseness of the passions that caused -the massacre in Europe. We’re helping to do it by saving the children, -and by appealing to the chivalry of men and women across the old -frontiers. We’re killers of cruelty, Miss Eileen and I. We’re rather -puffed up with ourselves, ain’t we, my dear?” - -He grinned at Eileen through his big spectacles, and I could see -that between this little American and that Irish girl there was an -understanding comradeship. - -So he told me when she left the room a minute to get another tea-cup, -or wash one up. - -“That girl!” he said. “Say, laddie, you couldn’t find a better head -in all Europe, including Hoover himself. She’s a Napoleon Bonaparte -without his blood-lust. She’s Horatio Nelson and Lord Northcliffe and -Nurse Cavell all rolled into one, to produce the organising genius -of Eileen O’Connor. Only, you would have to add a few saints like -Catherine of Sienna and Joan of Arc to allow for her spirituality. She -organises feeding-centres like you would write a column article. She -gets the confidence of Austrian women so that they would kiss her feet -if she’d allow it. She has a head for figures that fairly puts me to -shame, and as for her courage--well, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve -sworn to pack her back to England if she doesn’t keep clear of typhus -dens and other fever-stricken places. We can’t afford to lose her by -some dirty bug-bite.” - -Eileen came into the room again with another tea-cup and saucer. I -counted those on the table and saw three already. - -“Who is the other cup for?” I asked. “If you are expecting visitors -I’ll go, because I’m badly in need of a wash.” - -“Don’t worry,” said Eileen. “We haven’t time to wash in Vienna, and -anyhow there’s no soap, for love or money. This is for Wickham, who is -no visitor but one of the staff.” - -“Wickham?” I said. “Is Brand here?” - -“Rather!” said Daddy Small. “He has been here a week, and is doing -good work. Looks after the supplies, and puts his heart into the job.” - -As he spoke the door opened and Brand strode into the room, with rain -dripping from his waterproof coat which he took off and flung into a -corner before he turned to the table. - -“Lord! a cup of tea is what I want!” - -“And what you shall have, my dear,” said Eileen. “But don’t you know a -friend when you see him?” - -“By Jove!” - -He held my hand in a hard grip and patted me on the shoulder. Our -friendship was beyond the need of words. - -So there we three who had seen many strange and tragic things in those -years of history were together again, in the city of Vienna, the city -of death, where the innocent were paying for the guilty but where -also, as Daddy Small said, there was going out a call to charity which -was being heard by the heart of the world above the old war-cries of -cruelty. - -I stayed with them only a week. I had been long away from England and -had other work to do. But in that time I saw how these three friends, -and others in their service, were devoting themselves to the rescue -of human life. Partly, I think, for their own sake, though without -conscious selfishness, and with a passionate pity for those who -suffered. By this service they were healing their own souls, sorely -wounded in the war. That was so, certainly, with Wickham Brand, and a -little, I think, with Eileen O’Connor. - -Brand was rescued in the nick of time by the doctor’s call to him. -Elsa’s death had struck him a heavy blow when his nerves were already -in rags and tatters. Now by active service in this work of humanity and -healing he was getting back to normality, getting serene, and steady. -I saw the change in him, revealed by the light in his eyes and by his -quietude of speech, and the old sense of humour, which for a while he -had lost. - -“I see now,” he said one night, “that it’s no use fighting against the -injustice and brutality of life. I can’t remake the world, or change -the things that are written in history, or alter in any big way the -destiny of peoples. Stupidity, ignorance, barbarity, will continue -among the multitude. All that any of us can do is to tackle some good -job that lies at hand, and keep his own soul bright and fearless, if -there is any chance, and use his little intellect in his little circle -for kindness instead of cruelty. I find that chance here, and I am -grateful.” - -The doctor had larger and bigger hopes, though his philosophy of life -was not much different from that of Brand’s. - -“I want to fix up an intellectual company in this funny old universe,” -he said. “I want to establish an intellectual aristocracy on -international lines--the leaders of the New World. By intellectuals -I don’t mean highbrow fellows with letters after their names and -encyclopædias in their brain-pans. I mean men and women who by moral -character, kindness of heart, freedom from narrow hatreds, tolerance of -different creeds and races, and love of humanity, will unite in a free, -unfettered way, without a label or a league, to get a move on towards a -better system of human society. No Red Bolshevism, mind you, no heaven -by way of hell, but a striving for greater justice between classes and -nations, and for peace within the frontiers of Christendom, and beyond, -if possible. It’s getting back to the influence of the individual, the -leadership of multitudes by the power of the higher mind. I’m doing it -by penny postcards to all my friends. This work of ours in Vienna is a -good proof of their response. Let all the folk, with good hearts behind -their brains, start writing postcards to each other, with a plea for -brotherhood, charity, peace, and the New World would come.... You -laugh! Yes, I talk a little nonsense. It’s not so easy as that. But see -the idea? The leaders must keep in touch, and the herds will follow.” - -I turned to Eileen, who was listening with a smile about her lips while -she pasted labels on to packets of cocoa. - -“What’s your philosophy?” I asked. - -She laughed in that deep voice of hers. - -“I’ve none; only the old faith, and a little hope, and a heart that’s -bustin’ with love.” - -Brand was adding up figures in a book of accounts, and smiled across at -the girl whom he had known since boyhood, when she had pulled his hair. - -His wounds were healing. - - -THE END - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOUNDED SOULS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Wounded Souls</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Philip Gibbs</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 24, 2021 [eBook #65907]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Tim Lindell, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOUNDED SOULS ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2 uline">WOUNDED SOULS</p> - -<p class="bold2">PHILIP GIBBS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/books.jpg" alt="BY PHILIP GIBBS" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h1>WOUNDED SOULS</h1> - -<p class="bold">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">PHILIP GIBBS</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF “THE STREET OF ADVENTURE,”<br /> -“THE INDIVIDUALIST,” ETC.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">NEW <img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /> YORK<br />GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1920,<br />BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<p class="center space-above">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">BOOK ONE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">THE END OF THE ADVENTURE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">BOOK TWO</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">THROUGH HOSTILE GATES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">BOOK THREE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">BUILDERS OF PEACE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK ONE: THE END OF THE ADVENTURE </h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">WOUNDED SOULS</p> - -<p class="bold">BOOK ONE: THE END OF THE ADVENTURE</p> - -<h2>I</h2> - -<p>It is hard to recapture the spirit of that day we entered Lille. -Other things, since, have blurred its fine images. At the time, I -tried to put down in words the picture of that scene when, after four -years’ slaughter of men, the city, which had seemed a world away, was -open to us a few miles beyond the trenchlines, the riven trees, the -shell-holes, and the stench of death, and we walked across the canal, -over a broken bridge, into that large town where—how wonderful it -seemed!—there were roofs on the houses, and glass in the windows and -crowds of civilian people waiting for the first glimpse of British -khaki.</p> - -<p>Even now remembrance brings back to me figures that I saw only for -a moment or two but remain sharply etched in my mind, and people I -met in the streets who told me the story of four years in less than -four minutes and enough to let me know their bitterness, hatred, -humiliations, terrors, in the time of the German occupation.... I have -re-read the words I wrote, hastily, on a truculent typewriter which I -cursed for its twisted ribbon, while the vision of the day was in my -eyes. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> are true to the facts and to what we felt about them. Other -men felt that sense of exaltation, a kind of mystical union with the -spirit of many people who had been delivered from evil powers. It is of -those other men that I am now writing, and especially of one who was my -friend—Wickham Brand, with the troubled soul, whom I knew in the years -of war and afterwards in the peace which was no peace to him.</p> - -<p>His was one of the faces I remember that day, as I had a glimpse of it -now and then, among crowds of men and women, young girls and children, -who surged about him, kissing his hands, and his face when he stooped a -little (he was taller than most of them) to meet the wet lips of some -half-starved baby held up by a pallid woman of Lille, or to receive -the kiss of some old woman who clawed his khaki tunic, or of some girl -who hung on to his belt. There was a shining wetness in his eyes, and -the hard lines of his face had softened as he laughed at all this -turmoil about him, at all these hands robbing him of shoulder-straps -and badges, and at all these people telling him a hundred things -together—their gratitude to the English, their hatred of the Germans, -their abominable memories. His field-cap was pushed back from his high -furrowed forehead from which at the temples the hair had worn thin, -owing to worry or a steelhat. His long lean face deeply tanned, but -powdered with white dust, had an expression of tenderness which gave -him a kind of priestly look, though others would have said “knightly” -with perhaps equal truth. Anyhow I could see that for a little while -Brand was no longer worrying about the casualty-lists and the doom of -youth and was giving himself up to an exultation that was visible and -spiritual in Lille in the day of liberation.</p> - -<p>The few of us who went first into Lille while our troops were in a wide -arc round the city, in touch more or less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> with the German rearguards, -were quickly separated in the swirl of the crowd that surged about -us, greeting us as conquering heroes, though none of us were actual -fighting-men, being war-correspondents, Intelligence officers (Wickham -Brand and three other officers were there to establish an advanced -headquarters), with an American doctor—that amazing fellow “Daddy” -Small—and our French liaison officer, Pierre Nesle. Now and again we -met in the streets and exchanged words.</p> - -<p>I remember the Doctor and I drifted together at the end of the -Boulevard de la Liberté. A French girl of the middle-class had tucked -her hand through his right arm and was talking to him excitedly, -volubly. On his other arm leaned an old dame in a black dress and -bonnet who was also delivering her soul of its pent-up emotion to a man -who did not understand more than a few words of her French. A small boy -dressed as a Zouave was walking backwards, waving a long tricolour flag -before the little American, and a crowd of people made a close circle -about him, keeping pace.</p> - -<p>“Assassins, bandits, robbers!” gobbled the old woman. “They stole all -our copper, monsieur. The very mattresses off our beds. The wine out of -our cellars. They did abominations.”</p> - -<p>“Month after month we waited,” said the girl with her hand through -the Doctor’s right arm. “All that time the noise of the guns was loud -in our ears. It never ceased, monsieur, until to-day. And we used to -say, ‘To-morrow the English will come!’ until at last some of us lost -heart—not I, no, always I believed in victory!—and said, ‘The English -will never come.’ Now you are here, and our hearts are full of joy. It -is like a dream. The Germans have gone!”</p> - -<p>The Doctor patted the girl’s hand, and addressed me across the -tricolour waved by the small Zouave. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is the greatest day of my life! And I am perfectly ashamed -of myself. In spite of my beard and my gig-lamps and my anarchical -appearance, these dear people take me for an English officer and a -fighting hero! And I feel like one. If I saw a German now I truly -believe I should cut his throat. Me—a noncombatant and a man of peace! -I’m horrified at my own bloodthirstiness. The worst of it is I’m -enjoying it. I’m a primitive man for a time, and find it stimulating. -To-morrow I shall repent. These people have suffered hell’s torments. -I can’t understand a word the little old lady is telling me, but I’m -sure she’s been through infernal things. And this pretty girl. She’s a -peach, though slightly tuberculous, poor child. My God—how they hate! -There is a stored-up hatred in this town enough to burn up Germany by -mental telepathy. It’s frightening. Hatred and joy, I feel these two -passions like a flame about us. It’s spiritual. It’s transcendental. -It’s the first time I’ve seen a hundred thousand people drunk with joy -and hate. I’m against hate, and yet the sufferings of these people make -me see red so that I want to cut a German throat!”</p> - -<p>“You’d stitch it up afterwards, Doctor,” I said.</p> - -<p>He blinked at me through his spectacles, and said:</p> - -<p>“I hope so. I hope my instinct would be as right as that. The world -will never get forward till we have killed hatred. That’s my religion.”</p> - -<p>“Bandits! assassins!” grumbled the old lady. “Dirty people!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Vivent les Anglais!</i>” shouted the crowd, surging about the little man -with the beard.</p> - -<p>The American doctor spoke in English in a large explanatory way.</p> - -<p>“I’m American. Don’t you go making any mistake. I’m an Uncle Sam. The -Yankee boys are further south<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> and fighting like hell, poor lads. I -don’t deserve any of this ovation, my dears.”</p> - -<p>Then in French, with a strong American accent, he shouted:</p> - -<p>“<i>Vive la France!</i> ’Rah!’Rah!’Rah!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Merci, merci, mon Général!</i>” said an old woman, making a grab at the -little doctor’s Sam Brown belt and kissing him on the beard. The crowd -closed round him and bore him away....</p> - -<p>I met another of our crowd when I went to a priest’s house in a -turning off the Rue Royale. Pierre Nesle, our liaison officer—a nice -simple fellow who had always been very civil to me—was talking to -the priest outside his door, and introduced me in a formal way to a -tall patrician-looking old man in a long black gown. It was the Abbé -Bourdin, well known in Lille as a good priest and a patriot.</p> - -<p>“Come indoors, gentlemen,” said the old man. “I will tell you what -happened to us, though it would take four years to tell you all.”</p> - -<p>Sitting there in the priest’s room, barely furnished, with a few oak -chairs and a writing-desk littered with papers, and a table covered -with a tattered cloth of red plush, we listened to a tragic tale, told -finely and with emotion by the old man into whose soul it had burned. -It was the history of a great population caught by the tide of war -before many could escape, and placed under the military law of an -enemy who tried to break his spirit. They failed to break it, in spite -of an iron discipline which denied them all liberty. For any trivial -offence by individuals against German rule the whole population was -fined or shut up in their houses at three in the afternoon. There were -endless fines, unceasing and intolerable robberies under the name of -“perquisitions.” That had not broken the people’s spirit. There were -worse things to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> bear—the removal of machinery from the factories, the -taking away of the young men and boys for forced labour, and, then, -the greater infamy of that night when machine-guns were placed at the -street corners and German officers ordered each household to assemble -at the front door and chose the healthy-looking girls by the pointing -of a stick and the word, “You!—you!—” for slave-labour—it was -that—in unknown fields far away.</p> - -<p>The priest’s face blanched at the remembrance of that scene. His voice -quavered when he spoke of the girls’ screams—one of them had gone -raving mad—and of the wailing that rose among their stricken families. -For a while he was silent, with lowered head and brooding eyes which -stared at a rent in the threadbare carpet, and I noticed the trembling -of a pulse on his right temple above the deeply-graven wrinkles of his -parchment skin. Then he raised his head and spoke harshly.</p> - -<p>“Not even that could break the spirit of my people. They only said, -‘We will never forget, and never forgive!’ They were hungry—we did -not get much food—but they said, ‘Our sons who are fighting for us -are suffering worse things. It is for us to be patient.’ They were -surrounded by German spies—the secret police—who listened to their -words and haled them off to prison upon any pretext. There is hardly -a man among us who has not been in prison. The women were made to do -filthy work for German soldiers, to wash their lousy clothes, to scrub -their dirty barracks, and they were insulted, humiliated, tempted, by -brutal men.”</p> - -<p>“Was there much of that brutality?” I asked.</p> - -<p>The priest’s eyes grew sombre.</p> - -<p>“Many women suffered abominable things. I thank God that so many kept -their pride, and their honour. There were, no doubt, some bad men and -women in the city—disloyal, venal, weak, sinful—may God have mercy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -on their souls—but I am proud of being a Frenchman when I think of how -great was the courage, how patient was the suffering of the people of -Lille.”</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle had listened to that monologue with a visible and painful -emotion. He became pale and flushed by turns, and when the priest -spoke about the forcible recruitment of the women a sweat broke out -on his forehead, and he wiped it away with a handkerchief. I see his -face now in profile, sharply outlined against some yellowing folios -in a bookcase behind him, a typical Parisian face in its sharpness of -outline and pallid skin, with a little black moustache above a thin, -sensitive mouth. Before I had seen him mostly in gay moods—though I -had wondered sometimes at the sudden silences into which he fell and at -a gloom which gave him a melancholy look when he was not talking, or -singing, or reciting poetry, or railing against French politicians, or -laughing, almost hysterically, at the satires of Charles Fortune—our -“funny man”—when he came to our mess. Now he was suffering as if the -priest’s words had probed a wound—though not the physical wound which -had nearly killed him in Souchez Wood.</p> - -<p>He stood up from the wooden chair with its widely-curved arms in which -he had been sitting stiffly, and spoke to the priest.</p> - -<p>“It is not amusing, <i>mon père</i>, what you tell us, and what we have all -guessed. It is one more chapter of tragedy in the history of our poor -France. Pray God the war will soon be over.”</p> - -<p>“With victory!” said the old priest. “With an enemy beaten and bleeding -beneath our feet. The Germans must be punished for all their crimes, or -the justice of God will not be satisfied.”</p> - -<p>There was a thrill of passion in the old man’s voice and his nostrils -quivered. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To all Frenchmen that goes without saying,” said Pierre Nesle. “The -Germans must be punished, and will be, though no vengeance will repay -us for the suffering of our <i>poilus</i>—nor for the agony of our women -behind the lines, which perhaps was the greatest of all.”</p> - -<p>The Abbé Bourdin put his claw-like old hands on the young man’s -shoulders and drew him closer and kissed his Croix de Guerre.</p> - -<p>“You have helped to give victory,” he said. “How many Germans have you -killed? How many, eh?”</p> - -<p>He spoke eagerly, chuckling, with a kind of childish eagerness for good -news.</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle drew back a little and a faint touch of colour crept into -his face, and then left it whiter.</p> - -<p>“I did not count corpses,” he said. He touched his left side and -laughed awkwardly. “I remember better that they nearly made a corpse of -me.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s silence, and then my friend spoke in a casual kind -of way.</p> - -<p>“I suppose, <i>mon père</i>, you have not heard of my sister being in Lille? -By any chance? Her name was Marthe. Marthe Nesle.”</p> - -<p>The Abbé Bourdin shook his head.</p> - -<p>“I do not know the name. There are many young women in Lille. It is a -great city.”</p> - -<p>“That is true,” said Pierre Nesle. “There are many.” He bowed over the -priest’s hand, and then saluted.</p> - -<p>“<i>Bon jour, mon père, et merci mille fois.</i>”</p> - -<p>So we left, and the Abbé Bourdin spoke his last words to me:</p> - -<p>“We owe our liberation to the English. We thank you. But why did you -not come sooner? Two years sooner, three years. With your great army?”</p> - -<p>“Many of our men died to get here,” I said. “Thousands.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That is true. That is true. You failed many times, I know. But you -were so close. One big push—eh? One mighty effort? No?”</p> - -<p>The priest spoke a thought which I had heard expressed in the crowds. -They were grateful for our coming, immensely glad, but could not -understand why we had tried their patience so many years. That had been -their greatest misery, waiting, waiting.</p> - -<p>I spoke to Pierre Nesle on the doorstep of the priest’s house.</p> - -<p>“Have you an idea that your sister is in Lille?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “No. At least not more than the faintest hope. She is -behind the lines somewhere—anywhere. She went away from home before -the war—she was a singer—and was caught in the tide.”</p> - -<p>“No news at all?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Her last letter was from Lille. Or rather a postcard with the Lille -stamp. She said, ‘I am amusing myself well, little brother.’ She and I -were good comrades. I look for her face in the crowds. But she may be -anywhere—Valenciennes, Maubeuge—God knows!”</p> - -<p>A shout of “<i>Vive la France!</i>” rose from a crowd of people surging up -the street. Pierre Nesle was in the blue uniform of the <i>chasseur à -pied</i>, and the people in Lille guessed it was theirs because of its -contrast to our khaki, though the “<i>horizon bleu</i>” was so different -from the uniforms worn by the French army of ’14. To them now, on the -day of liberation, Pierre Nesle, our little liaison officer, stood for -the Armies of France, the glory of France. Even the sight of our khaki -did not fill them with such wild enthusiasm. So I lost him again as I -had lost the little American doctor in the surge and whirlpool of the -crowd.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - -<h2>II</h2> - -<p>I was building up in my mind the historic meaning of the day. Before -nightfall I should have to get it written—the spirit as well as the -facts, if I could—in time for the censors and the despatch-riders. -The facts? By many scraps of conversation with men and women in the -streets I could already reconstruct pretty well the life of Lille in -time of war. I found many of their complaints rather trivial. The -Germans had wanted brass and had taken it, down to the taps in the -washing-places. Well, I had seen worse horrors than that. They had -wanted wool and had taken the mattresses. They had requisitioned all -the wine but had paid for it at cheap rates. These were not atrocities. -The people of Lille had been short of food, sometimes on the verge of -starvation, but not really starved. They complained of having gone -without butter, milk, sugar; but even in England these things were -hard to get. No, the tragedy of Lille lay deeper than that. A sense of -fear that was always with them. “Every time there was a knock at the -door,” said one man, “we started up in alarm. It was a knock at our -hearts.” At any time of the day or night they were subject to visits -from German police, to searches, arrests, or orders to get out of their -houses or rooms for German officers or troops. They were denounced by -spies, Germans, or debased people of their own city, for trying to -smuggle letters to their folk in other towns in enemy occupation, for -concealing copper in hiding-places, for words of contempt against the -Kaiser or the Kommandantur, spoken at a street-corner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> between one -friend and another. That consciousness of being watched, overheard, -reported and denounced, poisoned the very atmosphere of their lives, -and the sight of the field-grey men in the streets, the stench of -them—the smell was horrible when German troops marched back from the -battlefields—produced a soul-sickness worse than physical nausea. I -could understand the constant fret at the nerves of these people, the -nagging humiliation,—they had to doff hats to every German officer -who swaggered by—and the slow-burning passion of people, proud by -virtue of their race, who found themselves controlled, ordered about, -bullied, punished for trivial infractions of military regulations, -by German officials of hard, unbending arrogance. That must have -been abominable for so long a time; but as yet I heard no charges of -definite brutality, or of atrocious actions by individual enemies. -The worst I had heard was that levy of the women for forced labour in -unknown places. One could imagine the horror of it, the cruelty of it -to girls whose nerves were already unstrung by secret fears, dark and -horrible imaginings, the beast-like look in the eyes of men who passed -them in the streets. Then the long-delayed hope of liberation—year -after year—the German boasts of victory, the strength of the German -defence that never seemed to weaken, in spite of the desperate attacks -of French and British, the preliminary success of their great offensive -in March and April when masses of English prisoners were herded through -Lille, dejected, exhausted, hardly able to drag their feet along -between their sullen guards—by Heaven, these people of Lille had -needed much faith to save them from despair. No wonder now, that on -the first day of liberation, some of them were wet-eyed with joy, and -others were lightheaded with liberty.</p> - -<p>In the Grande Place below the old balustraded Town<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> Hall I saw young -Cyril Clatworthy, one of the Intelligence crowd, surrounded by a -group of girls who were stroking his tunic, clasping his hands, -pushing each other laughingly to get nearer to him. He was in lively -conversation with the prettiest girl whom he kept in front of him. It -was obvious that he was enjoying himself as the central figure of this -hero-worship, and as I passed the boy (twenty-four that birthday, he -had told me a month before), I marvelled at his ceaseless capacity for -amorous adventure, with or without a moment’s notice. A pretty girl, if -possible, or a plain one if not, drew him like a magnet, excited all -his boyish egotism, called to the faun-spirit that played the pipes of -Pan in his heart. It was an amusing game for him with his curly brown -hair and Midshipman Easy type of face. For the French girls whom he had -met on his way—little Marcelle on Cassel Hill, Christine at Corbie on -the Somme, Marguérite in the hat-shop at Amiens (what became of her, -poor kid?), it was not so amusing when he “blew away,” as he called it, -and had a look at life elsewhere.</p> - -<p>He winked at me, as I passed, over the heads of the girls.</p> - -<p>“The fruits of victory!” he called out. “There is a little Miss -Brown-Eyes here who is quite enchanting.”</p> - -<p>It was rather caddish of me to say:</p> - -<p>“Have you forgotten Marguérite Aubigny?”</p> - -<p>He thought so too, and reddened, angrily.</p> - -<p>“Go to blazes!” he said.</p> - -<p>His greatest chum, and one of mine,—Charles Fortune—was standing -outside a café in the big Place, not far from the Vieille Bourse with -its richly-carved Renaissance front. Here there was a dense crowd, but -they kept at a respectful distance from Fortune who, with his red tabs -and red-and-blue arm-band and row of ribbons (all gained by heroic -service over a blotting-pad in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> a Nissen hut) looked to them, no doubt, -like a great General. He had his “heroic” face on, rather mystical and -saintly. He had a variety of faces for divers occasions—such as the -“sheep’s face” in the presence of Generals who disliked brilliant men, -the “intelligent” face—bright and enquiring—for senior officers who -liked easy questions to which they could give portentous answers, the -noble face for the benefit of military chaplains, foreign visitors -to the war-zone, and batmen before they discovered his sense of -humour; and the old-English-gentleman face at times for young Harding, -who belonged to a county family with all its traditions, politics, -and instincts, and permitted Fortune to pull his leg, to criticise -Generals, and denounce the British Empire, as a licensed jester.</p> - -<p>Fortune was addressing four gentlemen of the Town Council of Lille who -stood before him, holding ancient top-hats.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Charles Fortune in deliberate French, with an -exaggerated accent, “I appreciate very much the honour you have just -paid me by singing that heroic old song, ‘It’s a long, long way to -Tipperary.’ I desire, however, to explain to you that it is not as -yet the National Anthem of the British People, and that personally I -have never been to Tipperary, that I should find some difficulty in -finding that place on the map, and that I never want to go there. This, -however, is of small importance, except to British Generals, to whom -all small things are of great importance—revealing therefore their -minute attention to detail, even when it does not matter—which, I -may say, is the true test of the military mind which is so gloriously -winning the war, after many glorious defeats (I mean victories) -and——” (Here Fortune became rather tangled in his French grammar, but -rescued himself after a still more heroic look) “and it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> with the -deepest satisfaction, the most profound emotion, that I find myself in -this great city of Lille on the day of liberation, and on behalf of the -British Army, of which I am a humble representative, in spite of these -ribbons which I wear on my somewhat expansive chest, I thank you from -my heart, with the words, <i>Vive la France!</i>”</p> - -<p>Here Fortune heaved a deep sigh, and looked like a Field Marshal while -he waited for the roar of cheers which greeted his words. The mystical -look on his face became intensified as he stood there, a fine heroic -figure (a trifle stout, for lack of exercise), until he suddenly caught -sight of a nice-looking girl in the crowd nearest to him, and gave her -an elaborate wink, as much as to say, “You and I understand each other, -my pretty one! Beneath this heroic pose I am really human.”</p> - -<p>The effect of that wink was instantaneous. The girl blushed vividly and -giggled, while the crowd shouted with laughter.</p> - -<p>“<i>Quel numéro! Quel drôle de type!</i>” said a man by my side.</p> - -<p>Only the four gentleman of the Town Hall, who had resumed their -top-hats, looked perplexed at this grotesque contrast between the -heroic speech (it had sounded heroic) and its anti-climax.</p> - -<p>Fortune took me by the arm as I edged my way close to him.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, it was unbelievable when those four old birds sang -‘Tipperary’ with bared heads. I had to stand at the salute while they -sang three verses with tears in their eyes. They have been learning it -during four years of war. Think of that! And think of what’s happening -in Ireland—in Tipperary—now! There’s some paradox here which contains -all the comedy and pathos of this war. I must think it out. I can’t -quite get at it yet, but I feel it from afar.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is not a day for satire,” I said. “This is a day for sentiment. -These people have escaped from frightful things——”</p> - -<p>Fortune looked at me with quizzical grey eyes out of his handsome, -mask-like face.</p> - -<p>“Et tu, Brute? After all our midnight talks, our laughter at the -mockery of the gods, our intellectual slaughter of the staff, our -tearing down of all the pompous humbug which has bolstered up this -silly old war!”</p> - -<p>“I know. But to-day we can enjoy the spirit of victory. It’s real, -here. We have liberated all these people.”</p> - -<p>“We? You mean the young Tommies who lie dead the other side of the -canal? We come in and get the kudos. Presently the Generals will come -and say, ‘We did it. Regard our glory! Fling down your flowers! Cheer -us, good people, before we go to lunch.’ They will not see behind -them the legions they sent to slaughter by ghastly blunders, colossal -stupidity, invincible pomposity.”</p> - -<p>Fortune broke into song. It was an old anthem of his:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>He had composed it after a fourth whiskey on a cottage piano in his -Nissen hut. In crashing chords he had revealed the soul of a General -preparing a plan of battle—over the telephone. It never failed to make -me laugh, except that day in Lille when it was out of tune, I thought, -with the spirit about us.</p> - -<p>“Let’s put the bitter taste out of our mouth to-day,” I said.</p> - -<p>Fortune made his sheep-face, saluted behind his ear, and said, “Every -inch a soldier—I don’t think!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<h2>III</h2> - -<p>It was then we bumped straight into Wickham Brand, who was between a -small boy and girl, holding his hands, while a tall girl of sixteen or -so, with a yellow pig-tail slung over her shoulder, walked alongside, -talking vivaciously of family experiences under German rule. Pierre -Nesle was on the other side of her.</p> - -<p>“In spite of all the fear we had—oh, how frightened we were -sometimes!—we used to laugh very much. <i>Maman</i> made a joke of -everything—it was the only way. <i>Maman</i> was wonderfully brave, except -when she thought that Father might have been killed.”</p> - -<p>“Where was your father?” asked Brand. “On the French side of the lines?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course. He was an officer in the artillery. We said good-bye -to him on August 2nd of the first year, when he went off to the depôt -at Belfort. We all cried except <i>maman</i>—father was crying too—but -<i>maman</i> did not wink away even the tiniest tear until father had gone. -Then she broke down so that we all howled at the sight of her. Even -these babies joined in. They were only babies then.”</p> - -<p>“Any news of him?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>“Not a word. How could there be? Perhaps in a few days he will walk -into Lille. So <i>maman</i> says.”</p> - -<p>“That would be splendid!” said Brand. “What is his name?”</p> - -<p>“Chéri. M. le Commandant Anatole Chéri, 59th Brigade artillerie -lourde.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>The girl spoke her father’s name proudly.</p> - -<p>I saw a startled look come into the eyes of Pierre Nesle as he heard -the name. In English he said to Brand:</p> - -<p>“I knew him at Verdun. He was killed.”</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand drew a sharp breath, and his voice was husky when he -spoke, in English too.</p> - -<p>“What cruelty it all is!”</p> - -<p>The girl with the pig-tail—a tall young creature with a delicate face -and big brown eyes—stared at Pierre Nesle and then at Wickham Brand. -She asked an abrupt question of Pierre.</p> - -<p>“Is my father dead?”</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle stammered something. He was not sure. He had heard that -the Commandant Chéri was wounded at Verdun.</p> - -<p>The girl understood perfectly.</p> - -<p>“He is dead, then? <i>Maman</i> will be very sorry.”</p> - -<p>She did not cry. There was not even a quiver of her lips. She shook -hands with Brand and said:</p> - -<p>“I must go and tell <i>maman</i>. Will you come and see us one day?”</p> - -<p>“With pleasure,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>“Promise?”</p> - -<p>The girl laughed as she raised her finger.</p> - -<p>“I promise,” said Brand solemnly.</p> - -<p>The girl “collected” the small boy and girl, holding their heads close -to her waist.</p> - -<p>“Is father dead?” said the small boy.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps. I believe so,” said the elder sister.</p> - -<p>“Then we shan’t get the toys from Paris?” said the small girl.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid not, <i>coquine</i>.”</p> - -<p>“What a pity!” said the boy.</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle took a step forward and saluted. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I will go with you, if you permit it, mademoiselle. It is perhaps in a -little way my duty, as I met your father in the war.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks a thousand times,” said the girl. “<i>Maman</i> will be glad to know -all you can tell her.”</p> - -<p>She waved to Brand a merry <i>au revoir</i>.</p> - -<p>We stood watching them cross the Grande Place, that tall girl and the -two little ones, and Pierre.</p> - -<p>Fortune touched Brand on the arm.</p> - -<p>“Plucky, that girl,” he said. “Took it without a whimper. I wonder if -she cared.”</p> - -<p>Brand turned on him rather savagely.</p> - -<p>“Cared? Of course she cared. But she had expected it for four years, -grown up to the idea. These war children have no illusions about the -business. They knew that the odds are in favour of death.”</p> - -<p>He raised his hands above his head with a sudden passionate gesture.</p> - -<p>“Christ God!” he said. “The tragedy of those people! The monstrous -cruelty of it all!”</p> - -<p>Fortune took his hand and patted it, in a funny affectionate way.</p> - -<p>“You are too sensitive, Wicky. ‘A sensitive plant in a garden grew’—a -war-garden, with its walls blown down, and dead bodies among the little -daisies-o. I try to cultivate a sense of humour, and a little irony. -It’s a funny old war, Wicky, believe me, if you look at it in the right -light.”</p> - -<p>Wickham groaned.</p> - -<p>“I see no humour in it, nor light anywhere.”</p> - -<p>Fortune chanted again the beginning of his Anthem:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>As usual, there was a crowd about us, smiling, waving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> handkerchiefs -and small flags, pressing forward to shake hands and to say, “<i>Vivent -les Anglais!</i>”</p> - -<p>It was out of that crowd that a girl came and stood in front of us, -with a wave of her hand.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, British officers! I’m English—or Irish, which is good -enough. Welcome to Lille.”</p> - -<p>Fortune shook hands with her first and said very formally, in his -mocking way:</p> - -<p>“How do you do? Are you by chance my long-lost sister? Is there a -strawberry-mark on your left arm?”</p> - -<p>She laughed with a big, open-mouthed laugh, on a contralto note that -was good to hear.</p> - -<p>“I’m everybody’s sister who speaks the English tongue, which is fine -to the ears of me after four years in Lille. Eileen O’Connor, by your -leave, gentlemen.”</p> - -<p>“Not Eileen O’Connor of Tipperary?” asked Fortune gravely. “You know -the Long, Long Way, of course?”</p> - -<p>“Once of Dublin,” said the girl, “and before the war of Holland Street, -Kensington, in the village of London. Oh, to hear the roar of ’buses in -the High Street and to see the glint of sunlight on the Round Pond!”</p> - -<p>She was a tall girl, shabbily dressed in an old coat and skirt, with a -bit of fur round her neck and hat, but with a certain look of elegance -in the thin line of her figure and the poise of her head. Real Irish, -by the look of her dark eyes and a rather irregular nose, and humourous -lips. Not pretty, in the English way, but spirited, and with some queer -charm in her.</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand was holding her hand.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! Eileen O’Connor? I used to meet you, years ago, at the -Wilmots—those funny tea-parties in Chelsea.”</p> - -<p>“With farthing buns and cigarettes, and young boys with big ideas!”</p> - -<p>The girl laughed with a kind of wonderment, and stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> close to Wickham -Brand, holding his Sam Brown belt, and staring up into his face.</p> - -<p>“Why, you must be—you must be—— You are—the tall boy who used to -grow out of his grey suits, and wrote mystical verse and read Tolstoy, -and growled at civilisation and smoked black pipes and fell in love -with elderly artists’ models. Wickham Brand!”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” said Brand, ignoring the laughter of Fortune and -myself. “Then I went to Germany and studied their damned philosophy, -and then I became a briefless barrister, and after that took to writing -unsuccessful novels. Here I am, after four years of war, ashamed to be -alive when all my pals are dead.”</p> - -<p>He glanced at Fortune and me, and said, “Or most of ’em.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the same Wicky I remember,” said the girl, “and at the sight of -you I feel I’ve gone back to myself as a tousled-haired thing in a -short frock and long black stockings. The good old days before the war. -Before other things and all kinds of things.”</p> - -<p>“Why on earth were you in Lille when the war began?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>“It just happened. I taught painting here. Then I was caught with the -others. We did not think They would come so soon.”</p> - -<p>She used the word They as we all did, meaning the grey men.</p> - -<p>“It must have been hell,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>“Mostly hell,” said Miss O’Connor brightly. “At least, one saw into -the gulfs of hell, and devilishness was close at hand. But there were -compensations, wee bits of heaven. On the whole I enjoyed myself.”</p> - -<p>“Enjoyed yourself?”</p> - -<p>Brand was startled by that phrase.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it was an adventure. I took risks—and came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> through. I lived all -of it—every minute. It was a touch-and-go game with the devil and -death, and I dodged them both. <i>Dieu soit merci!</i>”</p> - -<p>She laughed with a little throw-back of the head, showing a white full -throat above the ragged bit of fur. A number of Frenchwomen pressed -about her. Some of them patted her arms, fondled her hands. One woman -bent down and kissed her shabby jacket.</p> - -<p>“<i>Elle était merveilleuse, la demoiselle</i>,” said an old Frenchman by my -side. “She was marvellous, sir. All that she did for the wounded, for -your prisoners, for many men who owe their lives to her, cannot be told -in a little while. They tried to catch her. She was nearly caught. It -is a miracle that she was not shot. A miracle, monsieur!”</p> - -<p>Other people in the crowd spoke to me about “<i>la demoiselle</i>.” They -were mysterious. Even now they could not tell me all she had done. But -she had risked death every day for four years. Every day. Truly it was -a miracle she was not caught.</p> - -<p>Listening to them I missed some of Eileen O’Connor’s own words to -Brand, and saw only the wave of her hand as she disappeared into the -crowd.</p> - -<p>It was Brand who told me that he and I and Fortune had been invited to -spend the evening with her, or an hour or so. I saw that Wicky, as we -called him, was startled by the meeting with her, and was glad of it.</p> - -<p>“I knew her when we were kids,” he said. “Ten years ago—perhaps more. -She used to pull my hair! Extraordinary, coming face to face with her -in Lille, on this day of all days.”</p> - -<p>He turned to Fortune with a look of command.</p> - -<p>“We ought to get busy with that advanced headquarters. There are plenty -of big houses in these streets.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ce qu’on appelle unembarras de choix</i>,” said Fortune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> with his rather -comical exaggeration of accent. “And Blear-eyed Bill wants us to go on -beating the Boche. I insist on a house with a good piano—German for -choice.”</p> - -<p>They went off on their quest, and I to my billet, which had been found -by the Major of ours, where I wrote the story of how we entered Lille, -on a typewriter with a twisted ribbon which would not write quickly -enough all I wanted to tell the world about a day of history.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<h2>IV</h2> - -<p>I had the luck to be billeted in Lille at the house of Madame Chéri, in -the rue Esquermoise.</p> - -<p>This lady was the mother of the girl with the pig-tail and the two -children with whom Wickham Brand had made friends on this morning of -liberation—the wife of that military officer whom Pierre Nesle had -known at Verdun and knew to be killed. It was my luck, because there -were children in the house—the pig-tailed girl, Hélène, was more a -woman than a child, though only sixteen—and I craved for a touch -of home-life and children’s company, after so long an exile in the -war-zone always among men who talked of war, thought of it, dreamed of -it, year in, year out.</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri was, I thought when I saw her first, a beautiful woman, -not physically—because she was too white and worn—but spiritually, -in courage of soul. Pierre Nesle, our liaison officer, told me how she -had received the news of her husband’s death—unflinchingly, without -a cry. She knew, she said, in her heart, that he was dead. Some queer -message had reached her one night during the Verdun battles. It was -no ghost, or voice, but only a sudden cold conviction that her man -had been killed. For the children’s sake she had pretended that their -father might come back. It gave them something to look forward to. The -little ones were always harping on the hope that when peace came this -mysterious and glorious man whom they remembered only vaguely as one -who had played bears with them, and had been the provider of all good -things, would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>return with rich presents from Paris—tin soldiers, -Queen-dolls, mechanical toys. Hélène, the elder girl, was different. -She had looked curiously at her mother when the children prattled -like that, and Madame Chéri had pretended to believe in the father’s -home-coming. Once or twice the girl had said, “Papa may be killed,” in -a matter-of-fact way. Yet she had been his devoted comrade. They had -been such lovers, the father and daughter, that sometimes the mother -had been a little jealous, so she said in her frank way to Pierre -Nesle, smiling as she spoke. The war had made Hélène a realist, like -most French girls to whom the idea of death became commonplace, almost -inevitable, as the ceaseless slaughter of men went on. The German -losses had taught them that.</p> - -<p>I had the Colonel’s dressing-room—he had attained the grade of Colonel -before Verdun, so Pierre told me—and Madame Chéri came in while I -was there to see that it was properly arranged for me. Over his iron -bedstead (the Germans had taken the woollen mattress, so that it had -been replaced by bags of straw) was his portrait as a lieutenant -of artillery, as he had been at the time of his marriage. He was a -handsome fellow, rather like Hélène, with her delicate profile and -brown eyes, though more like, said Madame Chéri, their eldest boy -Edouard.</p> - -<p>“Where is he?” I asked, and that was the only time I saw Madame Chéri -break down, utterly.</p> - -<p>She began to tell me that Edouard had been taken away by the Germans -among all the able-bodied men and boys who were sent away from Lille -for digging trenches behind the lines, in Easter of ’16, and that he -had gone bravely, with his little pack of clothes over his shoulder, -saying, “It is nothing, maman. My Father taught me the word <i>courage</i>. -In a little while we shall win, and I shall be back. Courage, courage!”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<p>Madame Chéri repeated her son’s words proudly, so that I seemed to see -the boy with that pack on his shoulder, and a smile on his face. Then -suddenly she wept bitterly, wildly, her body shaken with a kind of -ague, while she sat on the iron bedstead with her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>I repeated the boy’s words.</p> - -<p>“Courage, courage, madame!”</p> - -<p>Proudly she wailed out in broken sentences:</p> - -<p>“He was such a child!... He caught cold so easily!... He was so -delicate!... He needed mother-love so much!... For two years no word -has come from him!”</p> - -<p>In a little while she controlled herself and begged me to excuse her. -We went down together to the dining-room, where the children were -playing, and Hélène was reading; and she insisted upon my drinking a -glass of wine from the store which she had kept hidden from the Germans -in a pit which Edouard had dug in the garden, in the first days of the -occupation. The children were delighted with that trick and roared with -laughter.</p> - -<p>Hélène, with a curl of her lip, spoke bitterly.</p> - -<p>“The Boche is a stupid animal. One can dupe him easily.”</p> - -<p>“Not always easily,” said Madame Chéri. She opened a secret cupboard -behind a bookcase standing against the panelled wall.</p> - -<p>“I hid all my brass and copper here. A German police officer came and -said, ‘Have you hidden any copper, madame?’ I said, ‘There is nothing -hidden.’ ‘Do you swear it?’ he asked. ‘I swear it,’ I answered very -haughtily. He went straight to the bookcase, pushed it on one side, -tapped the wall, and opened the secret cupboard, which was stuffed -full of brass and copper. ‘You are a liar, madame,’ he said, ‘like -all Frenchwomen.’ ‘And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> you are an insolent pig, like all Germans,’ I -remarked. That cost me a fine of ten thousand francs.”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri saw nothing wrong in swearing falsely to a German. I think -she held that nothing was wrong to deceive or to destroy any individual -of the German race, and I could understand her point of view when -Pierre Nesle told me of one thing that had happened which she never -told to me. It was about Hélène.</p> - -<p>A German captain was billeted in the house. They ignored his presence, -though he tried to ingratiate himself. Hélène hated him with a cold -and deadly hatred. She trembled if he passed her on the stairs. His -presence in the house, even if she did not see him, but only heard him -move in his room, made her feel ill. Yet he was very polite to her and -said, “<i>Guten Tag, gnädiges Fräulein</i>” whenever they met. To Edouard -also he was courteous and smiling, though Edouard was sullen. He was a -stout little man with a round rosy face and little bright eyes behind -big black-rimmed glasses, an officer in the Kommandantur, and formerly -a schoolmaster. Madame Chéri was polite to him but cold, cold as ice. -After some months she found him harmless, though objectionable because -German. It did not seem dangerous to leave him in the house one evening -when she went to visit a dying friend—Madame Vailly. She was later -than she meant to be—so late that she was liable to arrest by the -military police if they saw her slip past in the darkness of the unlit -streets. When she came home she slipped the latch-key into the door and -went quietly into the hall. The children would be in bed and asleep. At -the foot of the stairs a noise startled her. It was a curious creaking, -shaking noise as of a door being pushed by some heavy weight, then -banged by it. It was the door at the top of the stairs, on the left. -Hélène’s room.</p> - -<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce que tu fais là?</i>” said Madame Chéri. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was very frightened with some unknown fear, and held tight to the -bannister, as she went upstairs. There was a glimmer of light on the -landing. It was from a candle which had almost burnt out, and was -guttering in a candlestick placed on the topmost stair. A grotesque -figure was revealed by the light—Schwarz, the German officer, in his -pyjamas, with a helmet on his head and unlaced boots on his feet. The -loose fat of the man no longer girded by a belt made him look like a -mass of jelly, as he had his shoulder to the door, shoving and grunting -as he tried to force it open. He was swearing to himself in German, -and now and then called out softly in French, in a kind of drunken -German-French:</p> - -<p>“<i>Ouvrez, kleines Mädchen, ma jolie Schatz. Ouvrez donc.</i>”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri was paralysed for a moment by a shock of horror; quite -speechless and motionless. Then suddenly she moved forward and spoke in -a fierce whisper.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, beast?”</p> - -<p>Schwarz gave a queer snort of alarm.</p> - -<p>He stood swaying a little, with the helmet on the back of his head. The -candlelight gleamed on its golden eagle. His face was hotly flushed, -and there was a ferocious look in his eyes. Madame Chéri saw that he -was drunk.</p> - -<p>He spoke to her in horrible French, so Pierre Nesle told me, imitating -it savagely, as Madame Chéri had done to him. The man was filthily -drunk and declared that he loved Hélène and would kill her if she did -not let him love her. Why did she lock her door like that? He had been -kind to her. He had smiled at her. A German officer was a human being, -not a monster. Why did they treat him as a monster, draw themselves -away when he passed, become silent when he wished to speak with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> them, -stare at him with hate in their eyes? The French people were all -devils, proud as devils.</p> - -<p>Another figure stood on the landing. It was Edouard—a tall, slim -figure with a white face and burning eyes, in which there was a look of -fury.</p> - -<p>“What is happening, <i>maman</i>?” he said coldly. “What does this animal -want?”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri trembled with a new fear. If the boy were to kill that -man, he would be shot. She had a vision of him standing against a -wall....</p> - -<p>“It is nothing,” she said. “This gentleman is ill. Go back to bed, -Edouard. I command you.”</p> - -<p>The German laughed, stupidly.</p> - -<p>“To bed, <i>shafskopf</i>. I am going to open your sister’s door. She loves -me. She calls to me. I hear her whisper, ‘<i>Ich liebe dich!</i>’”</p> - -<p>Edouard had a stick in his hand. It was a heavy walking-stick which -had belonged to his father. Without a word he sprang forward, raised -his weapon, and smashed it down on the German’s head. It knocked off -Schwarz’s helmet, which rolled from the top to the bottom of the -staircase, and hit the man a glancing blow on the temple. He fell like -a log. Edouard smiled and said, “<i>Très bien</i>.” Then he rattled the lock -of his sister’s door and called out to her:</p> - -<p>“Hélène.... Have no fear. He is dead. I have killed him.”</p> - -<p>It was then that Madame Chéri had her greatest fear. There was no sound -from Hélène. She did not answer any of their cries. She did not open -the door to them. They tried to force the lock, as Schwarz had done, -but though the lock gave at last the door would not open, kept closed -by some barricade behind it. Edouard and his mother went out into the -yard and the boy climbed up to his sister’s window and broke the glass -to go through.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Hélène was lying in her nightdress on the bedroom -floor, unconscious. She had moved a heavy wardrobe in front of the -door, by some supernatural strength which came from fear. Then she had -fainted. To his deep regret Edouard had not killed the German.</p> - -<p>Schwarz had crawled back to his bedroom when they went back into the -house, and next morning wept to Madame Chéri, and implored forgiveness. -There had been a little banquet, he said, and he had drunk too much.</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri did not forgive. She called at the Kommandantur where the -General saw her, and listened to her gravely. He did not waste words.</p> - -<p>“The matter will be attended to,” he said.</p> - -<p>Captain Schwarz departed that day from the house in the rue -Esquermoise. He was sent to a battalion in the line and was killed -somewhere near Ypres.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<h2>V</h2> - -<p>Wickham Brand paid his promised visit to the Chéri family, according to -his pledge to Hélène, whom he had met in the street the previous day, -and he had to drink some of the hidden wine, as I had done, and heard -the story of its concealment and of Madame’s oath about the secret -hoard of copper. I think he was more disconcerted than I had been by -that avowal and told me afterwards that he believed no Englishwoman -would have sworn to so deliberate a lie.</p> - -<p>“That’s because the English are not so logical,” I said and he puzzled -over that.</p> - -<p>He was greatly taken with Hélène, as she with him, but he risked their -friendship in an awkward moment when he expressed the hope that the -German offer of peace (the one before the final surrender) would be -accepted.</p> - -<p>It was Madame Chéri who took him up on that, sharply, and with a kind -of surprised anguish in her voice. She hoped, she said, that no peace -would be made with Germany until French and British and American -troops had smashed the German armies, crossed the German frontier, and -destroyed many German towns and villages. She would not be satisfied -with any peace that came before a full vengeance, so that German women -would taste the bitterness of war as Frenchwomen had drunk deep of it, -and until Germany was heaped with ruins as France had been.</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand was sitting with the small boy on his knees, and stroked -his hair before answering. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Dites, donc!</i>” said Hélène, who was sitting on the hearthrug looking -up at his powerful profile, which reminded me always of a Norman -knight, or, sometimes, of a young monk worried about his soul and the -Devil.</p> - -<p>He had that monkish look now when he answered.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he said. “I have felt like that often. But I have come -to think that the sooner we get blood out of our eyes the better for -all the world. I have seen enough dead Germans—and dead English and -dead French—to last a lifetime. Many of the German soldiers hate the -war, as I know, and curse the men who drove them on to it. They are -trapped. They cannot escape from the thing they curse, because of their -discipline, their patriotism——”</p> - -<p>“Their patriotism!” said Madame Chéri.</p> - -<p>She was really angry with Brand, and I noticed that even Hélène drew -back a little from her place on the rug and looked perplexed and -disappointed. Madame Chéri ridiculed the idea of German patriotism. -They were brutes who liked war except when they feared defeat. They had -committed a thousand atrocities out of sheer joy in bestial cruelty. -Their idea of patriotism was blood-lust and the oppression of people -more civilised than themselves. They hated all people who were not -savages like themselves.</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand shook his head.</p> - -<p>“They’re not all as bad as that. I knew decent people among them before -the war. For a time, of course, they went mad. They were poisoned by -the damnable philosophy of their leaders and teachers.”</p> - -<p>“They liked the poison,” said Madame Chéri. “They lapped it up. It is -in their blood and spirits. They are foul through and through.”</p> - -<p>“They are devils,” said Hélène. She shuddered as though she felt very -cold. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> - -<p>Even the small boy on Brand’s knees said:</p> - -<p>“<i>Sales Boches!</i>”</p> - -<p>Brand groaned, in a whimsical way.</p> - -<p>“I have said all those things a thousand times! They nearly drove me -mad. But now it’s time to stop the river of blood—if the German army -will acknowledge defeat. I would not go on a day after that, for our -own sakes—for the sake of French boys and English. Every day more of -war means more dead of ours, more blind, more crippled, and more agony -of soul. I want some of our boyhood to be saved.”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri answered coldly.</p> - -<p>“Not before the Germans have been punished. Not before that, if we all -die.”</p> - -<p>Hélène sprang up with a passionate gesture.</p> - -<p>“All German babies ought to be strangled in their cradles! Before they -grow up to be fat, beastly men.”</p> - -<p>She was thinking of Schwarz, I imagine. It was the horror of -remembrance which made her so fierce. Then she laughed, and said:</p> - -<p>“O là là, let us be glad because yesterday we were liberated. Do not -quarrel with an English officer, <i>maman</i>. He helped to save us.”</p> - -<p>She put her hands on Wickham Brand’s shoulders and said:</p> - -<p>“<i>Merci, mon capitaine!</i>”</p> - -<p>So the conversation turned and Wickham won them back by his courtesy, -and by a tribute to the courage of French civilians behind the lines, -of whom he told many haunting stories.</p> - -<p>But when I walked round with him to his mess—we were going round later -to see Eileen O’Connor—he referred back to the incident.</p> - -<p>“Daddy Small is right.” (He referred to the little American doctor.) -“The hatred of these people is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>transcendental. It is like a spiritual -flame. It is above all self-interest, kindly, human instincts, life -itself. That woman would sacrifice herself, and her children, as -quietly as she heard the death of her husband, rather than grant the -Germans peace without victory and vengeance. How can there be any -peace, whatever treaty is signed? Can Europe ever get peace, with all -this hatred as a heritage?”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VI</h2> - -<p>We walked silently towards the Boulevard de la Liberté, where Brand’s -little crowd had established their headquarters.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they’re right,” he said presently. “Perhaps the hatred is -divine.... I may be weakening, because of all the horror.”</p> - -<p>Then he was silent again, and while I walked by his side I thought back -to his career as I had known it in the war, rather well. He had always -been tortured by agonised perplexities. I had guessed that by the -look of the man and some of his odd phrases, and his restlessness and -foolhardiness. It was in the trenches by Fricourt that I had first seen -him—long before the battles of the Somme. He was sitting motionless on -a wooden box, staring through a periscope towards the mine craters and -the Bois Français in No Man’s Land. The fine hardness of his profile, -the strength of his jaw, not massive, but with one clean line from -ear to chin, and something in the utter intensity of his attitude, -attracted my attention, and I asked the Colonel about him.</p> - -<p>“Who is that fellow—like a Norman knight?”</p> - -<p>The Colonel of the King’s Royal Rifles laughed as we went round the -next bay, ducking our heads where the sandbags had slipped down.</p> - -<p>“Further back than Norman,” he said. “He’s the primitive man.”</p> - -<p>He told me that Wickham Brand—a lieutenant then—was a young barrister -who had joined the battalion at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> the beginning of ’15. He had taken up -sniping and made himself a dead shot. He had the hunter’s instinct and -would wait hours behind the sandbags for the sight of a German head -in the trenches opposite. He seldom missed his man, or that part of -his body which showed for a second. Lately he had taken to the habit -of crawling out into No Man’s Land and waiting in some shell-hole for -the dawn, when Germans came out to mend their wire or drag in a dead -body. He generally left another dead man as a bait for the living. Then -he would come back with a grim smile and eat his breakfast wolfishly, -after cutting a notch in one of the beams of his dug-out.</p> - -<p>“He’s a Hun-hater, body and soul,” said the Colonel. “We want more of -’em. All the same, Brand makes me feel queer by his ferocity. I like a -humourous fellow who does his killing cheerfully.”</p> - -<p>After that I met Brand and took a drink with him in his dug-out. He -answered my remarks gruffly for a time.</p> - -<p>“I hear you go in for sniping a good deal,” I said, by way of -conversation.</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s murder made easy.”</p> - -<p>“Do you get many targets?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a waiting game. Sometimes they get careless.”</p> - -<p>He puffed at a black old pipe, quite silent for a time. Presently he -told me about a “young’un” who popped his head over the parapet, twice, -to stare at something on the edge of the mine-crater.</p> - -<p>“I spared him twice. The third time I said, ‘Better dead,’ and let go -at him. The kid was too easy to miss.”</p> - -<p>Something in the tone of his voice told me that he hated himself for -that.</p> - -<p>“Rather a pity,” I mumbled.</p> - -<p>“War,” he said. “Bloody war.”</p> - -<p>There was a candle burning on the wooden bench on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> which he leaned his -elbow, and by the light of it I saw that his eyes were bloodshot. There -was a haggard look on his face.</p> - -<p>“It must need some nerve,” I said, awkwardly, “to go out so often in No -Man’s Land. Real pluck.”</p> - -<p>He stared at me, as though surprised, and then laughed harshly.</p> - -<p>“Pluck? What’s that? I’m scared stiff, half the time. Do you think I -like it?”</p> - -<p>He seemed to get angry, was angry, I think.</p> - -<p>“Do any of us like it? These damn things that blow men to bits, make -rags of them, tear their bowels out, and their eyes? Or to live on top -of a mine-crater, as we are now, never knowing when you’re going up in -smoke and flame? If you like that sort of thing yourself you can take -my share. I have never met a man who did.”</p> - -<p>Yet when Brand was taken out of the trenches—by a word spoken over the -telephone from corps Headquarters—because of his knowledge of German -and his cousinship to a lady who was a friend of the Corps Commander’s -niece, he was miserable and savage. I met him many times after that as -an Intelligence officer at the corps cages, examining prisoners on days -of battle.</p> - -<p>“An <i>embusqué</i> job!” he said. “I’m saving my skin while the youngsters -die.”</p> - -<p>He stood outside his hut one day on a morning of battle in the Somme -fields—up by Pozières. No prisoners had yet come down. He forgot my -presence and stood listening to the fury of gun-fire and watching the -smoke and flame away there on the ridge.</p> - -<p>“Christ!” he cried. “Why am I here? Why aren’t I with my pals up there, -getting blown to blood and pulp? Blood and pulp! Blood and pulp!”</p> - -<p>Then he remembered me, and turned in a shamefaced way, and said, -“Sorry!... I feel rather hipped to-day.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>I was present sometimes at his examination of prisoners—those poor -grey muddy wretches who come dazed out of the slime and shambles. -Sometimes he bullied them harshly, in fluent German, and they trembled -at his ferocity of speech, even whimpered now and then. But once or -twice he was in quite a different mood with them and spoke gently, -assenting when they cursed the war and its misery and said that all -they wanted was peace and home again.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you fellows going to revolt?” he asked one man—a <i>Feldwebel</i>. -“Aren’t you going to tell your war lords to go to Hell and stop all -this silly massacre before Germany is <i>kaput</i>?”</p> - -<p>The German shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“We would if we could. It is impossible. Discipline is too strong for -us. It has enslaved us.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” said Brand. “You are slaves of a system.”</p> - -<p>He spoke a strange sentence in English as he glanced over to me.</p> - -<p>“I am beginning to think we are all slaves of a system. None of us can -break the chains.”</p> - -<p>It was after that day that Brand took a fancy to me, for some reason, -inviting me to his mess, where I met Charles Fortune and others, and it -was there that I heard amazing discussions about the philosophy of war, -German psychology, the object of life, the relation of Christianity to -war, and the decadence of Europe. Brand himself sometimes led these -discussions, with a savage humour which delighted Charles Fortune, -who egged him on. He was always pessimistic, sceptical, challenging, -bitter, and now and then so violent in his criticisms of England, the -Government, the Army Council, the Staff, and above all of the Press, -that most of his fellow-officers—apart <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>from Fortune—thought he went -“a bit too far.”</p> - -<p>Dear old Harding, who was Tory to the backbone, with a deep respect -for all in authority, accused him of being a “damned revolutionary” -and for a moment it looked as though there would be hot words, until -Brand laughed in a good-natured way and said, “My dear fellow, I’m -only talking academic rot. I haven’t a conviction. Ever since the war -began I have been trying to make head or tail of things in a sea-fog of -doubt. All I know is that I want the bloody orgy to end; somehow and -anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“With victory,” said Harding solemnly.</p> - -<p>“With the destruction of Prussian philosophy everywhere,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>They agreed on that, but I could see that Brand was on shifting ground -and I knew, as our friendship deepened, that he was getting beyond a -religion of mere hate, and was looking for some other kind of faith. -Occasionally he harked back, as on the day in Lille when I walked by -his side.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VII</h2> - -<p>I dined with him in his mess that evening, before going on with him -to spend an hour or two with Eileen O’Connor, who had a room in -some convent on the outskirts of Lille. The advanced headquarters -of this little group of officers had been established in one of -those big private houses which belong to the rich manufacturers and -business people of Lille (rich before the war, but with desolate -factories stripped of all machinery during the German occupation, -and afterwards), with large, heavily-furnished rooms built round a -courtyard and barred off from the street by the big front door. There -was a motor lorry inside the door, which was wide open, and some -orderlies were unloading camp-beds, boxes of maps, officers’ kit, a -mahogany gramophone, and other paraphernalia, under the direction of a -young Cockney sergeant who wanted to know why the blazes they didn’t -look slippy.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” he asked a stolid old soldier—one -of the heroes of Mons—who was sitting on a case of whiskey, with a -wistful look, as though reflecting on the unfair privileges of officers -with so much wealth of drink.</p> - -<p>“War’s all right if you’re not too close to it,” said the Mons hero. -“I’ve seen enough. I’ve done my bleeding bit for Kin and Country. South -Africa, Egypt——”</p> - -<p>“Shut your jaw,” said the sergeant. “’And down that blarsted -gramophone.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said the Mons hero. “We didn’t ’ave no blarsted gramophones in -South Africa. This is a different kind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> war. More comfort about it, -if you’re not in the trenches.”</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand took me through the courtyard and mentioned that the -Colonel had come up from St. Omer.</p> - -<p>“Now we’re sure to beat the Boche,” he said. “Listen!”</p> - -<p>From a room to the left of the courtyard came the sound of a flute -playing one of Bach’s minuets, very sweetly, with an old-fashioned -grace.</p> - -<p>“A wonderful Army of ours!” said Brand. “I can’t imagine a German -colonel of the Staff playing seventeenth-century music on a bit of -ivory, while the enemy is fighting like a tiger at bay.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps that’s our strength,” I answered. “Our amateurs refuse to take -the war too seriously. I know a young Gunner Major who travels a banjo -in his limber, and at Cambrai I saw fellows playing chuck-penny within -ten yards of their pals’ dead bodies—a pile of them.”</p> - -<p>The Colonel saw us through his window and waved his flute at us. When -I went into the room, after a salute at the doorway, I saw that he had -already littered it with artistic untidiness—sheets of torn music, -water-colour sketches, books of poetry, and an array of splendid -shining boots; of which a pair stood on the mahogany sideboard.</p> - -<p>“A beautiful little passage this,” said Colonel Lavington, smiling at -me over the flute, which he put to his lips again. He played a bar or -two of old world melody, and said, “Isn’t that perfect? Can’t you see -the little ladies in their puffed brocades and high-heeled shoes!”</p> - -<p>He had his faun-like look, his clean-shaven face with long nose and -thin, humorous mouth, lighted up by his dark smiling eyes.</p> - -<p>“Not a bad headquarters,” he said, putting down the flute again. “If -we can only stay here a little while, instead of having to jog on -again. There’s an excellent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> piano in the dining-room—German, thank -goodness—and Charles Fortune and I can really get down to some serious -music.”</p> - -<p>“How’s the war?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“War?” he said, absent-mindedly. “Oh, yes, the war! That’s going on all -right. They’ll be out of Tournai in a few days. Perhaps out of Maubeuge -and Mons. Oh, the game’s up! Very soon the Intellectuals will be -looking round for a living in dear old London. My goodness, some of us -will find peace a difficult job! I can see Boredom approaching with its -colossal shadow.... After all, it has been a great game, on the whole.”</p> - -<p>I laughed, but something stuck in my throat. Colonel Lavington -played the flute, but he knew his job, and was in touch with General -Headquarters and all its secret information. It was obvious that he -believed the war was going to end—soon. Soon, O Lord, after all the -years of massacre.</p> - -<p>I blurted out a straight question.</p> - -<p>“Do you think there’s a real chance of Peace?”</p> - -<p>The Colonel was reading a piece of music, humming it with a <i>la</i>, <i>la</i>, -<i>la</i>.</p> - -<p>“Another month, and our job’s done,” he said. “Have you heard that bit -of Gluck? It’s delicious.”</p> - -<p>I stayed with him a little while and did not follow a note of his -music. I was excited by the supreme hope he had given me. So there was -to be an end of massacre, and my own hopes had not been false.</p> - -<p>At the mess table that night, Charles Fortune was in good form. We -sat in a room which was rather handsomely furnished, in a heavy way, -with big bronzes on the mantelpiece (ticketed for exemption from -requisition as family heirlooms), and even rather good portraits of a -French family—from the eighteenth century onwards—on the panelled -walls. The concierge had told us that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> it had been the mess of a German -headquarters and this gave Fortune his cue, and he entertained us with -some caricatures of German generals and officers, amazingly comic. He -drank his soup in the style of a German general and ate his potato -pie as a German Intelligence officer who had once been a professor of -psychology at Heidelberg.</p> - -<p>The little American doctor, “Daddy” Small as we called him, had been -made an honorary member of the mess, and he smiled at Fortune through -his spectacles with an air of delighted surprise that such things -should be.</p> - -<p>“You English,” he said in his solemn way, “are the most baffling people -in the world. I have been studying you since I came to France, and all -my preconceived ideas have been knocked on the head. We Americans think -you are a hard, arrogant, selfish people, without humour or sympathy, -made in set moulds, turned out as types from your University and public -schools. That is all wrong. I am beginning to see that you are more -human, more various, more whimsical than any race in the world. You -decline to take life seriously. You won’t take even death seriously. -This war—you make a joke of it. The Germans—you kill them in great -numbers, but you have a secret liking for them. Fortune’s caricatures -are very comical—but not unkind. I believe Fortune is a pro-German. -You cannot laugh at the people you hate. I believe England will forgive -Germany quicker than any other nation—far quicker than the Americans. -France, of course, will never forgive.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Pierre Nesle, who was at the end of the table. “France will -never forgive.”</p> - -<p>“We are an illogical people,” said the Colonel. “It is only logical -people who can go on hating. Besides, German music is so good! So -good!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>Harding, who read no paper but the <i>Morning Post</i>, said that as far as -he was concerned he would never speak to a German again in his life. He -would like to see the whole race exterminated. But he was afraid of the -Socialists with their pestilential doctrine of “brotherhood of man.” -Lloyd George also filled him with the gravest misgivings.</p> - -<p>Dr. Small’s eyes twinkled at him.</p> - -<p>“There is the old caste that speaks. Tradition against the new world -of ideas. Of course there will always be <i>that</i> conflict.... That is -a wonderful phrase, ‘the pestilential doctrine of the brotherhood of -man.’ I must make a note of it.”</p> - -<p>“Shame on you, Doctor,” said Fortune. “You are always jotting down -notes about us. I shall find myself docketed as ‘English gentleman -grade 3; full-blooded, inclined to obesity, humourous, strain of -insanity due to in-breeding, rare.’”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small laughed in a high treble, and then was serious.</p> - -<p>“I’m noting down everything. My own psychology, which alarms me; facts, -anecdotes, scenes, words. I want to find a law somewhere, the essential -thing in human nature. After the war—if there is any afterwards—I -want to search for a way out of the jungle. This jungle civilisation. -There must be daylight somewhere for the human race.”</p> - -<p>“If you find it,” said Brand, earnestly, “tell me, Doctor.”</p> - -<p>“I will,” said Dr. Small, and I remembered that pledge afterwards, when -he and Brand were together in a doomed city, trying to avert the doom, -because of that impulse which urged them to find a little daylight -beyond the darkness.</p> - -<p>Young Clatworthy jerked his chair on the polished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> boards and looked -anxiously at the Colonel, who was discoursing on the origins of art, -religion, sex, the perception of form.</p> - -<p>Colonel Lavington grinned at him.</p> - -<p>“All right, Cyril. I know you have got a rendezvous with some girl. -Don’t let us keep you from your career of infamy.”</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact, sir, I met a sweet little thing yesterday——” -Clatworthy knew that his reputation as an amorist did not displease the -Colonel, who was a romantic, and loved youth.</p> - -<p>In a gust of laughter the mess broke up. Charles Fortune and the -Colonel prepared for an orgy of Bach over the piano in the drawing-room -of that house in Lille. Those who cared to listen might—or not, as -they pleased. Brand and I went out into the streets, pitch-dark now, -unlit by any glimmer of gas, and made our way to the convent where the -girl Eileen O’Connor lodged. We passed a number of British soldiers -in the Boulevard de la Liberté, wearing their steel hats and carrying -their packs.</p> - -<p>A group of them stopped under a doorway to light cigarettes. One of -them spoke to his pals.</p> - -<p>“They tell me there’s some bonny wenches in this town.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said another, “an’ I could do wi’ some hugging in a cosy billet.”</p> - -<p>“Cosy billet!” said the third, with a cockney voice. “Town or trenches, -the poor bloody soldier gets it in the neck. Curse this pack! I’m fed -up with the whole damn show. I want Peace.”</p> - -<p>A hoarse laugh answered him.</p> - -<p>“Peace! You don’t believe that fool’s talk in the papers, chum? It’s a -hell of a long way to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> Rhine, and you and I’ll be dead before we -get there.”</p> - -<p>They slouched off into the darkness, three points of light where their -cigarettes glowed.</p> - -<p>“Poor lads!” said Brand.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VIII</h2> - -<p>We fumbled our way to a street on the edge of the canal, according to -Brand’s uncanny sense of direction and his remembrance of what the -Irish girl had told him. There we found the convent, a square box-like -building behind big gates. We pulled a bell which jangled loudly, and -presently the gate opened an inch, letting through the light of a -lantern which revealed the black-and-white coif of a nun.</p> - -<p>“<i>Qui va là?</i>”</p> - -<p>Brand told her that we had come to see Miss O’Connor, and the gate was -opened wider and we went into the courtyard, where a young nun stood -smiling. She spoke in English.</p> - -<p>“We were always frightened when the bell rang during the German -occupation. One never knew what might happen. And we were afraid for -Miss O’Connor’s sake.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>The little nun laughed.</p> - -<p>“She did dangerous work. They suspected her. She came here after her -arrest. Before then she had rooms of her own. Oh, messieurs, her -courage, her devotion! Truly she was heroic!”</p> - -<p>She led us into a long corridor with doors on each side, and out of one -door came a little group of nuns with Eileen O’Connor.</p> - -<p>The Irish girl came towards us with outstretched hands which she gave -first to Brand. She seemed excited at our coming and explained that the -Reverend Mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> and all the nuns wanted to see us, to thank England by -means of us, to hear something about the war and the chance of victory -from the first English officers they had seen.</p> - -<p>Brand was presented to the Reverend Mother, a massive old lady with a -slight moustache on the upper lip and dark luminous eyes, reminding me -of the portrait of Savonarola at Florence. The other nuns crowded round -us, eager to ask questions, still more eager to talk. Some of them were -quite young and pretty, though all rather white and fragile, and they -had a vivacious gaiety, so that the building resounded with laughter. -It was Eileen O’Connor who made them laugh by her reminiscences of -girlhood when she and Brand were “<i>enfants terribles</i>,” when she used -to pull Brand’s hair and hide the pipe he smoked too soon. She asked -him to take off his field-cap so that she might see whether the same -old unruly tuft still stuck up at the back of his head, and she and all -the nuns clapped hands when she found it was so, in spite of war-worry -and steel hats. All this had to be translated into French for the -benefit of those who could not understand such rapid English.</p> - -<p>“I believe you would like to give it a tug now,” said Brand, bending -his head down, and Eileen O’Connor agreed.</p> - -<p>“And indeed I would, but for scandalising a whole community of nuns, to -say nothing of Reverend Mother.”</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother laughed in a curiously deep voice, and a crowd of -little wrinkles puckered at her eyes. She told Miss O’Connor that even -her Irish audacity would not go as far as that, which was a challenge -accepted on the instant.</p> - -<p>“One little tug, for old times’ sake,” said the girl, and Brand yelped -with pretended pain at the vigour of her pull, while all the nuns -screamed with delight. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then a clock struck and the Reverend Mother touched Eileen (as -afterwards I called her) on the arm and said she would leave her with -her friends. One by one the nuns bowed to us, all smiling under their -white <i>bandeaux</i>, and then went down the corridor through an open door -which led into a chapel, as we could see by twinkling candlelight. -Presently the music of an organ and of women’s voices came through the -closed doors.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor took us into a little parlour where there were just -four rush-chairs and a table, and on the clean whitewashed walls a -crucifix.</p> - -<p>Brand took a chair by the table, rather awkwardly, I thought.</p> - -<p>“How gay they are!” he said. “They do not seem to have been touched by -the horrors of war.”</p> - -<p>“It is the gaiety of faith,” said Eileen. “How else could they have -survived the work they have done, the things they have seen? This -convent was a shambles for more than three years. These rooms were -filled with wounded, German wounded, and often English wounded, who -were prisoners. They were the worst cases for amputation, and butcher’s -work, and the nuns did all the nursing. They know all there is to know -of suffering and death.”</p> - -<p>“Yet they have not forgotten how to laugh!” said Brand. “That is -wonderful. It is a mystery to me.”</p> - -<p>“You must have seen bad things,” said Eileen. “Have you lost the gift -of laughter?”</p> - -<p>“Almost,” said Brand, “and once for a long time.”</p> - -<p>Eileen put her hands to her breast.</p> - -<p>“Oh, learn it again,” she said. “If we cannot laugh we cannot work. -Why, I owe my life to a sense of humour.”</p> - -<p>She spoke the last words with more than a trivial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> meaning. They seemed -to tell of some singular episode, and Brand asked her to explain.</p> - -<p>She did not explain then. She only said some vague things about -laughing herself out of prison and stopping a German bullet with a -smile.</p> - -<p>“Why did the devils put you in prison?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“In Lille it was bad form if one had not been arrested once at least. I -was three weeks in a cell half the size of this, and twenty women were -with me there. There was very little elbow-room!”</p> - -<p>She proved her sense of humour then by that deep-throated laugh of -hers, but I noticed that just for a second behind the smile in her eyes -there crept a shadow as at the remembrance of some horror, and that she -shivered a little, as though some coldness had touched her.</p> - -<p>“It must have been like the Black Hole of Calcutta,” said Brand, -measuring the space with his eyes. “Twenty women herded in a room like -that!”</p> - -<p>“With me for twenty-one,” said Eileen. “We had no means of washing.”</p> - -<p>She used an awful phrase.</p> - -<p>“We were a living stench.”</p> - -<p>“Good God!” said Brand.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor waved back the remembrance. “Tell me of England and of -Ireland. How’s the little green isle? Has it done well in the war?”</p> - -<p>“The Irish troops fought like heroes,” said Brand. “But there were not -enough of them. Recruiting was slow, and there was—some trouble.”</p> - -<p>He did not speak about the Irish Rebellion.</p> - -<p>“I heard about it vaguely, from prisoners,” said the girl. “It was -England’s fault, I expect. Dear old blundering, muddle-headed England, -who is a tyrant through fear, and twists Irish loyalty into treason by -ropes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> red-tape in which the Irish mind gets strangled and awry. -Well, there’s another subject to avoid. I want to hear only good things -to-night. Tell me of London, of Kensington Gardens, of the way from the -Strand to Temple Bar, of the lights that gleam along the Embankment -when lovers go hand-in-hand and see stars in the old black river. Are -they all there?”</p> - -<p>“They are all changed,” said Brand. “It is a place of gloom. There are -no lights along the Embankment. They have dowsed their glims for fear -of air-raids. There are few lovers hand-in-hand. Some of the boys lie -dead round Ypres, or somewhere on the Somme, or weep out of blind eyes, -or gibber in shell-shock homes, or try to hop on one leg—while waiting -for artificial limbs,—or trudge on, to-night, towards Maubeuge, where -German machine-guns wait for them behind the ditches. Along the Strand -goes the Painted Flapper, luring men to hell. In Kensington Gardens -there are training camps for more boys ear-marked for the shambles, -and here and there among the trees young mothers who are widows before -they knew their wifehood. There is vice, the gaiety of madness, the -unspeakable callousness of people who get rich on war, or earn fat -wages, and in small stricken homes a world of secret grief. That is -London in time of war. I hate it.”</p> - -<p>Brand spoke with bitterness and a melancholy that startled the girl who -sat with folded hands below the crucifix on the whitewashed wall behind -her.</p> - -<p>“Dear God! Is it like that?”</p> - -<p>She stared at the wall opposite as though it were a window through -which she saw London.</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course it is like that. Here in Lille we thought we were -suffering more than anybody in the world. That was our egotism. We -did not realise—not in our souls—that everywhere in the world of -war there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> was equal suffering, the same cruelty, perhaps the same -temptation to despair.”</p> - -<p>Brand repented, I think, of having led the conversation into such -abysmal gloom. He switched off to more cheerful things and gave some -elaborate sketches of soldiers he knew, to which Eileen played up with -anecdotes of rare comedy about the nuns—the fat nun who under the -rigour of war rations became as slim as a willow and was vain of her -new grace; the little French nun who had no fear of German officers and -dared their fury by prophecies of defeat—but was terrified of a mouse -in the refectory; the Reverend Mother, who borrowed a safety-razor from -an English Tommy—he had hidden it in his shirt—to shave her upper -lip, lest the Germans should think her a French <i>poilu</i> in disguise.</p> - -<p>More interesting to me than anything that was said were the things -unspoken by Eileen and Brand. In spite of the girl’s easy way of -laughter, her quick wit, her avoidance, if possible, of any reference -to her own suffering, I seemed to see in her eyes and in her face the -strain of a long ordeal, some frightful adventure of life in which -she had taken great hazards—the people had told me she had risked -her life, often—and a woman’s courage which had been tested by that -experience and had not failed, though perhaps at breaking-point in the -worst hours. I supposed her age was twenty-six or so (I guessed it -right this side of a year), but there was already a streak of grey in -her dark hair, and her eyes, so smiling as a rule, looked as if they -had often wept. I think the presence of Brand was a great pleasure to -her—bringing to Lille a link with her childhood—and I saw that she -was studying the personality of this newly-found friend of hers, and -the strong character of his face, not unscathed by the touch of war, -with curious, penetrating interest. I felt in the way, and left them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -together with a fair excuse—I had always work to do—and I was pleased -that I did so, they were so obviously glad to have a more intimate talk -about old friends and old times.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<h2>IX</h2> - -<p>I gained by my unselfishness (I did not want to go), for the Reverend -Mother met me in the corridor and stood talking to me about Eileen -O’Connor, and told me part of the girl’s story, which I found strange -in its drama, though she left out the scene of greatest interest, as I -heard later from Eileen herself.</p> - -<p>The girl had come to Lille just before the war, as an art-mistress in -an “<i>École de Jeunes Filles</i>” (her parents in Kensington had too big -a family to keep them all), with lessons twice a week at the convent, -and private pupils in her own rooms. She learned to speak French -quickly and charmingly, and her gift of humour, her Irish frankness and -comradeship made her popular among her pupils, so that she had many -invitations to their homes and became well known in the best houses of -Lille—mostly belonging to rich manufacturers. A commonplace story till -then! But when the Germans occupied Lille this Irish girl became one -of the chief characters in a drama that was exciting and fantastic to -the point of melodrama. It was she who organised the Lille branch of a -secret society of women, with a network all over northern France and -Belgium—the world remembers Nurse Cavell at Brussels—for the escape -of young civilians of military age and prisoners of war, combining -that work (frightfully perilous) with espionage on German movements of -troops and knowledge that might be of value to the Belgian Army, and -through them to England and France. It was out of an old book of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> Jules -Verne called “The Cryptogram” that she copied the cypher in which she -wrote her messages (in invisible ink on linen handkerchiefs and rags), -and she had an audacity of invention in numberless small tricks and -plots which constantly broke through the meshes of the German network -of military police.</p> - -<p>“She had a contempt for their stupidity,” said the Reverend Mother. -“Called them dunderheads, and one strange word of which I do not know -the meaning—‘yobs’—and I trembled at the risks she took.”</p> - -<p>She lived with one maid in two rooms on the ground floor of a house -near the Jardin d’Eté, the rest of the house being used as the -headquarters of the German Intelligence Section of the Northern -District. All day long officers went in and out, and by day and night -there were always sentries at the door. Yet it was there that was -established also the headquarters of the Rescue Committee. It was -on account of her Irish name and parentage that Eileen O’Connor was -permitted to remain in the two rooms to the left of the courtyard, -entered by a separate door. The German Kommandant was a man who -firmly believed that the Irish nation was ready to break out into -revolt against the English, and that all Irish—men and women—hated -the British Empire as much as any Prussian. Eileen O’Connor played -up to this <i>idée fixe</i>, saw the value of it as a wonderful means of -camouflage, lent the Kommandant books on Irish history dealing with -the injustice of England to Ireland (in which she firmly believed as a -staunch Nationalist), and educated him so completely to the belief that -she was anti-English (as she was in politics, though not in war) that -he had no doubt of her.</p> - -<p>Here the Reverend Mother made a remark which seemed to illuminate -Eileen O’Connor’s story, as well as her own knowledge of human nature. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The child has beautiful eyes and a most sweet grace. Irish history may -not account for all.”</p> - -<p>“This German Kommandant——” I asked, “what sort of a man was he?”</p> - -<p>“For a German not altogether bad,” said the Reverend Mother. “Severe -and ruthless, like them all, but polite when there was no occasion to -be violent. He was of good family, as far as there are such things in -Germany. A man of sixty.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor, with German permission, continued her work as -art-mistress at the <i>École de Jeunes Filles</i>. After six months she was -permitted to receive private pupils in her two rooms on the ground -floor of the Intelligence headquarters, in the same courtyard though -not in the same building. Her pupils came with drawing-boards and -paint-boxes. They were all girls with pig-tails and short frocks—not -so young as they looked, because three or four at least, including the -Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt, were older than schoolgirls. They played -the part perfectly, and the sentries smiled at them and said “<i>Guten -Tag, schönes Fräulein</i>,” as each one passed. They were the committee of -the Rescue Society:</p> - -<p>Julienne de Quesnoy,</p> - -<p>Marcelle Barbier,</p> - -<p>Yvonne Marigny,</p> - -<p>Marguérite Cléry, and Alice de Taffin, de Villers-Auxicourt.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor was the director and leading spirit. It seems to me -astonishing that they should have arranged the cypher, practised it, -written down military information gathered from German conversations -and reported to them by servants and agents under the very noses of -the German Intelligence officers, who could see into the sitting-room -as they passed through French windows and saluted Eileen O’Connor and -her young ladies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> if they happened to meet their eyes. It is more -astonishing that, at different times, and one at a time, many fugitives -(including five British soldiers who had escaped from the citadel) -slept in the cellar beneath that room, changed into German uniforms -belonging to men who had died at the convent hospital—the Reverend -Mother did that part of the plot—and walked quietly out in the morning -by an underground passage leading to the Jardin d’Eté. The passage had -been anciently built but was blocked up at one end by Eileen O’Connor’s -cellar, and she and the other women broke the wall, one brick at a -time, until after three months the hole was made. Their finger-nails -suffered in the process, and they were afraid that the roughness of -their hands might be noticed by the officers, but in spite of German -spectacles they saw nothing of that. Eileen O’Connor and her friends -were in constant touch with the prisoners of the Citadel and smuggled -food to them. That was easy. It was done by bribing the German sentries -with tobacco and meat-pies. They were also in communication with other -branches of the work in Belgium, so that fugitives were passed on from -town to town, and house to house. Their success made them confident, -after many horrible fears, and for a time they were lulled into a -sense of security. That was rudely crashed when Eileen O’Connor, the -young Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt, and Marcelle Barbier were arrested -one morning in September of ’17, on a charge of espionage. They were -put into separate cells of the civil prison, crowded with the vilest -women of the slums and stews, and suffered something like torture -because of the foul atmosphere, the lack of sanitation, and unspeakable -abomination.</p> - -<p>“Only the spirit of Christian martyrdom could remain cheerful in such -terrible conditions,” said the Reverend Mother. “Our dear Eileen was -sustained by a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> faith and wonderful gaiety. Her laughter, her -jokes, her patience, her courage, were an inspiration even to the poor -degraded women who were prisoners with her. They worshipped her. We, -her friends, gave her up for lost, though we prayed unceasingly that -she might escape death. Then she was brought to trial.”</p> - -<p>She stood alone in the court. The young Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt -had died in prison owing to the shock of her arrest and a weak heart. A -weak heart, though so brave. Eileen was not allowed to see her on her -death-bed, but she sent a message almost with her last breath. It was -the one word “courage!” Mlle. Marcelle Barbier was released before the -trial, for lack of direct evidence.</p> - -<p>Eileen’s trial was famous in Lille. The court was crowded and the -German military tribunal could not suppress the loud expressions of -sympathy and admiration which greeted her, nor the angry murmurs which -interrupted the prosecuting officer. She stood there, wonderfully calm, -between two soldiers with fixed bayonets. She looked very young and -innocent between her guards, and it is evident that her appearance made -a favourable impression on the court. The President, after peering at -her through his horn spectacles, was not so ferocious in his manner as -usual when he bade her be seated.</p> - -<p>The evidence seemed very strong against her. “She is lost” was the -belief of all her friends in court. One of the sentries at the Citadel, -jealously savage because another man had received more tobacco than -himself—on such a trivial thing did this girl’s life hang!—betrayed -the system by which the women’s committee sent food to the French -and English prisoners. He gave the names of three of the ladies and -described Eileen O’Connor as the ringleader. The secret police watched -her, and searched her rooms at night. They discovered the cypher and -the key, a list of men who had escaped, and three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> German uniforms in -a secret cupboard. They had been aided in their search by Lieutenant -Franz von Kreuzenach of the Intelligence Bureau, who was the chief -witness of the prosecution, and whose name was recommended to the -Court for the vigilance and zeal he had shown in the detection of the -conspiracy against the Army and the Fatherland. It was he who had found -the secret cupboard and had solved the key to the cypher.</p> - -<p>“We will take the lieutenant’s evidence in due course,” said the -President. “Does that complete the indictment against this prisoner?”</p> - -<p>Apart from a savage elaboration of evidence based upon the facts -presented and a demand that the woman’s guilt, if the Court were -satisfied thereon, should be punished by death, the preliminary -indictment by the prosecution ended.</p> - -<p>It was a terrible case, and during its revelations the people in court -were stricken with dread and pity for the girl who was now sitting -between the two soldiers. They were all staring at her, and some at -least—the Reverend Mother among them—noticed with surprise that -when the officer for the prosecution ended his speech she drew a deep -breath, raised her head, as though some weight of fear had been lifted -from her, and—laughed.</p> - -<p>It was quite a merry laugh, with that full blackbird note of hers, and -the sound of it caused a strange sensation in the court. The President -blinked repeatedly, like an owl blinded by a ray of sunlight. He -addressed the prisoner in heavy, barbarous French.</p> - -<p>“You are charged with conspiracy against our German martial law. The -punishment is death. It is no laughing matter, Fräulein.”</p> - -<p>They were stern words, but there was a touch of pity in that last -sentence.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ce n’est pas une affaire pour rire, Fräulein.</i>” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor, said the Reverend Mother, who was to be called as -a witness on her behalf, bowed in a gracious way to the President, -but with a look of amusement that was amazing to the German officers -assembled for her trial. Some of them scowled, but there were others, -the younger men, who whispered, and smiled also with no attempt to -disguise their admiration of such courage.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it was only I,” said the Reverend Mother, “who understood the -child’s joyous relief which gave her this courage. I had waited with -terrible dread for the announcement of the discovery of the secret -passage. That it had been discovered I knew, for the German lieutenant, -Franz von Kreuzenach, had come round to me and very sternly questioned -me about a case of medicine which he had found there, stamped with the -name of our convent.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” I said, “this Franz von Kreuzenach must have suppressed some of -the evidence. By what motive——”</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother interrupted me, putting her hand on my sleeve with -a touch of protest.</p> - -<p>“The good God works through strange instruments, and may touch the -hardest heart with His grace. It was indeed a miracle.”</p> - -<p>I would give much to have been in that court at Lille when Eileen -O’Connor was permitted to question the German lieutenant who was the -chief witness against her.</p> - -<p>From what I have heard, not only from the Reverend Mother, but from -other people of Lille who were present at the trial, she played with -this German officer, making him look very foolish, ridiculing him in a -merry, contemptuous way before the Court. Indeed he seemed strangely -abashed before her.</p> - -<p>“The cypher!... Have you ever been a schoolboy, or were you born a -lieutenant in the German Army?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach admitted that he had once been a boy—to the -amusement of his brother-officers.</p> - -<p>Had he ever read stories of adventure, fairy-tales, romances, or did -he spend his childhood in the study of Nietzsche, Hegel, Schopenhauer, -Kant, Goethe, von Bernhardi, Karl Marx——</p> - -<p>When she strung off these names—so incongruous in association—even -the President permitted a slight smile to twist his thin hard mouth.</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach said that he had read some fairy-tales and stories -of adventure. Might he ask the <i>gnädiges Fräulein</i>——</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the President, “what has this to do with your case, -Fräulein? I desire to give you full liberty in your defence but this is -entirely irrelevant to the evidence.”</p> - -<p>“It is my case!” cried Miss O’Connor. “Listen to the next question, -Herr President. It is the key of my defence.”</p> - -<p>Her next question caused laughter in court.</p> - -<p>“I ask the Herr Lieutenant whether, as a boy, or a young man, he has -read the romances of the French writer, Jules Verne?”</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach looked abashed, and blushed like a schoolboy. His -eyes fell before the challenging look of the Irish girl.</p> - -<p>“I have read some novels by Jules Verne, in German translations.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, in German translations—of course!” said Miss O’Connor. “German -boys do not learn French very well.”</p> - -<p>“Keep to the case,” said the President. “In Heaven’s name, Fräulein, -what has this to do with your defence?”</p> - -<p>She raised her hand, for patience, and said, “Herr President, my -innocence will soon be clear.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>She demanded of the witness for the prosecution whether he had ever -read the novel by Jules Verne called “The Cryptogram.” He said that he -had read it only a few days ago. He had discovered it in her room.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor turned round eagerly to the President.</p> - -<p>“I demand the production of that book.”</p> - -<p>An orderly was sent to the lieutenant’s rooms to fetch it. It was clear -that the President of the Court made a black mark against Franz von -Kreuzenach for not having mentioned its discovery to the Court. As yet, -however, he could not see the bearing of it on the case.</p> - -<p>Then, with the book in her hand, Eileen O’Connor turned to the famous -cryptogram, showed how it corresponded exactly with her own cypher, -proved that the pieces of paper found in her rooms were copies of the -Jules Verne cypher in the handwriting of her pupils.</p> - -<p>“You see, Herr President!” she cried eagerly.</p> - -<p>The President admitted that this was proved, but, as he asked, leaning -forward in his chair, for what purpose had they copied out that cypher? -Cyphers were dangerous things to write in time of war. Deadly things. -Why did these ladies want to learn the cypher?</p> - -<p>It was then that Eileen O’Connor was most brilliant. She described -in a simple and girlish way how she and her pupils worked in their -little room. While they copied freehand models, one of them read out -to the others, books of romance, love, adventure, to forget the gloom -of life and the tragedy of war. One of those books was Jules Verne’s -“Cryptogram.” It had fascinated them. It had made them forget the -misery of war. They were romantic girls, imaginative girls. Out of -sheer merriment, to pass the hours, they had tried to work out the -cypher. They had written love-letters to imaginary young men in those -secret numbers. Here Eileen, smiling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> ironically, read out specimens of -the letters that had been found.</p> - -<p>“Come to the corner of the rue Esquermoise at 9:45. You will know me -because I shall be wearing a blue bow in a black hat.”</p> - -<p>That was the romantic imagination of the Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt.</p> - -<p>“When you see a lady standing outside the Jardin d’Eté, with a little -brown dog, speak to her in French and say, ‘<i>Comme il fait froid -aujourd’hui, mademoiselle</i>.’ If she answers, ‘<i>Je ne vous comprends -pas, monsieur</i>,’ you will understand that she is to be trusted, and you -must follow her.”</p> - -<p>That was a romantic idea to which Eileen herself pleaded guilty.</p> - -<p>“Herr President,” said Eileen, “you cannot put old heads on young -shoulders, even in time of war. A party of girls will let their foolish -little minds run upon ideas of love, even when the sound of guns is not -far away. You, Herr President, will understand that perfectly.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps there was something in the character of the President that made -this a chance hit. All the German officers laughed, and the President -shifted in his seat and flushed to the top of his bald, vulture-like -head.</p> - -<p>The possession of those German uniforms was also explained in the -prettiest way by Eileen O’Connor. They were uniforms belonging to three -handsome young German soldiers who had died in hospital. They had -kept them to return to their mothers after the war, those poor German -mothers who were weeping for their sons.... This part of her defence -touched the German officers deeply. One of them had tears in his eyes.</p> - -<p>The list of escaped fugitives was harder to explain, but again an Irish -imagination succeeded in giving it an innocent significance. It had -been compiled by a prisoner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> in the Citadel and given to Eileen as -a proof that his own hope of escape was not in vain, though she had -warned him of the fearful risk. “The poor man gave me the list in sheer -simplicity, and in innocence I kept it.”</p> - -<p>Simply and touchingly she admitted her guilt in smuggling food to -French and British prisoners and to German sentries, and claimed that -her fault was only against military regulations, but in humanity was -justified.</p> - -<p>“I am Irish,” she said. “I have in my heart the remembrance of English -crimes to Ireland—old, unforgettable crimes that still cry out for the -justice and the liberty which are denied my country.”</p> - -<p>Some of the younger German officers shook their heads approvingly. -They liked this Irish hatred of England. It was according to their -text-books.</p> - -<p>“But,” said the Irish girl, “the sufferings of English prisoners—you -know here of their misery, their hunger, their weakness in that Citadel -where many have died and are dying—stirred my compassion as a woman -to whom all cruelty is tragic, and all suffering of men a call to -that mother-love which is in the spirit of all their womanhood, as -you know by your German women—as I hope you know. Because they were -starved I tried to get them food, as I would to starving dogs or any -poor creatures caught in the trap of war, or of men’s sport. To that I -confess guilty, with gladness in my guilt.”</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother, standing there in the whitewashed corridor of the -convent, in the flickering light of an oil lantern which gleamed on the -white ruff round her neck and the silver cross on her breast, though -her face was shadowed in the cavern of her black headdress, repeated -this speech of Eileen O’Connor as though in hearing it first she had -learnt it by heart.</p> - -<p>“The child was divinely inspired, monsieur. Our Lady stood by her side, -prompting her. I am sure of that.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> - -<p>The trial lengthened out, until it was late in the evening when the -Judge summed up. He spoke again of the gravity of the accusation, -the dread punishment that must befall the prisoner if her guilt were -proved, the weight of evidence against her. For a time he seemed to -press her guilt heavily, and the Court was gloomy. The German officers -looked grave. One thing happened in the course of his speech which -affected the audience profoundly. It was when he spoke of the romantic -explanation that had been offered by the prisoner regarding the secret -cypher.</p> - -<p>“This lady,” he said, “asks me to believe that she and her companions -were playing a simple girlish game of make-believe. Writing imaginary -letters to mythical persons. Were these young ladies—nay, is -she—herself—so lacking in woman’s charm that she has no living man to -love her and needs must write fictitious notes to nonexistent men?”</p> - -<p>The President said these words with portentous solemnity. Perhaps only -a German could have spoken them. He paused and blinked at the German -officers below him. Suddenly into the silence of the court came a -ripple of laughter, clear and full of most mirthful significance.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor’s laugh bewitched the crowded court and there was a -roar of laughter in which all the officers joined. By that laugh more -even than by her general gaiety, her courage and eloquence, she won her -life.</p> - -<p>“I said a decade of the rosary to our Blessed Lady,” said the Reverend -Mother, “and thanked God that this dear child’s life would not be -taken. I was certain that those men would not condemn her to death. She -was acquitted on the charge of espionage, and sentenced to two weeks’ -imprisonment for smuggling food to prisoners, by a verdict of seven -against three. Only when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> left the court did she fall into so deep -a swoon that for a little while we thought her dead.”</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother had told her story well. She held me in a deep -strained interest. It was rather to myself than to her that I spoke the -words which were my comment at the end of this narrative.</p> - -<p>“How splendid!... But I am puzzled about that German lieutenant, Franz -von Kreuzenach. He kept the real evidence back.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said the Reverend Mother solemnly, “was a great mystery and a -miracle.”</p> - -<p>Wickham Brand joined us in the passage, with Eileen O’Connor by his -side.</p> - -<p>“Not gone yet?” said Wickham.</p> - -<p>“I have been listening to the tale of a woman’s courage,” I said, and -when Eileen gave me her hand, I raised it to my lips, in the French -style, though not in gallantry.</p> - -<p>“Reverend Mother,” she said, “has been exalting me to the Seventh -Heaven of her dear heart.”</p> - -<p>On my way back to Brand’s mess I told him all I had heard about -Eileen’s trial, and I remember his enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“Fine! Thank heaven there are women like that in this blood-soaked -world. It saves one from absolute despair.”</p> - -<p>He made no comment about the suppression of evidence, which was a -puzzle to me.</p> - -<p>We parted with a “So long, old man,” outside his headquarters, and I -did not see him until a few days later.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<h2>X</h2> - -<p>It was Frederick E. Small, the American doctor, attached to Brand’s -crowd, who was with me on a night in Lille before the Armistice, -when by news from the Colonel we were stirred by the tremendous -hope—almost a certainty—that the end of the war was near. I had -been into Courtrai, which the enemy had first evacuated and then was -shelling. It was not a joyous entry like that into Lille. Most of the -people were still down in their cellars, where for several days they -had been herded together until the air became foul. On the outskirts I -had passed many groups of peasants with their babies and old people, -trudging past our guns, trekking from one village to another in search -of greater safety, or standing in the fields where our artillery was -getting into action, and where new shell craters should have warned -them away, if they had had more knowledge of war. For more than four -years I had seen, at different periods, crowds like that—after the -first flight of fugitives in August of ’14, when the world seemed -to have been tilted up and great populations in France and Belgium -were in panic-stricken retreat from the advancing edge of war. I knew -the types, the attitudes, the very shape of the bundles, in these -refugee processions, the haggard look of the mothers pushing their -perambulators, the bewildered look of old men and women, the tired -sleepy look of small boys and girls, the stumbling dead-beat look of -old farm-horses dragging carts piled high with cottage furniture. As it -was at the beginning so it was at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> end—for civilians caught in the -fires of war. With two other men I went into the heart of Courtrai and -found it desolate, and knew the reason why when, at the corner of the -Grande Place, a heavy shell came howling and burst inside a house with -frightful explosive noise followed by a crash of masonry. The people -were wise to keep to their cellars. Two girls not so wise made a dash -from one house to another and were caught by chunks of steel and killed -close to the church of St. Martin, where they lay all crumpled up in a -clotted pool of blood. A man came up to me, utterly careless of such -risks, and I hated to stand talking to him with the shells coming every -half-minute overhead.</p> - -<p>There was a fire of passion in his eyes, and at every sentence he -spoke to me his voice rose and thrilled as he denounced the German -race for all they had done in Courtrai, for their robberies, their -imprisonments, their destruction of machinery, their brutality. The -last Commandant of Courtrai was von Richthofen, father of the German -aviator, and he was a hard, ruthless man and kept the city under an -iron rule.</p> - -<p>“All that, thank God, is finished now,” said the man. “The English have -delivered us from the Beast!” As he spoke another monstrous shell came -overhead, but he took no notice of it, and said, “We are safe now from -the enemy’s evil power!” It seemed to me a comparative kind of safety. -I had no confidence in it when I sat in the parlour of an old lady who, -like Eileen O’Connor in Lille, had been an Irish governess in Courtrai, -and who now, living in miserable poverty, sat in a bed-sitting room -whose windows and woodwork had been broken by shell-splinters. “Do you -mind shutting the door, my dear?” she said. “I can’t bear those nasty -bombs.” I realised with a large, experienced knowledge that we might -be torn to fragments of flesh, at any moment, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> one of those nasty -“bombs,” which were really eight-inch shells, but the old lady did not -worry, and felt safe when the door was shut.</p> - -<p>Outside Courtrai, when I left, lay some khaki figures in a mush of -blood. They were lads whom I had seen unloading ammunition that morning -on the bank of the canal. One had asked me for a light, and said, -“What’s all this peace-talk?... Any chance?” A big chance, I had told -him. Home for Christmas, certain sure this time. The boy’s eyes had -lighted up for a moment, quicker than the match which he held in the -cup of his hands.</p> - -<p>“Jesus! Back for good; eh?”</p> - -<p>Then the light went out of his eyes as the match flared up.</p> - -<p>“We’ve heard that tale, a score of times. ‘The Germans are weakening. -The Huns ’ave ’ad enough!...’ Newspaper talk. A man would be a mug——”</p> - -<p>Now the boy lay in the mud, with half his body blown away.... I -was glad to get back to Lille for a spell, where there were no -dead bodies in the roads. And the Colonel’s news, straight from -G.H.Q., which—surely—were not playing up the old false optimism -again!—helped one to hope that perhaps in a week or two the last boys -of our race, the lucky ones, would be reprieved from that kind of -bloody death, which I had seen so often, so long, so heaped up in many -fields of France and Flanders, where the flower of our youth was killed.</p> - -<p>Dr. Small was excited by the hope brought back by Colonel Lavington. -He sought me out in my billet, <i>chez Madame Chéri</i>, and begged me to -take a walk with him. It was a moonlight night, but no double throb of -a German air-engine came booming over Lille. He walked at a hard pace, -with the collar of his “British warm” tucked up to his ears, and talked -in a queer disjointed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>monologue, emotionally, whimsically. I remember -some of his words, more or less—anyhow the gist of his thoughts.</p> - -<p>“I’m not worrying any more about how the war will end. We’ve won! -Remarkable that when one thinks back to the time, less than a year -ago, when the best thing seemed a draw. I’m thinking about the future. -What’s the world going to be afterwards? That’s my American mind—the -next job, so to speak.”</p> - -<p>He thought hard while we paced round our side of the Jardin d’Eté where -the moonlight made the bushes glamourous, and streaked the tree-trunks -with a silver line.</p> - -<p>“This war is going to have prodigious effect on nations. On -individuals, too. I’m scared. We’ve all been screwed up to an -intense pitch—every nerve in us is beyond the normal stretch of -nature. After the war there will be a sudden relaxing. We shall be -like bits of chewed elastic. Rather like people who have drugged -themselves to get through some big ordeal. After the ordeal their -nerves are all ragged. They crave the old stimulus though they dread -it. They’re depressed—don’t know what’s the matter—get into sudden -rages—hysterical—can’t settle to work—go out for gaiety and get -bored. I’ve seen it many times in bad cases. Europe—yes and America -too—is going to be a bad case. A neurotic world—Lord, it’ll take some -healing!”</p> - -<p>For a time his thoughts wandered round the possible terms of peace and -the abasement of Germany. He prophesied the break-up of Germany, the -downfall of the Emperor and of other thrones.</p> - -<p>“Crowns will be as cheap as twenty cents,” he said. He hoped for the -complete overthrow of Junkerdom—“all the dirty dogs,” as he called the -Prussian war-lords and politicians. But he hoped the Allies would be -generous with the enemy peoples—“magnanimous” was the word he used. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We must help the spirit of democracy to rise among them,” he said. “We -must make it easy for them to exorcise the devil. If we press them too -hard, put the screw on to the torture of their souls (defeat will be -torture to a proud people), they will nourish a hope of vengeance and -go back to their devil for hope.”</p> - -<p>I asked him whether he thought his President would lead the world to a -nobler stage of history.</p> - -<p>He hesitated at that, groped a little, I thought, among old memories -and prejudices.</p> - -<p>“Why,” he said, “Wilson has the biggest chance that ever came to a -human being—the biggest chance and the biggest duty. We are rich -(too darned rich) and enormously powerful when most other peoples are -poor and weak—drained of wealth and blood. That’s our luck, and a -little bit perhaps our shame, though our boys have done their bit all -right and are ready to do more, and it’s not their fault they weren’t -here before—but we’re hardly touched by this war as a people, except -spiritually. There we’ve been touched by the finger of Fate. (God, if -you like that better!) So with that strength behind him the President -is in a big way of business. He can make his voice heard, stand for a -big idea. God, sonny, I hope he’ll do it! For the world’s sake, for the -sake of all these suffering people, here in this city of Lille and in a -million little towns where people have been bashed by war.”</p> - -<p>I asked him if he doubted Wilson’s greatness, and the question -embarrassed him.</p> - -<p>“I’m loyal to the man,” he said. “I’ll back him if he plays straight -and big. Bigness, that’s what we want. Bigness of heart as well as -bigness of brain. Oh, he’s clever, though not wise in making so many -enemies. He has fine ideas and can write real words. Things which -speak. True things. I’d like to be sure of his character<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>—its breadth -and strength, I mean. The world wants a Nobleman, bigger than the -little gentlemen of politics; a Leader calling to the great human heart -of our tribes, and lifting them with one grand gesture out of the -mire of old passions and vendettas and jealousies to a higher plane -of—commonsense. Out of the jungle, to the daylight of fellowship. Out -of the jungle.”</p> - -<p>He repeated those words twice, with a reverent solemnity. He believed -that so much emotion had been created in the heart of the world that -when the war ended anything might happen if a Leader came—a new -religion of civilisation, any kind of spiritual and social revolution.</p> - -<p>“We might kill cruelty,” he said. “My word, what a victory that would -be!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XI</h2> - -<p>Our conversation was interrupted by a figure that slipped out of the -darkness of some doorway, hesitated before us, and then spoke in French.</p> - -<p>“You are English officers? May I speak with you?”</p> - -<p>It was a girl, whom I could see only vaguely in the darkness—she stood -in the shadow of a doorway beyond the moonlight—and I answered her -that I was English and my friend American.</p> - -<p>“Is there any way,” she asked, “of travelling from Lille, perhaps to -Paris? In a motor-car, for example? To-night?”</p> - -<p>I laughed at this startling request, put so abruptly. It was already -nine o’clock at night!</p> - -<p>“Not the smallest chance in the world, mademoiselle! Paris is far from -Lille.”</p> - -<p>“I was stupid,” said the girl. “Not all the way to Paris, but to some -town outside Lille. Any town. There are motor-cars always passing -through the streets. I thought if I could get a little place in one——”</p> - -<p>“It is difficult,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it is forbidden -for officers to take civilians except in case of saving them from -danger—in shelled places.”</p> - -<p>She came suddenly out of the shadow into the moonlight, and I saw that -she was a girl with red hair and a face strangely white. I knew by the -way she spoke—the accent—as well as by the neatness of her dress, -that she was not a working-girl. She was trembling painfully, and took -hold of my arm with both her hands. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Monsieur, I beg of you to help me. I beseech you to think of some way -in which I may get away from Lille to-night. It is a matter of extreme -importance to me.”</p> - -<p>A group of young men and women came up the street arm-in-arm, shouting, -laughing, singing the “<i>Marseillaise</i>.” They were civilians, with two -of our soldiers among them, wearing women’s hats.</p> - -<p>Before I could answer the girl’s last words she made a sudden retreat -into the dark doorway, and I could see dimly that she was cowering back.</p> - -<p>Dr. Small spoke to me.</p> - -<p>“That girl is scared of something. The poor child has got the jim-jams.”</p> - -<p>I went closer to her and heard her breathing. It was quite loud. It was -as though she were panting after hard running.</p> - -<p>“Are you ill?” I asked.</p> - -<p>She did not answer until the group of civilians had passed. They -did not pass at once, but stood for a moment looking up at a light -burning in an upper window. One of the men shouted something in a loud -voice—some word in <i>argot</i>—which I did not understand, and the women -screeched with laughter. Then they went on, dancing with linked arms, -and our two soldiers in the women’s hats lurched along with them.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid!” said the girl.</p> - -<p>“Afraid of what?” I asked.</p> - -<p>I repeated the question—“Why are you afraid, mademoiselle?” and she -answered by words which I had heard a million times since the war began -as an explanation of all trouble, tears, ruin, misery.</p> - -<p>“<i>C’est la guerre!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Look out!” said the little doctor. “She’s fainting.”</p> - -<p>She had risen from her cowering position and stood upright for a -moment, with her hand against the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>doorpost. Then she swayed and would -have fallen if the doctor had not caught her. Even then she fell, -indeed, though without hurt, because he could not support her sudden -weight—though she was of slight build,—and they sank together in a -kind of huddle on the door-step.</p> - -<p>“For the love of Mike!” said Dr. Small. He was on his knees before -her now, chafing her cold hands. She came-to in about a minute, and -I leaned over her and asked her where she lived, and made out from -her faint whisper that she lived in the house to which this doorway -belonged, in the upper room where the light was burning. With numbed -fingers—“cold as a toad” said “Daddy” Small—she fumbled at her bodice -and drew out a latch-key.</p> - -<p>“We had better carry her up,” I said, and the doctor nodded.</p> - -<p>The front door opened into a dimly-lit passage, uncarpeted, and -with leprous-looking walls. At one end was a staircase with heavy -bannisters. The doctor and I supported the girl, who was able to walk a -little now, and managed to get her to the first landing.</p> - -<p>“Where?” I asked, and she said, “Opposite.”</p> - -<p>It was the front room looking on to the street. A lamp was burning on -the round table in the centre of the room, and I saw by the light of -it the poverty of the furniture, and its untidiness. At one end of the -room was a big iron bedstead with curtains of torn lace, and on the -wooden chairs hung some soiled petticoats, and blouses. There was a -small cooking-stove in a corner, but no charcoal burned in it, and I -remember an ebony-framed mirror over the mantelpiece. I remember that -mirror, vividly. I remember, for instance, that a bit of the ebony had -broken off, showing the white plaster underneath, and a crack in the -right-hand corner of the looking-glass. Probably my eyes were attracted -to it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> because of a number of photographs stuck into the framework. -They were photographs of a girl in a variety of stage costumes, and -glancing at the girl whom the doctor had put into a low arm-chair, I -saw that they were of her. But with all the tragic difference between -happiness and misery; worse than that—between unscathed girlhood and -haggard womanhood. This girl with red hair and a white waxen face was -pretty still. There was something more than prettiness in the broadness -of her brow and the long tawny lashes that were now veiling her closed -eyes as she sat with her head back against the chair, showing a long -white throat. But her face was lined with an imprint of pain and her -mouth, rather long and bow-like, was drawn with a look of misery.</p> - -<p>The doctor spoke to me—in English, of course.</p> - -<p>“Half-starved, I should say. Or starved.”</p> - -<p>He sniffed at the stove and the room generally.</p> - -<p>“No sign of recent cooking.”</p> - -<p>He opened a cupboard and looked in.</p> - -<p>“Nothing in the pantry, sonny. I guess the girl would do with a meal.”</p> - -<p>I did not answer him. I was staring at the photographs stuck into -the mirror, and saw one that was not a girl’s portrait. It was the -photograph of a young French lieutenant. I crossed the room and looked -at it closer, and then spoke to the little doctor in a curiously -unexcited voice, as one does in moments of living drama.</p> - -<p>“This girl is Pierre Nesle’s sister.”</p> - -<p>“For the love of Mike!” said the little doctor, for the second time -that night.</p> - -<p>The girl heard the name of Pierre Nesle and opened her eyes wide, with -a wondering look.</p> - -<p>“Pierre Nesle? That is my brother. Do you know him?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - -<p>I told her that I knew him well and had seen him in Lille, where he was -looking for her, two days ago. He was now in the direction of Courtrai.</p> - -<p>The girl was painfully agitated, and uttered pitiful words.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my little brother!” she murmured. “My dear little comrade!” She -rose from her chair, steadying herself with one hand on the back of it, -and with feverish anxiety said that she must go at once. She must leave -Lille.</p> - -<p>“Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to leave Lille?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid!” she answered again, and burst into tears.</p> - -<p>I turned to the doctor and translated her words.</p> - -<p>“I can’t understand this fear of hers—this desire to leave Lille.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small had taken something off the mantelpiece—a glass tube with -some tablets—which he put in his pocket.</p> - -<p>“Hysteria,” he said. “Starvation, war-strain, and—drugs. There’s a -jolly combination for a young lady’s nerves! She’s afraid of herself, -old ghosts, the horrors. Wants to run away from it all, forgetting that -she carries her poor body and brain with her. I know the symptoms—even -in little old New York in time of peace.”</p> - -<p>He had his professional manner. I saw the doctor through his soldier’s -uniform. He spoke with the authority of the medical man in a patient’s -bedroom. He ordered me to go round to my mess and bring back some -food, while he boiled up a kettle and got busy. When I returned, after -half-an-hour, the girl was more cheerful. Some of the horrors had -passed from her, in the doctor’s company. She ate some of the food -I had brought in a famished way, but after a few mouthfuls sickened -at it and would eat no more. But a faint colour had come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> into her -cheeks and gave her face a touch of real beauty. She must have been -extraordinarily attractive before the war—as those photographs showed. -She spoke of Pierre with adoration. He had been all that was good to -her before she left home (she hated her mother!) to sing in cabarets -and café concerts.</p> - -<p>“I cannot imagine Pierre as a lieutenant!” she remarked with a queer -little laugh.</p> - -<p>Dr. Small said he would get some women in the house to look after her -in the night, but she seemed hostile to that idea.</p> - -<p>“The people here are unkind. They are bad women here. If I died they -would not care.”</p> - -<p>She promised to stay in the house until we could arrange for Pierre to -meet her and take her away to Paris. But I felt the greatest pity for -the girl when we left her alone in her miserable room. The scared look -had come back to her face. I could see that she was in terror of being -alone again.</p> - -<p>When we walked back to our billets the doctor spoke of the -extraordinary chance of meeting the girl like that—the sister of our -liaison officer. The odds were a million to one against such a thing.</p> - -<p>“I always feel there’s a direction in these cases,” said Daddy Small. -“Some Hand that guides. Maybe you and I were being led to-night. I’d -like to save that girl, Marthe.”</p> - -<p>“Is that her name?”</p> - -<p>“Marthe de Méricourt, she calls herself, as a singing-girl. I guess -that’s why Pierre could not hear of her in this town.”</p> - -<p>Later on the doctor spoke again.</p> - -<p>“That girl is as much a war-victim as if she had been shell-shocked -on the field of battle. The casualty-lists don’t say anything about -civilians, not a darned thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> about broken hearts, stricken women, -diseased babies, infant mortality; all the hell of suffering behind the -lines. May God curse all war devils!”</p> - -<p>He put his hand on my shoulder and said in a very solemn way:</p> - -<p>“After this thing is finished—this grisly business—you and I, and all -men of goodwill, must put our heads together to prevent it happening -again. I dedicate whatever life I have to that.”</p> - -<p>He seemed to have a vision of hope.</p> - -<p>“There are lots of good fellows in the world. Wickham Brand is one of -’em. Charles Fortune is another. One finds them everywhere on your -side and mine. Surely we can get together when peace comes, and make a -better system, somehow.”</p> - -<p>“Not easy, Doctor.”</p> - -<p>He laughed at me.</p> - -<p>“I hate your pessimism!... We must get a message to Pierre Nesle.... -Good night, sonny!”</p> - -<p>On the way back to my billet I passed young Clatworthy. He was too -engrossed to see me, having his arm round a girl who was standing with -him under an unlighted lamp-post. She was looking up into his face on -which the moonlight shone—a pretty creature, I thought.</p> - -<p>“<i>Je t’adore!</i>” she murmured as I passed quite close; and Clatworthy -kissed her.</p> - -<p>I knew the boy’s mother and sisters, and wondered what they would think -of him if they saw him now with this little street-walker. To them -Cyril was a white knight <i>sans peur et sans reproche</i>. The war had not -improved him. He was no longer the healthy lad who had been captain of -his school, with all his ambition in sport, as I had known him five -years before. Sometimes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> in spite of his swagger and gallantry, I saw -something sinister in his face, the look of a soiled soul. Poor kid! He -too would have his excuse for all things:</p> - -<p>“<i>C’est la guerre!</i>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XII</h2> - -<p>It was five o’clock on the following evening that I saw the girl Marthe -again. The Doctor and I had arranged to go round to her lodging after -dinner, by which time we hoped to have a letter for her from Pierre, by -despatch-rider. But Brand was with me in the afternoon, having looked -in to my billet with an English conversation-book for Hélène, who was -anxious to study our way of speech. Madame Chéri insisted upon giving -him a glass of wine, and we stood talking in her drawing-room awhile -about the certain hope of victory, and then trivial things. Hélène was -delighted with her book and Brand had a merry five minutes with her, -teaching her to pronounce the words.</p> - -<p>“<i>C’est effroyable!</i>” cried Hélène. “‘Through’ ... ‘Tough’ ... ‘Cough’ -... <i>Mon Dieu, comme c’est difficile!</i> There is no rule in your tongue.”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri spoke of Edouard, her eldest boy, who had disappeared into -the great silence, and gave me a photograph of him, in case I should -meet him in our advance towards the Rhine. She kissed the photograph -before giving it to me, and said a few words which revealed her strong -character, her passionate patriotism.</p> - -<p>“If he had been four years older he would have been a soldier of -France. I should have been happy if he could have fought for his -country, and died for it, like my husband.”</p> - -<p>Brand and I left the house and went up towards the Grande Place. I was -telling him about Pierre Nesle’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> sister and our strange meeting with -her the night before.</p> - -<p>“I’m precious glad,” said Brand, “that no sister of mine was behind -German lines. God knows how much they had to endure. Imagine their -risks! It was a lucky escape for that girl Hélène. Supposing she had -failed to barricade her door?”</p> - -<p>When we came into the Grande Place we saw that something was happening. -It was almost dark after a shadowy twilight, but we could see a crowd -of people surging round some central point of interest. Many of them -were laughing, loudly. There was some joke in progress. The women’s -tongues sounded most loud, and shrill.</p> - -<p>“They’re getting back to gaiety,” said Brand. “What’s the jest, I -wonder?”</p> - -<p>A gust of laughter came across the square. Above it was another sound, -not so pleasant. It was a woman’s shrieks—shriek after shriek, most -blood-curdling, and then becoming faint.</p> - -<p>“What the devil——!” said Brand.</p> - -<p>We were on the edge of the crowd, and I spoke to a man there.</p> - -<p>“What’s happening?”</p> - -<p>He laughed, in a grim way.</p> - -<p>“It’s the <i>coiffure</i> of a lady. They are cutting her hair.”</p> - -<p>I was mystified.</p> - -<p>“Cutting her hair?”</p> - -<p>A woman spoke to me, by way of explanation, laughing like the man.</p> - -<p>“Shaving her head, monsieur. She was one of those who were too -complaisant with German officers. You understand? There were many of -them. They ought to have their heads cut off, as well as their hair.”</p> - -<p>Another man spoke, gruffly. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There would be a good many headless corpses, if that were so. To their -shame be it said. It was abominable. No pride. No decency.”</p> - -<p>“But the worst will escape,” said another. “In private houses. The -well-dressed demoiselles!”</p> - -<p><i>“Tuez-les!</i>” cried a woman. “<i>Tuez-les!</i>”</p> - -<p>It was a cry for killing, such, as women had screamed when pretty -aristocrats were caught by the mobs of the French Revolution.</p> - -<p>“My God!” said Brand.</p> - -<p>He shouldered his way through the crowd, and I followed him. The people -made a gap for us, seeing our uniforms, and desired us to enjoy the -joke. What I saw when I came closer was a group of young men holding a -limp figure. One of them was brandishing a large pair of scissors, as -large as shears. Another held up a tangled mass of red hair.</p> - -<p>“<i>Regardez!</i>” he shouted to the crowd, and they cheered and laughed.</p> - -<p>I had seen the hair before, as I knew when I saw a girl’s face, -dead-white, lifeless, as it seemed, and limp against a man’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“It is Marthe!” I said to Brand. “Pierre Nesle’s sister.”</p> - -<p>A curious sense of faintness overcame me, and I felt sick.</p> - -<p>Brand did not answer me, but I saw his face pale under its tan. He -pushed forward through the crowd and I lost sight of him for a few -moments. After that I saw him carrying the girl; above the heads of the -people I saw her head flopping from side to side horribly, a head with -close-cropped hair. They had torn her clothes off her shoulders, which -were bleeding.</p> - -<p>“Help me,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>I am not quite clear what happened. I have only a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> vague remembrance of -the crowd making way for us, with murmurs of surprise, and some hostile -cries of women. I remember helping Brand to carry the girl—enormously -heavy she seemed with her dead weight—but how we managed to get her -into Dr. Small’s car is to this day a blank in my mind. We must have -seen and hailed him at the Corner of the Grande Place as he was going -back to his billet. I have a distinct recollection of taking off my -Burberry and laying it over the girl, who was huddled in the back of -the car, and of Brand saying, “Where can we take her?” I also remember -trying to light a cigarette and using many matches which went out in -the wind. It was Brand’s idea that we should go to Madame Chéri’s house -for sanctuary, and by the time we had driven to that place we had left -the crowd behind and were not followed.</p> - -<p>“You go in and explain things,” said Brand. “Ask Madame to give the -girl a refuge.”</p> - -<p>I think Madame Chéri was startled by the sight of the car, and perhaps -by some queer look I had. I told her what had happened. This girl was -the sister of Pierre Nesle, whom Madame Chéri had met. The crowd, for -some reason, had cut off her hair. Would Madame save the poor child, -who was unconscious?</p> - -<p>I shall never forget the face or speech of that lady, whom I had found -so kind. She drew herself up very stiffly and a relentless expression -hardened her face.</p> - -<p>“If you were not English I should say you desired to insult me, sir. -The people have cut off the creature’s hair. ‘For some reason’ you say. -There is only one reason. Because she was faithless to her country and -to her sex, and was familiar with men who were the enemies of France, -the murderers of our men, robbers and assassins. She has been well -punished. I would rather burn down my house than give her shelter. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -they gave her to the dogs to tear in pieces I would not lift my little -finger to save her.”</p> - -<p>Hélène came in, and was surprised at the emotion of her mother’s voice.</p> - -<p>“What is it, little maman?”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri, regained control of herself, which for a moment she had -lost in a passion that shook her.</p> - -<p>“It is a little matter. This officer and I have been talking about vile -people who sold themselves to our enemy. He understands perfectly.”</p> - -<p>“I understand,” I said, gravely. “There is a great deal of cruelty in -the world, madame, and less charity than I had hoped.”</p> - -<p>“There is, praise be to God, a little justice,” said Madame Chéri, very -calmly.</p> - -<p>“Au revoir, madame!”</p> - -<p>“Au revoir, monsieur!”</p> - -<p>“Au revoir, mademoiselle!”</p> - -<p>I was shocked then at the callousness of the lady. It seemed to me -incredible. Now I am no longer shocked, but understand the horror -that was hers, the loathing, for a daughter of France who had—if the -mob were not mistaken!—violated the code of honour which enabled -the French people to resist German brutality, even German kindness, -which they hated worse, with a most proud disdain. That girl outside, -bleeding and senseless in the car, had been friendly with German -officers, notorious in her company with them. Otherwise she would not -have been seized by the crowd and branded for shame. There was a fierce -protective instinct which hardened Madame Chéri against charity. Only -those who have seen what war means to women close to it, in enemy -hands, may truly understand, and, understanding, curse war again for -all its destruction of souls and bodies.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XIII</h2> - -<p>Brand and Dr. Small were both astonished and indignant.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say she shuts her door against this poor bleeding -girl?” said Brand.</p> - -<p>The American doctor did not waste words. He only used words when there -was no action on hand.</p> - -<p>“The next place?” he said. “A hospital?”</p> - -<p>I had the idea of the convent where Eileen O’Connor lodged. There was -a sanctuary. Those nuns were vowed to Christian charity. They would -understand and have pity.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Brand, and he called to the driver.</p> - -<p>We drove hard to the convent, and Brand was out of the car before it -stopped, and rang the bell with such a tug that we heard it jangling -loudly in the courtyard.</p> - -<p>It seemed long before the little wicket opened and a woman’s voice -said, “<i>Qui est là?</i>”</p> - -<p>Brand gave his name, and said, “Open quickly, <i>ma soeur</i>. We have a -woman here who is ill.”</p> - -<p>The gate was opened, and Brand and I lifted out the girl, who was still -unconscious, but moaning slightly, and carried her into the courtyard, -and thence inside the convent to the white-washed passage where I had -listened so long to the Reverend Mother telling me of the trial scene.</p> - -<p>It was the Reverend Mother who came now, with two of her nuns, while -the little portress stood by, clasping her hands. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<p>“An accident?” said the Reverend Mother. “How was the poor child hurt?”</p> - -<p>She bent over the girl, Marthe,—Pierre Nesle’s sister, as I remembered -with an added pity—pulled my Burberry from her face and shoulders and -glanced at the bedraggled figure there.</p> - -<p>“Her hair has been cut off,” said the old nun. “That is strange! There -are the marks of finger-nails on her shoulder. What violence was it, -then?”</p> - -<p>Brand described the rescue of the girl from the mob, who would have -torn her to pieces, and as he spoke I saw a terrible look come into the -Reverend Mother’s face.</p> - -<p>“I remember—1870,” she said harshly. “They cut the hair of women who -had disgraced themselves—and France—by their behaviour with German -soldiers. We thought then that it was a light punishment ... we think -so now, monsieur!”</p> - -<p>One of the nuns, a young woman who had been touching the girl’s head, -smoothing back her tousled close-cropped hair, sprang up as though she -had touched an evil thing, and shrank back.</p> - -<p>Another nun spoke to the Reverend Mother.</p> - -<p>“This house would be defiled if we took in a creature like that. God -forbid, Reverend Mother——”</p> - -<p>The old Superior turned to Brand, and I saw how her breast was heaving -with emotion.</p> - -<p>“It would have been better, sir, if you had left this wretched woman to -the people. The voice of the people is sometimes the voice of God. If -they knew her guilt their punishment was just. Reflect what it means to -us—to all our womanhood. Husbands, fathers, brothers were being killed -by these Germans. Our dear France was bleeding to death. Was there any -greater crime than that a Frenchwoman should show any weakness, any -favour, to one of those men who were helping to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> cause the agony of -France, the martyrdom of our youth?”</p> - -<p>Brand stammered out a few words. I remember only two: “Christian -charity!”</p> - -<p>The American doctor and I stood by silently. Dr. Small was listening -with the deepest attention, as though some new truth about human nature -were being revealed to him.</p> - -<p>It was then that a new voice was raised in that whitewashed corridor. -It was Eileen O’Connor’s Irish contralto, and it vibrated with -extraordinary passion, as she spoke in French.</p> - -<p>“Reverend Mother!... I am dismayed by the words you have spoken. I do -not believe, though my ears have heard them. No, they are unbelievable! -I have seen your holiness, your charity, every day for four years, -nursing German prisoners, and English, with equal tenderness, with -a great pity. Not shrinking from any horror or the daily sight of -death, but offering it all as a sacrifice to God. And now, after our -liberation, when we ought to be uplifted by the Divine favour that has -come to us, you would turn away that poor child who lies bleeding at -our feet, another victim of war’s cruelty. Was it not war that struck -her down? This war which has been declared against souls as well as -bodies! This war on women, as well as on fighting-men who had less -need of courage than some of us! What did our Lord say to a woman who -was taken by the mob? ‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast -the first stone!’ It was Mary Magdalen who kissed His feet, and wiped -them with her hair. This girl has lost her hair, but perhaps Christ -has taken it as a precious napkin for His wounds. We who have been -lucky in escape from evil—shall we cast her out of the house which -has a cross above its roof? I have been lucky above most women in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -Lille. If all things were known, I might be lying there in that girl’s -place, bleeding and senseless, without this hair of mine. Reverend -Mother—<i>remember Franz von Kreuzenach</i>!”</p> - -<p>We—Dr. Small, Brand and I—were dumbfounded by Eileen O’Connor’s -passionate outcry. She was utterly unconscious of us and looked only at -the Reverend Mother, with a light in her eyes that was more intensely -spiritual than I had seen before in any woman’s face.</p> - -<p>The old nun seemed stricken by Eileen’s words. Into her rugged old -face, all wrinkled about the eyes, crept an expression of remorse and -shame. Once she raised her hands, slowly, as though beseeching the -girl to spare her. Then her hands came down again and clasped each -other at her breast, and her head bowed so that her chin was dug into -her white bib. Tears came into her eyes and fell unheeded down her -withered cheeks. I can see now the picture of us all standing there in -the whitewashed corridor of the convent, in the dim light of a hanging -lantern—we three officers standing together, the huddled figure of -Marthe Nesle lying at our feet, half covered with my trench-coat, but -with her face lying sideways, white as death under her cropped red -hair, and her bare shoulders stained with a streak of blood; opposite, -the old Mother, with bowed head and clasped hands; the two young nuns, -rigid, motionless, silent; and Eileen O’Connor, with that queer light -on her face, and her hands stretched out with a gesture of passionate -appeal.</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mother raised her head and spoke—after what seemed like a -long silence, but was only a second or two, I suppose.</p> - -<p>“My child, I am an old woman, and have said many prayers. But you have -taught me the lesson, which I thought I knew, that the devil does not -depart from us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> until our souls have found eternal peace. I am a wicked -old woman, and until you opened my eyes I was forgetful of charity and -of our Lord’s most sweet commands.”</p> - -<p>She turned to us now with an air of wonderful dignity and graciousness.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen, I pray you to carry this wounded girl to my own cell. -To-night I will sleep on bare boards.”</p> - -<p>One of the young nuns was weeping bitterly.</p> - -<p>So we lifted up Marthe Nesle, and, following the Reverend Mother, -carried her to a little white room and laid her on an iron bedstead -under a picture of the Madonna, below which burned an oil lamp on a -wooden table. The American doctor asked Eileen O’Connor to bring him -some hot water.</p> - -<p>Brand and I went back in the car, and I dined at his mess again.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XIV</h2> - -<p>Colonel Lavington was discussing the art of the sonnet, and the -influence of Italian culture in Elizabethan England. From that subject -he travelled to the psychology of courage, which in his opinion, for -the moment, was founded on vanity.</p> - -<p>“Courage,” he said with that gallant look of his which I had seen with -admiration when he walked up the old duckboards beyond Ypres, with -a whimsical smile at “crumps” bursting abominably near—he had done -bravely in the old days, as a battalion commander—“Courage is merely -a pose before the mirror of one’s own soul and one’s neighbours. We -are all horribly afraid in moments of danger, but some of us have the -gift of pretending that we don’t mind. That is vanity. We like to look -heroes, even to ourselves. It is good to die with a <i>beau geste</i>, -though death is damnably unpleasant.”</p> - -<p>“I agree, Colonel,” said Charles Fortune. “Always the right face for -the proper occasion. But it wants a lot of practice.”</p> - -<p>He put on his gallant, devil-may-care face, and there was appreciative -laughter from his fellow-officers.</p> - -<p>Harding, the young landowner, was of opinion that courage depended -entirely on the liver.</p> - -<p>“It is a matter of physical health,” he said. “If I am out-of-sorts, -my <i>moral</i> goes down to zero. Not that I’m ever really brave. Anyhow I -hate things that go off. Those loud noises of bursting shells are very -objectionable. I shall protest against Christmas crackers after the -war.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>Young Clatworthy was in the sulks, and sat very silent during all this -badinage.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” I asked, and he confided to me his conviction, -while he passed the salt, that “life was a rummy game.”</p> - -<p>“Hipped?” I said, and his answer was, “Fed up to the back teeth!”</p> - -<p>That seemed to me curious, after the glimpse I had had of him with a -little lady of Lille. The boy explained himself somewhat, under cover -of the Colonel’s conversation, which was holding the interest of the -mess.</p> - -<p>“We’re living unnaturally,” he said. “It’s all an abnormal show, and we -pretend to be natural and normal, when everything that happens round us -is fantastic and disorderly.”</p> - -<p>“What’s your idea?” I enquired. It was the first time I had heard the -boy talk seriously, or with any touch of gravity.</p> - -<p>“Hard to explain,” he said. “But take my case to-day. This morning I -went up the line to interrogate the latest batch of P.O.W’s.” (He meant -prisoners of war). “A five-point-nine burst within ten yards of my car, -the other side of Courtrai, killed my driver and missed me by a couple -of inches. I felt as sick as a dog when I saw Saunders crumpled over -his steering-wheel, with blood pouring down his neck. Not that it’s the -first time I’ve seen blood!”</p> - -<p>He laughed as he gave a glance at his wound-stripe, and I remembered -the way in which he had gained his M.C. at Gommecourt—one of three -left alive in his company.</p> - -<p>“We had been talking, three minutes before, about his next leave. He -had been married in ’16, after the Somme, and hadn’t seen his wife -since. Said her letters made him ‘uneasy.’ Thought she was drinking, -because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> of the loneliness. Well, there he was—finished—and a nasty -sight. I went off to the P.O.W. cage, and examined the beggars—one -of them, as usual, had been a waiter at the Cecil, and said ‘How’s -dear old London?’—and passed the time of day with Bob Mellett. You -know—the one-armed lad. He laughed no end when he heard of my narrow -squeak. So did I—though it’s hard to see the joke. He lent me his car -on the way back, and somewhere outside Courtrai we bumped over a dead -body, with a queer soft squelch. It was a German—a young ’un—and Bob -Mellett said, ‘<i>He</i> won’t be home for Christmas!’ Do you know Bob?—he -used to cry at school when a rat was caught. Queer, isn’t it? Now here -I am, sitting at a white table-cloth, listening to the Colonel’s talk, -and pretending to be interested. I’m not a bit, really. I’m wondering -why that bit of shell hit Saunders and not me. Or why I’m not lying -in a muddy road as a bit of soft squelch for staff-cars to bump over. -And on top of that I’m wondering how it will feel to hang up a bowler -hat again in a house at Wimbledon, and say ‘Cheerio, Mother!’ to the -mater (who will be knitting in the same arm-chair—chintz-covered—by -the piano) and read the evening paper until dinner’s ready, take Ethel -to a local dance, and get back into the old rut of home life in a nice -family, don’t you know? With all my memories. With the ghosts of <i>this</i> -life crowding up. Ugly ghosts, some of ’em! Dirty ghosts!... It’s -inconceivable that we can ever go back to the funny old humdrum! I’m -not sure that I want to.”</p> - -<p>“You’re hipped,” I told him. “You’ll be glad to get back all right. -Wimbledon will be Paradise after what you’ve been through.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord, <i>I’ve</i> done nothing,” said the boy. “Fact is, I’ve been -talking tripe. Forget it.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<p>But I did not forget, and remembered every word later, when I heard his -laughter, on Armistice night.</p> - -<p>A despatch-rider stood outside the door in his muddy overalls, and -Brand went to get his message. It was from Pierre Nesle.</p> - -<p>“I am mad with joy that you have found Marthe! Alas, I cannot get back -for a week. Tell her that I am still her devoted comrade and loving -brother. Pierre.”</p> - -<p>Brand handed me the slip and said, “Poor devil!” I went back to my -billet in Madame Chéri’s house, and she made no allusion to our -conversation in the afternoon, but was anxious, I thought, to assure -me of her friendship by special little courtesies, as when she lighted -my candle and carried it upstairs before saying Good night. Hélène -was learning English fast and furiously, and with her arms round her -mother’s waist, said, “Sleep well, sir, and very good dreams to you!” -which I imagine was a sentence out of her text-book.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XV</h2> - -<p>They were great days—in the last two weeks before the Armistice! For -me, and for many men, they were days of exultation, wild adventure, -pity, immense hope, tremendous scenes uplifted by a sense of victory; -though for others, the soldiers who did the dirty work, brought up -lorry columns through the mud of the old battlefields, far behind our -new front line, carried on still with the hard old drudgery of war, -they were days not marked out by any special jubilation, or variety, -or hope, but just like all the others that had gone before since first -they came to France.</p> - -<p>I remember little scenes and pictures of those last two weeks as they -pass through my mind like a film drama; episodes of tragedy or triumph -which startled my imagination, a pageantry of men who had victory in -their eyes, single figures who spoke to me, told me unforgettable -things, and the last dead bodies who fell at the very gate of Peace.</p> - -<p>One of the last dead bodies I saw in the war was in the city of -Valenciennes, which we entered on the morning of November 3. Our guns -had spared the city, which was full of people, but the railway station -was an elaborate ruin of twisted iron and broken glass. Rails were torn -up and sleepers burnt. Our airmen, flying low day after day during the -German retreat, had flung down bombs which had torn the fronts off the -booking-offices and made match-wood of the signal-boxes and sheds. -For German soldiers detraining here it had been a hellish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> place, and -the fire of our flying-men had been deadly accurate. I walked through -the ruin out into the station square. It was empty of all life, but -one human figure was there all alone. It was the dead body of a young -German soldier, lying with outstretched arms, on his back, in a pool of -blood. His figure formed a cross there on the cobblestones, and seemed -to me a symbol of all that youth which had been sacrificed by powers -of monstrous evil. His face was still handsome in death, the square, -rough-hewn face of a young peasant.</p> - -<p>There was the tap-tap-tap of a German machine-gun, somewhere on the -right of the square. As I walked forward, all my senses were alert to -the menace of death. It would be foolish, I thought, to be killed at -the end of the war—for surely the end was very near? And then I had a -sudden sharp thought that perhaps it would be well if this happened. -Why should I live when so many had died? The awful job was done, and my -small part in it. I had seen it through from start to finish, for it -was finished but for a few days of waiting. It might be better to end -with it, for all that came afterwards would be anti-climax. I remember -raising my head and looking squarely round at that staccato hammering -of the German machine-gun, with an intense desire that a bullet might -come my way. But I went on untouched into the town....</p> - -<p>As in Courtrai, a fury of gun-fire overhead kept the people in their -houses. Our field batteries were firing over the city and the enemy was -answering. Here and there I saw a face peering out of a broken window, -and then a door opened, and a man and woman appeared behind it, with -two thin children. The woman thrust out a skinny hand and grasped mine, -and began to weep. She talked passionately, with a strange mingling of -rage and grief. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<p>“O my God!” she said, “those devils have gone at last! What have they -not made us suffer! My husband and I had four little houses—we were -innkeepers—and last night they sent us to this part of the town and -burnt all of them.” She used a queer word in French. “Last night,” she -said, “they made a devil’s <i>charivari</i> and set many houses on fire.”</p> - -<p>Her husband spoke to me over his wife’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Sir, they have stolen everything, broken everything, ground us down -for four years. They are bandits and robbers.”</p> - -<p>“We are hungry,” said the thin little girl.</p> - -<p>By her side the boy, with a white pinched face, echoed her plaint.</p> - -<p>“We have eaten our bread, and I am hungry.”</p> - -<p>They had some coffee left, and asked me to go inside and drink it with -them, but I could not wait.</p> - -<p>The woman held my wrist tight in her skinny hands.</p> - -<p>“You will come back?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I will try,” I said.</p> - -<p>Then she wept again, and said:</p> - -<p>“We are grateful to the English soldiers. It is they who saved us.”</p> - -<p>That is one out of a hundred little scenes that I remember in those -last two weeks when, not without hard fighting, for the German -machine-gun rearguards fought bravely to the end, our troops entered -many towns and villages, and liberated many thousands of poor people. -I remember the girls of a little town called Bohain who put on their -best frocks and clean pinafores to welcome us. It was not until a -little while that we found they were starving and had not even a crust -of bread in all the town. Then the enemy started shelling, and some of -the girls were killed, and many were suffocated by gas shells. That -was worse in St. Amand, by Valenciennes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> where all the women and -children took refuge in the cellars. The German batteries opened fire -with Yellow Cross shell as our guns passed through. Some of our men, -and many of their horses, lay dead in the streets as I passed through; -but worse things happened in the cellars below the houses. The heavy -gas of the Yellow Cross shells filtered down to where the women and -their babies cowered on their mattresses. They began to choke and -gasp, and babies died in the arms of dying mothers.... Dr. Small, our -American, went with a body of English doctors and nurses to the rescue -of St. Amand. “I’ve seen bad things,” he told me. “I am not weak in the -stomach—but I saw things in those cellars which nearly made me vomit.”</p> - -<p>He put a hand on my shoulder and blinked at me through his glasses.</p> - -<p>“It’s no good cursing the Germans. As soon as your troops entered the -village they had a right to shell. That’s war. We should do the same. -War’s war. I’ve been cursing the Germans in elaborate and eccentric -language. It did me good. I feel all the better for it. But all the -same I was wrong. It’s war we ought to curse. War which makes these -things possible among civilised peoples. It’s just devilry. Civilised -people must give up the habit. They must get cured of it. You have -heard of typhoid-carriers? They are people infected with the typhoid -microbe who spread the disease. When peace comes we must hunt down the -war-carriers, isolate them, and, if necessary, kill them.”</p> - -<p>He waved his hand to me and went off in an ambulance filled with -suffocated women.</p> - -<p>I met Brand in Valenciennes five days after our liberation of the city, -when our troops were making their formal entry with band and banners. -He came up to me and said, “Have you heard the news?” I saw by his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -face that it was good news, and I felt my heart give a lurch when I -answered him.</p> - -<p>“Tell me the best.”</p> - -<p>“Germany is sending plenipotentiaries, under a white flag, to Foch. -They know it is unconditional surrender.... And the Kaiser has -abdicated.”</p> - -<p>I drew a deep breath. Something seemed to lift from my soul. The sky -seemed to become brighter, as though a shadow had passed from the face -of the sun.</p> - -<p>“Then it’s the end?... The last battle has been fought!”</p> - -<p>Brand was staring at a column of troops—all young fellows of the 4th -Division. His eyes were glistening, with moisture in them.</p> - -<p>“Reprieved!” he said. “The last of our youth is saved!”</p> - -<p>He turned to me suddenly, and spoke in the deepest melancholy.</p> - -<p>“You and I ought to be dead. So many kids were killed. We’ve no right -to be alive.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps there is other work to do,” I answered him, weakly, because I -had the same thought.</p> - -<p>He did not seem sure of that.</p> - -<p>“I wonder!... If we could help to save the next generation——”</p> - -<p>In the Place d’Armes of Valenciennes there was a great crowd, and many -of our Generals and Staff officers on the steps and below the steps of -the Hôtel de Ville. Brand and I caught a glimpse of Colonel Lavington, -looking very gallant and debonair, as usual. Beside him was Charles -Fortune, with his air of a Staff-officer dreadfully overworked in the -arrangement of victory, modest in spite of his great achievements, -deprecating any public homage that might be paid him. This careful -mask of his was slightly disarranged for a moment when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> winked -at me under the very nose of the great General whom he had set to -music—“Blear-eyed Bill, the Boche-Breaker,” who stood magnificent -with his great chest emblazoned with ribbons. The Prince of Wales was -there, shifting from one leg to another, chatting gaily with a group of -Staff-officers. A bevy of French girls advanced with enormous bouquets -and presented them to the Prince and his fellow-officers. The Prince -laughed and blushed, like a schoolboy, sniffed at the flowers, did not -know what to do with them. The other officers held the bouquets with -equal embarrassment, with that strange English shyness which not even -war could cure.</p> - -<p>Some officers close to me were talking of the German plea for Armistice.</p> - -<p>“It’s abject surrender!” said one of them.</p> - -<p>“The end!” said another, very solemnly. “Thank God.”</p> - -<p>“The end of a dirty business!” said a young machine-gun officer. I -noticed that he had three wound-stripes.</p> - -<p>One of them, holding a big bouquet, began to dance, pointing his toes, -cutting abbreviated capers in a small space among his comrades.</p> - -<p>“Not too quick for me, old dears! Back to peace again!... Back to life! -Hooray!”</p> - -<p>The colours of many flags fluttered upon the gables of the Place -d’Armes, and the balconies were draped with the Tricolour, the Union -Jack, and the Stars and Stripes. Old citizens wore tall hats saved -up for this day, and girls had taken their lace from hiding-places -where the Germans had not found it, and wore it round their necks -and wrists for the honour of this day. Old women in black bonnets -sat in the centre of window-places and clapped their hands—their -wrinkled, hard-working old hands—to every British soldier who passed, -and thousands were passing. Nobody heard a word of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> speeches -spoken from the Town Hall steps, the tribute of the councillors of -Valenciennes to the glory of the troops who had rescued their people -from servitude under a ruthless enemy, nor the answer of Sir Henry -Horne, the Army Commander, expressing the pride of his soldiers in the -rescue of that fair old city, and their admiration for the courage of -its people. Every word was overwhelmed by cheering. Then the pipers of -a Highland division, whose fighting I had recorded through their years -of heroic endurance, played a march tune, and the music of those pipes -was loud in the square of Valenciennes and in the hearts of its people. -The troops marched past, and thousands of bayonets shone above their -steel helmets....</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XVI</h2> - -<p>I was in Mons on the day of Armistice, and on the roads outside when I -heard the news that the Germans had surrendered to all our terms, and -that the “Cease Fire” would sound at eleven o’clock. It was a misty -morning, with sunlight glinting through the mist and sparkling in the -coppery leaves of autumn trees. There was no heavy bombardment in -progress round Mons—only now and then the sullen bark of a gun. The -roads were crowded with the usual transport of war—endless columns -of motor-lorries and horse-wagons, and mule-teams, crawling slowly -forward, and infantry battalions trudging alongside, with their heavy -packs. I stared into the faces of the marching men, expecting to -see joy in their eyes, wondering why they were not singing—because -to-day the guns would be silent and the fighting finished. Their packs -weighed heavy. The mud from passing lorries splashed them with great -gobs of filth. Under their steel hats the sweat ran down. They looked -dead-beat, and marched in a grim line of tired men. But I noticed -that the transport wagons were decorated with small flags, and these -bits of fluttering colour were stuck into the harness of gun-horses -and mules. From the other way came another tide of traffic—crowds of -civilians, who were middle-aged men and boys, and here and there women -pushing hand-carts, and straining forward with an eager, homing look. -The men and boys were carrying bundles, too heavy for many of them, so -that they were bent under their burdens. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> each one had added the -last straw but one to his weight by fastening a flag to his bundle or -his cap. I spoke to some of them, and they told me that they were the -civilians from Lille, Valenciennes, and other towns, who had been taken -away by the Germans for forced labour behind the lines. Two days ago -the Germans had said, “We’ve no more use for you. Get back to your own -people. The war is over.”</p> - -<p>They looked worn and haggard, like men who had been shipwrecked. Some -of the boys were weak, and sat down on the roadside with their bundles, -and could go no farther. Others trudged on gamely, with crooks which -they had cut from the hedges, and only stopped to cry “<i>Vivent les -Anglais!</i>” as our soldiers passed. I looked into many of their faces, -remembering the photograph of Edouard Chéri which had been given to -me by his mother. Perhaps he was somewhere in those troops of homing -exiles. But he might have been any one of those lanky boys in ragged -jackets and broken boots, and cloth caps pulled down over the ears.</p> - -<p>Just outside Mons, at one minute to eleven o’clock, there was a little -desultory firing. Then, a bugle blew, somewhere in a distant field, one -long note. It was the “Cease Fire!” A cheer coming faintly over the -fields followed the bugle-call. Then there was no other sound where I -stood but the scrunching of wheels of gun-limbers and transport-wagons, -the squelch of mud in which horses and mules trudged, and the hard -breathing of tired men marching by under their packs. So, with a -curious lack of drama, the Great Adventure ended! That bugle had blown -the “Cease Fire!” of a strife which had filled the world with agony and -massacre; destroyed millions of men; broken millions of lives; ruined -many great cities and thousands of hamlets, and left a long wide belt -of country across Europe where no tree <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>remained alive and all the -earth was ravaged; crowded the world with maimed men, blind men, mad -men, diseased men; flung Empires into anarchy, where hunger killed the -children and women had no milk to feed their babes; and bequeathed -to all fighting nations a heritage of debt beneath which many would -stagger and fall. It was the “Cease Fire!” of all that reign of death, -but sounded very faintly across the fields of France.</p> - -<p>In Mons Canadian soldiers were being kissed by French girls. Women were -giving them wine in doorways, and these hard-bitten fellows, tough as -leather, reckless of all risk, plastered with mud which had worn into -their skins and souls, drank the wine and kissed the women, and lurched -laughing down the streets. There would be no strict discipline in Mons -that night. They had had enough of discipline in the dirty days. Let it -go on the night of Armistice! Already at midday some of these soldiers -were unable to walk except with an arm round a comrade’s neck, or round -the neck of strong peasant girls who screeched with laughter when they -side-slipped, or staggered. They had been through hell, those men. They -had lain in ditches, under frightful fire, among dead men, and bleeding -men. Who would grudge them their bit of fun on Armistice night? Who -would expect saintship of men who had been taught in the school of war, -taught to kill quick lest they be killed, to see the worst horrors of -the battlefield without going weak, to educate themselves out of the -refinements of peaceful life where Christian virtues are easy and not -meant for war?</p> - -<p>“Come here, lassie. None of your French tricks for me. I’m -Canadian-born. It’s a kiss or a clout from me.”</p> - -<p>The man grabbed the girl by the arm and drew her into a barn. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the night of Armistice in Mons, where, at the beginning of the war, -the Old Contemptibles had first withstood the shock of German arms (I -saw their ghosts there in the market-place), there would be the devil -to pay—the devil of war, who plays on the passions of men, and sets -his trap for women’s souls. But I went away from Mons before nightfall, -and travelled back to Lille, in the little old car which had gone to -many strange places with me.</p> - -<p>How quiet it was in the open countryside when darkness fell! The guns -were quiet at last, after four years and more of labour. There were no -fires in the sky, no ruddy glow of death. I listened to the silence -which followed the going down of the sun, and heard the rustling of the -russet leaves and the little sounds of night in peace, and it seemed as -though God gave a benediction to the wounded soul of the world. Other -sounds rose from the towns and fields in the deepening shadow-world of -the day of Armistice. They were sounds of human joy. Men were singing -somewhere on the roads, and their voices rang out gladly. Bugles were -playing. In villages from which the enemy had gone out that morning -round about Mons crowds of figures surged in the narrow streets, and -English laughter rose above the chatter of women and children.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XVII</h2> - -<p>When I came into Lille rockets were rising above the city. English -soldiers were firing off Verey lights. Above the houses of the city in -darkness rose also gusts of cheering. It is strange that when I heard -them I felt like weeping. They sounded rather ghostly, like the voices -of all the dead who had fallen before this night of Armistice.</p> - -<p>I went to my billet at Madame Chéri’s house, from which I had been -absent some days. I had the key of the front door now, and let myself -into the hall. The dining-room door was open, and I heard the voices -of the little French family, laughing, crying, hysterical. Surely -hysterical!</p> - -<p>“<i>O mon Dieu! O mon petit Toto! Comme tu es grandi! Comme tu es -maigre!</i>”</p> - -<p>I stood outside the door, understanding the thing that had happened.</p> - -<p>In the centre of the room stood a tall, gaunt boy in ragged clothes, in -the embrace of Madame Chéri, and with one hand clutched by Hélène, and -the other by the little Madeleine, her sister. It was Edouard who had -come back.</p> - -<p>He had unloosed a pack from his shoulder, and it lay on the carpet -beside him, with a little flag on a broken stick. He was haggard, with -high cheek-bones prominent through his white, tightly-drawn skin, and -his eyes were sunk in deep sockets. His hair was in a wild mop of -black, disordered locks. He stood there, with tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> streaming from his -eyes, and the only words he said were:</p> - -<p>“<i>Maman! O maman! maman!</i>”</p> - -<p>I went quietly upstairs, and changed my clothes, which were all -muddy. Presently there was a tap at my door, and Hélène stood there, -transfigured with joy. She spoke in French.</p> - -<p>“Edouard has come back! My brother! He travelled on an English lorry.”</p> - -<p>“Thank God for that,” I said. “What gladness for you all!”</p> - -<p>“He has grown tall,” said Hélène. She mopped her eyes and laughed and -cried at the same time. “Tall as a giant, but oh, so thin! They starved -him all the time. He fed only on cabbages. They put him to work digging -trenches behind the line—under fire. The brutes! The devils!”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were lit up by passion at the thought of this cruelty and her -brother’s suffering. Then her expression changed to a look of pride.</p> - -<p>“He says he is glad to have been under fire—like father. He hated it, -though, at the time, and said he was frightened! I can’t believe that. -Edouard was always brave.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no courage that takes away the fear of shellfire—as far as -I’m concerned,” I told her, but she only laughed and said, “You men -make a pose of being afraid.”</p> - -<p>She spoke of Edouard again, hugging the thought of his return.</p> - -<p>“If only he were not so thin, and so tired. I find him changed. The -poor boy cries at the sight of <i>maman</i>—like a baby.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t wonder,” I said. “I should feel like that if I had been a -prisoner of war, and was now home again.”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri’s voice called from downstairs: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hélène! <i>Dù es-tu? Edouard veut te voir!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Edouard wants me,” said Hélène.</p> - -<p>She seemed rejoiced at the thought that Edouard had missed her, even -for this minute. She took my hand and kissed it, as though wishing me -to share her joy, and to be part of it; and then ran downstairs.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XVIII</h2> - -<p>I went out to the Officers’ Club which had been established in Lille, -and found Brand there, and Fortune, and young Clatworthy, who made a -place for me at their table.</p> - -<p>Two large rooms which had been the dining- and drawing-rooms of a -private mansion, were crowded with officers, mostly English, but with -here and there a few Americans and French, seated at small tables, -waited on by the girls we call Waacs (of the Women’s Army Auxiliary -Corps). Two old-fashioned candelabra of cut-glass gave light to each -room, and I remember that the walls were panelled with wood painted -a greyish-white, below a moulding of fruit and flowers. Above the -table where my friends sat was the portrait of a French lady of the -eighteenth century, in an oval frame of tarnished gilt.</p> - -<p>I was late for the meal on Armistice night, and many bottles of -champagne had already been opened and drunk. The atmosphere reeked with -the smell of food, the fumes of wine and cigarette-smoke, and there -was the noise of many men talking and laughing. I looked about the -tables and saw familiar faces. There were a good many cavalry officers -in the room where I sat, and among them officers of the Guards and -the Tank Corps, aviators, machine-gunners, staff-officers of infantry -divisions, French interpreters, American liaison officers, A.P.M.’s, -Town Majors, and others. The lid was off at last. All these men were -intoxicated with the thought of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>victory we had won—complete, -annihilating—and of this Armistice which had ended the war and made -them sure of life. Some of them were a little drunk with wine, but not -enough at this hour to spoil their sense of joy.</p> - -<p>Officers rose at various tables to make speeches, cheered by their own -groups, who laughed and shouted and did not listen.</p> - -<p>“The good old British Army has done the trick at last——”</p> - -<p>“The old Hun is down and out.”</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen, it has been a damned tough job——”</p> - -<p>Another group had burst into song.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to good old beer, put it down, put it down!”</p> - -<p>“The cavalry came into its own in the last lap. We’ve fought mounted, -and fought dismounted. We’ve rounded up innumerable Huns. We’ve ridden -down machine-guns——”</p> - -<p>Another group was singing independently:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“There’s a long, long trail a-winding</div> -<div class="i2">To the land of my dreams.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>A toast was being pledged at the next table by a Tank officer who stood -on a chair, with a glass of champagne raised high above his head:</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen, I give you the toast of the Tank Corps. This war was won by -the Tanks——”</p> - -<p>“Pull him down!” shouted two lads at the same table. “Tanks be damned! -It was the poor old bloody infantry, all the time.”</p> - -<p>One of them pulled down the little Tank officer with a crash, and stood -on his own chair.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to the foot-sloggers—the infantry battalions, Tommy Atkins and -his company officer, who did all the dirty work, and got none of the -<i>kudos</i>, and did most of the dying.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p>A cavalry officer with a monocle immovably screwed in his right eye -demanded the attention of the company, and failed to get it.</p> - -<p>“We all know what we have done ourselves, and what we failed to do. I -give you the toast of our noble Allies, without whom there would be no -Armistice to-night. I drink to the glory of France——”</p> - -<p>The words were heard at several tables, and for once there was a -general acknowledgment of the toast.</p> - -<p>“<i>Vive la France!</i>”</p> - -<p>The shout thundered out from all the tables, so that the candelabra -rattled. Five French interpreters in various parts of the room rose to -respond.</p> - -<p>There were shouts of “The Stars and Stripes—good old Yanks—Well done, -the U.S.A.!” and I was sorry Dr. Small was still at Valenciennes. I -should like him to have heard those shouts. An American staff-officer -was on his feet, raising his glass to “England.”</p> - -<p>Charles Fortune stood up at my table. He reminded me exceedingly at -that moment of old prints portraying George IV in his youth—“the First -Gentleman of Europe”—slightly flushed, with an air of noble dignity, -and a roguish eye.</p> - -<p>“Go to it, Fortune,” said Brand. “Nobody’s listening, so you can say -what you like.”</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Fortune, “I venture to propose the health of our late -enemy, the Germans.”</p> - -<p>Young Clatworthy gave an hysterical guffaw.</p> - -<p>“We owe them a very great debt,” said Fortune. “But for their -simplicity of nature and amiability of character, the British -Empire—that glorious conglomeration of races upon which the sun -utterly declines to set—would have fallen into decay and debility, as -a second-class Power. Before the war the German Empire was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>gaining our -trade, capturing all the markets of the world, waiting at table in all -the best hotels, and providing all the music in the cafés-chantants -of the universe.... With that immense unselfishness so characteristic -of their race, the Germans threw away these advantages and sacrificed -themselves for the benefit of the British. By declaring war they -enabled all the ancient virtues of our race to be revived. Generals -sprang up in every direction—especially in Whitehall, Boulogne and -Rouen. Staff-officers multiplied exceedingly. British indigestion—the -curse of our race—became subject to a Sam Brown belt. Business -men, mostly bankrupt, were enriched enormously. Clergymen thundered -joyfully from their pulpits and went back to the Old Testament for -that fine old law, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Elderly -virgins married the youngest subalterns. The youngest flapper caught -the eldest and wiliest of bachelors. Our people were revivified, -gentlemen—revivified——”</p> - -<p>“Go easy,” growled Brand. “This is not a night for irony.”</p> - -<p>“Even I,” said Charles Fortune, with a sob of pride in his voice, -“Even I, a simple piano-tuner, a man of music, a child of peace and -melody—Shut up, Brand!—became Every Inch a Soldier!”</p> - -<p>He drew himself up in a heroic pose and, raising his glass, cried out:</p> - -<p>“Here’s to our late enemy—poor old Fritz!”</p> - -<p>A number of glasses were raised amidst a roar of laughter.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to Fritz—and may the Kaiser roast at Christmas!”</p> - -<p>“And they say we haven’t a sense of humour!” said Charles Fortune, -modestly, and opened a new bottle of champagne.</p> - -<p>Brand had a sense of humour, and had laughed during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> Fortune’s oration, -knowing that beneath its mockery there was no malice. But I noticed -that he had no spontaneous gaiety on this night of Armistice and sat -rather silent, with a far-away look in his eyes, and that hag-ridden -melancholy of his.</p> - -<p>Young Clatworthy was between me and Brand, drinking too heavily, I -thought. Brand thought so too, and gave him a word of caution.</p> - -<p>“That champagne is pretty bad. I’d ’ware headaches, if I were you, -young ’un.”</p> - -<p>“It’s good enough,” said Clatworthy. “Anything to put me in the right -spirit.”</p> - -<p>There was an unnatural glitter in his eyes; and he laughed, too easily, -at any joke of Fortune’s. Presently he turned his attention to me, and -began talking, excitedly, in a low monologue.</p> - -<p>“Funny to think it’s the last night! Can you believe it? It seems a -lifetime since I came out in ’14. I remember the first night, when -I was sent up to Ypres to take the place of a subaltern who’d been -knocked out. It was Christmas Eve, and my battalion was up in the line -round Hooge. I detrained at Vlamertinghe. ‘Can any one tell me the way -to Hooge?’ I asked one of the traffic men. Just like a country cousin -at Piccadilly Circus. He looked at me in a queer way, and said, ‘It’s -the same way to Hell, sir. Straight on until you get to Ypres, then out -of the Menin gate and along the road to Hell-fire Corner. After that -you trust to luck. Some young gentlemen never get no further.’ I damned -his impertinence and went on, till I came to the Grande Place in Ypres, -where I just missed an eight-inch shell. It knocked out a gun-team. -Shocking mess it made. ‘The same way to Hell,’ I kept saying, until -I fell into a shell-hole along the Menin Road. But, d’you know, the -fellow was wrong, after all!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How?” I asked.</p> - -<p>Young Clatworthy drank up his wine, and laughed, as though very much -amused.</p> - -<p>“Why, <i>that</i> wasn’t the way to Hell. It was the other way.”</p> - -<p>I was puzzled at his meaning, and wondered if he were really drunk.</p> - -<p>“What other way?”</p> - -<p>“Behind the lines—in the back areas. I should have been all right if I -had stuck in the trenches. It was in places like Amiens that I went to -the devil.”</p> - -<p>“Not as bad as that,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Mind you,” he continued, lighting a cigarette and smiling at the -flame, “I’ve had pleasant times in this war, between the bad ones, and, -afterwards, in this cushie job. Extraordinarily amusing and agreeable, -along the way to Hell. There was little Marguérite in Amiens—such a -kid! Funny as a kitten! She loved me not wisely but too well. I had -just come down from the Somme battles then. That little idyll with -Marguérite was like a dream. We two were Babes in the Wood. We plucked -the flowers of life, and didn’t listen to the howling of the wolves -beyond the forest.”</p> - -<p>He jerked his head up and listened, and repeated the words:</p> - -<p>“The howling of the wolves!”</p> - -<p>Somebody was singing “John Peel”:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“<i>D’ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay,</i></div> -<div><i>D’ye ken John Peel at the break of day,</i></div> -<div><i>D’ye ken John Peel when he’s far, far away</i></div> -<div class="i1"><i>With his horn and his hounds in the morning?</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Cyril Clatworthy was on his feet, joining in the chorus, with a loud -joyous voice.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“<i>We’ll follow John Peel through fair and through foul,</i></div> -<div class="i2"><i>If we want a good hunt in the morning!</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Bravo! Bravo!”</p> - -<p>He laughed as he sat down.</p> - -<p>“I used to sing that when I was Captain of the School,” he said. “A -long time ago, eh? How many centuries?... I was as clean a fellow as -you’d meet in those days. Keen as mustard on cricket. Some bat, too! -That was before the dirty war, and the stinking trenches; and fever, -and lice, and dead bodies, and all that. But I was telling you about -Yvonne, wasn’t I?”</p> - -<p>“Marguérite,” I reminded him.</p> - -<p>“No. Yvonne. I met her at Cassel. A brown-eyed thing. Demure. You know -the type?... One of the worst little sluts I ever met. Oh, a wicked -little witch!... Well, I paid for that affair. That policeman was -wrong.”</p> - -<p>“What policeman?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“The traffic man at Vlamertinghe. ‘It’s the same way to Hell,’ he said, -meaning Hooge. It was the other way, really. All the same, I’ve had -some good hours. And now it’s Armistice night.... Those fellows are -getting rather blue, aren’t they? It’s the blinking cavalry who used -to get in the way of the infantry, blocking up the roads with their -ridiculous horses and their preposterous lances. Look here, old man; -there’s one thing I want to know. Tell me, as a wise owl.”</p> - -<p>“What is that?” I asked, laughing at his deference to my wisdom.</p> - -<p>“How are we going to get clean enough for Peace?”</p> - -<p>“Clean enough?”</p> - -<p>I could not follow the drift of his question, and he tried to explain -himself.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t mean the soap-and-water business. But morally, -spiritually, intellectually, and all that? Some of us will want a lot -of scrubbing before we sit down in our nice little Christian families, -somewhere at Wimbledon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> or Ealing. Somehow, I funk Peace. It means -getting back again to where one started, and I don’t see how it’s -possible.... Good Lord, what tripe I’ve been talking!”</p> - -<p>He pulled the bow of one of the “Waacs” and undid her apron.</p> - -<p>“<i>Encore une bouteille de champagne, mademoiselle!</i>” he said in his -best French, and started singing “<i>La Marseillaise</i>.” Some of the -officers were dancing the Fox Trot and the Bunny Hug.</p> - -<p>Brand rose with a smile and a sigh.</p> - -<p>“Armistice night!” he said. “Thank God, there’s a crowd of fellows left -to do the dancing.... I can’t help thinking of the others.”</p> - -<p>He touched a glass with his lips to a silent toast, and I saw that -he drank to ghosts. Then he put the glass down and laid his hand on -Clatworthy’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Care for a stroll?” he said. “This room is too foggy.”</p> - -<p>“Not I, old lad,” said the boy. “This is Armistice Night—and the end -of the adventure. See it through!”</p> - -<p>Brand shook his head and said he must breathe fresh air. Fortune was -playing a Brahms concerto in the style of a German master, on the -table-cloth.</p> - -<p>I followed Brand, and we strolled through the dark streets of Lille, -and did not talk. In each of our minds was the stupendous thought that -it was the last night of the war—the end of the adventure, as young -Clatworthy had said. God! It had been a frightful adventure, from -first to last—a fiery furnace in which youth had been burnt up like -grass. How much heroism we had seen, how much human agony, ruin, hate, -cruelty, love! There had been comradeship and laughter in queer places -and perilous hours. Comradeship—perhaps that was the best of all: -the unselfish comradeship of men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> But what a waste of life! What a -lowering of civilisation! Our heritage—what was it, after victory? Who -would heal the wounds of the world?</p> - -<p>Brand suddenly spoke, after our long tramp in the darkness, past -windows from which came music, and singing, and shouts of laughter. He -uttered only one word, but all his soul was in it.</p> - -<p>“Peace!”</p> - -<p class="space-above">That night we went to see Eileen O’Connor and to enquire after the girl -Marthe. Next day Pierre Nesle was coming to find his sister.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<h2>XIX</h2> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor had gone back from the convent to the rooms she had -before her trial and imprisonment. I was glad to see her in a setting -less austere than the white-washed parlour in which she had first -received us. There was something of her character in the sitting-room -where she had lived so long during the war, and where with her -girl-friends she had done more dangerous work than studying the -elements of drawing and painting. In that setting, too, she looked at -home—“The Portrait of a Lady,” by Lavery, as I saw her in my mind’s -eye, when she sat in a low arm-chair by the side of a charcoal stove, -with the lamplight on her face and hair and her dress shadowy. She -wore a black dress of some kind, with a tiny edge of lace about the -neck and a string of coloured beads so long that she twisted it about -her fingers in her lap. The room was small, but cosy in the light of a -tall lamp, on an iron stand, shaded with red silk. Like all the rooms I -had seen in Lille—not many—this was panelled, with a polished floor, -bare except for one rug. On the walls were a few etchings framed in -black—London views mostly—and some water-colour drawings of girls’ -heads, charmingly done, I thought. They were her own studies of some of -her pupils and friends, and one face especially attracted me, because -of its delicate and spiritual beauty.</p> - -<p>“That was my fellow-prisoner,” said Eileen O’Connor. “Alice de -Villers-Auxicourt. She died before the trial. Happily, because she had -no fear.”</p> - -<p>I noticed one other thing in the room which was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>pleasant to see—an -upright piano, and upon a stool by its side a pile of old songs which -I turned over one by one as we sat talking. They were English and -Irish, mostly from the 17th century onwards, but among them I found -some German songs, and on each cover was written the name of Franz -von Kreuzenach. At the sight of that name I had a foolish sense of -embarrassment and dismay, as though I had discovered a skeleton in a -cupboard, and I slipped them hurriedly between other sheets.</p> - -<p>Eileen was talking to Wickham Brand. She did not notice my confusion. -She was telling him that Marthe, Pierre’s sister, was seriously ill -with something like brain-fever. The girl had regained consciousness -at times, but was delirious, and kept crying out for her mother and -Pierre to save her from some horror that frightened her. The nuns had -made enquiries about her through civilians in Lille. Some of them had -heard of the girl under her stage name—“Marthe de Méricourt.” She had -sung in the <i>cabarets</i> before the war. After the German occupation she -had disappeared for a time. Somebody said she had been half-starved and -was in a desperate state. What could a singing-girl do in an “occupied” -town? She reappeared in a restaurant frequented by German officers and -kept up by a woman of bad character. She sang and danced there for a -miserable wage, and part of her duty was to induce German officers to -drink champagne—the worst brand for the highest price. A horrible -degradation for a decent girl! But starvation, so Eileen said, has -fierce claws. Imagine what agony, what terror, what despair must have -gone before that surrender! To sing and dance before the enemies of -your country!</p> - -<p>“Frightful!” said Brand. “A girl should prefer death.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor was twisting the coloured beads <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>between her fingers. -She looked up at Wickham Brand with a deep thoughtfulness in her dark -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Most men would say that. And all women beyond the war-zone, safe, and -shielded. But death does not come quickly from half-starvation, in a -garret without fire, in clothes that are worn threadbare. It is not -the quick death of the battlefield. It is just a long-drawn misery.... -Then there is loneliness. The loneliness of a woman’s soul. Do you -understand that?”</p> - -<p>Brand nodded gravely.</p> - -<p>“I understand the loneliness of a man’s soul. I’ve lived with it.”</p> - -<p>“Worse for a woman,” said Eileen. “That singing-girl was lonely in -Lille. Her family—with that boy Pierre—were on the other side of the -lines. She had no friends here, before the Germans came.”</p> - -<p>“You mean that afterwards——”</p> - -<p>Brand checked the end of his sentence, and the line of his mouth -hardened.</p> - -<p>“Some of the Germans were kind,” said Eileen. “Oh, let us tell the -truth about that! They were not all devils.”</p> - -<p>“They were our enemies,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>Eileen was silent for another moment, staring down at those queer beads -of hers in her lap, and before she spoke again I think her mind was -going back over many episodes and scenes during the German occupation -of Lille.</p> - -<p>“It was a long time—four years. A tremendous time for hatred to hold -out against civility, kindness, and—human nature.... Human nature is -strong; stronger than frontiers, nations, even patriotism.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor flung her beads back, rose from the low chair and -turned back her hair with both hands, with a kind of impatience. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve seen the truth of things, pretty close—almost as close as death.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Brand in a low voice. “You were pretty close to all that.”</p> - -<p>The girl seemed to be anxious to plunge deep into the truth of the -things she had seen.</p> - -<p>“The Germans—here in Lille—were of all kinds. Everything there was in -the war, for them, their emotion, their pride in the first victories, -their doubts, fears, boredom, anguish, brutality, sentiment, found a -dwelling-place in this city behind the battlefront. Some of them—in -the administration—stayed here all the time, billeted in French -families. Others came back from the battlefields, horror-stricken, -trying to get a little brief happiness—forgetfulness. There were lots -of them who pitied the French people, and had an immense sympathy with -them. They tried to be friends. Tried hard, by every sort of small -kindness in their billets.”</p> - -<p>“Like Schwarz in Madame Chéri’s house,” said Brand bitterly. It seemed -to me curious that he was adopting a mental attitude of unrelenting -hatred to the Germans, when, as I knew, and as I have told, he had been -of late on the side of toleration. That was how his moods swung, when -as yet he had no fixed point of view.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, there were many beasts,” said Eileen quickly. “But others -were different. Beasts or not, they were human. They had eyes to -see and to smile, lips to talk and tempt. It was their human nature -which broke some of our hatred. There were young men among them, and -in Lille girls who could be angry for a time, disdainful longer, and -then friendly. I mean lonely, half-starved girls, weak, miserable -girls,—and others not starved enough to lose their passion and need of -love. German boys and French girls—entangled in the net of fate.... -God pity them!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<p>Brand said, “I pity them, too.”</p> - -<p>He walked over to the piano and made an abrupt request, as though to -change the subject of conversation.</p> - -<p>“Sing something.... Something English!”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor sang something Irish first, and I liked her deep voice, -so low and sweet.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“There’s one that is pure as an angel</div> -<div class="i1">And fair as the flowers of May,</div> -<div>They call her the gentle maiden</div> -<div class="i1">Wherever she takes her way.</div> -<div>Her eyes have the glance of sunlight</div> -<div class="i1">As it brightens the blue sea-wave,</div> -<div>And more than the deep-sea treasure</div> -<div class="i1">The love of her heart I crave.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div>Though parted afar from my darling,</div> -<div class="i1">I dream of her everywhere.</div> -<div>The sound of her voice is about me,</div> -<div class="i1">The spell of her presence there.</div> -<div>And whether my prayer be granted,</div> -<div class="i1">Or whether she pass me by,</div> -<div>The face of that gentle maiden</div> -<div class="i1">Will follow me till I die.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Brand was standing by the piano, with the light of the tall lamp on his -face, and I saw that there was a wetness in his eyes before the song -was ended.</p> - -<p>“It is queer to hear that in Lille,” he said. “It’s so long since I -heard a woman sing, and it’s like water to a parched soul.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor played the last bars again and, as she played, talked -softly.</p> - -<p>“To me, the face of that gentle maiden is a friend’s face. Alice de -Villers-Auxicourt, who died in prison.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘And whether my prayer be granted,</div> -<div class="i1">Or whether she pass me by,</div> -<div>The face of that gentle maiden</div> -<div class="i1">Will follow me till I die.’”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> - -<p>Brand turned over the songs, and suddenly I saw his face flush, and I -knew the reason. He had come to the German songs on which was written -the name of Franz von Kreuzenach.</p> - -<p>He turned them over quickly, but Eileen pulled one out—it was a -Schubert song—and opened its leaves.</p> - -<p>“That was the man who saved my life.”</p> - -<p>She spoke without embarrassment, simply.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Brand. “He suppressed the evidence.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you know?”</p> - -<p>I told her that we had heard part of the tale from the Reverend Mother, -but not all of it. Not the motive, nor what had really happened.</p> - -<p>“But you guessed?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I answered, sturdily.</p> - -<p>She laughed, but in a serious way.</p> - -<p>“It is not a hard guess, unless I am older than I feel, and uglier than -the mirror tells me. He was in love with me.”</p> - -<p>Brand and I looked absurdly embarrassed. Of course we <i>had</i> guessed, -but this open confession was startling, and there was something -repulsive in the idea to both of us who had come through the war-zone -into Lille, and had seen the hatred of the people for the German race, -and the fate of Pierre Nesle’s sister.</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor told us that part of her story which the Reverend -Mother had left out. It explained the “miracle” that had saved this -girl’s life, though, as the Reverend Mother said, perhaps the grace of -God was in it as well. Who knows?</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach was one of the Intelligence officers whose -headquarters were in that courtyard. After service in the trenches with -an infantry battalion he had been stationed since 1915 at Lille until -almost the end. He had a lieutenant’s rank, but was Baron in private -life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> belonging to an old family in Bonn. Not a Prussian, therefore, -but a Rhinelander, and without the Prussian arrogance of manner. Just -before the war he had been at Oxford—Brasenose College—and spoke -English perfectly, and loved England with a strange, deep, unconcealed -sentiment.</p> - -<p>“Loved England?” exclaimed Brand at this part of Eileen’s tale.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked Eileen. “I’m Irish, but I love England, in spite of -all her faults, and all my grievances! Who can help loving England that -has lived with her people?”</p> - -<p>This Lieutenant von Kreuzenach was two months in Lille before he spoke -a word with Eileen. She passed him often in the courtyard and always -he saluted her with great deference. She fancied she noticed a kind of -wistfulness in his eyes, as though he would have liked to talk to her. -He had blue eyes, sad sometimes, she noticed, and a clean-cut face, -rather delicate and pale.</p> - -<p>One day she dropped a pile of books in the yard all of a heap, as he -was passing, and he said, “Allow me,” and helped to pick them up. One -of the books was “Puck of Pook’s Hill,” by Kipling, and he smiled as he -turned over a page or two.</p> - -<p>“I love that book,” he said, in perfect English. “There’s so much of -the spirit of old England in it. History, too. That’s fine about the -Roman wall, where the officers go pig-sticking.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor asked him if he were half English—perhaps he had -an English mother?—but he shook his head and said he was wholly -German—<i>echt Deutsch</i>.</p> - -<p>He hesitated for a moment as though he wanted to continue the -conversation, but then saluted and passed on.</p> - -<p>It was a week or so later when they met again, and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> was Eileen -O’Connor who said “Good morning” and made a remark about the weather.</p> - -<p>He stopped, and answered with a look of pleasure and boyish surprise.</p> - -<p>“It’s jolly to hear you say ‘Good morning’ in English. Takes me -straight back to Oxford before this atrocious war. Besides——”</p> - -<p>Here he stopped and blushed.</p> - -<p>“Besides what?” asked Eileen.</p> - -<p>“Besides, it’s a long time since I talked to a lady. Among officers one -hears nothing but war-talk—the last battle, the next battle, technical -jargon, ‘shop,’ as the English say. It would be nice to talk about -something else—art, music, poetry, ideas.”</p> - -<p>She chaffed him a little, irresistibly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you Germans have the monopoly of all that! Art, music, poetry, -they are all absorbed into your <i>Kultur</i>—properly Germanised. As for -ideas—what is not in German philosophy is not an idea.”</p> - -<p>He looked profoundly hurt, said Eileen.</p> - -<p>“Some Germans are very narrow, very stupid, like some English, perhaps. -Not all of us believe that German <i>Kultur</i> is the only knowledge in the -world.”</p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” said Eileen O’Connor, “I’m Irish, so we needn’t argue about -the difference between German and English philosophy.”</p> - -<p>He spoke as if quoting from a text-book.</p> - -<p>“The Irish are a very romantic race.”</p> - -<p>That, of course, had to be denied by Eileen, who knew her Bernard Shaw.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe it,” she said. “We’re a hard, logical, relentless -people, like all peasant folk of Celtic stock. It’s the English who are -romantic and sentimental, like the Germans.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was amazed at those words (so Eileen told us) and then laughed -heartily in his very boyish way.</p> - -<p>“You are pleased to make fun of me. You are pulling my leg, as we said -at Oxford.”</p> - -<p>So they took to talking for a few minutes in the courtyard when they -met, and Eileen noticed that they met more often than before. She -suspected him of arranging that, and it amused her. By that time she -had a staunch friend in the old Kommandant who believed her to be an -enemy of England and an Irish patriot. She was already playing the -dangerous game under his very nose, or at least within fifty yards of -the blotting-pad over which his nose used to be for many hours of the -day in his office. It was utterly necessary to keep him free from any -suspicion. His confidence was her greatest safeguard. It was therefore -unwise to refuse him (an honest, stupid old gentleman) when he asked -whether, now and again, he might bring one of his officers and enjoy -an hour’s music in her rooms after dinner. He had heard her singing, -and it had gone straight to his heart. There was one of his officers, -Lieutenant Baron Franz von Kreuzenach, who had a charming voice. They -might have a little musical recreation which would be most pleasant and -refreshing.</p> - -<p>“Bring your Baron,” said Eileen. “I shall not scandalise my neighbours -when the courtyard is closed.”</p> - -<p>Her girl-friends were scandalised when they heard of these musical -evenings—two or three times a month—until she convinced them that it -was a service to France, and a life insurance for herself and them. -There were times when she had scruples. She was tricking both those -men who sat in her room for an hour or two now and then, so polite, -so stiffly courteous, so moved with sentiment when she sang old Irish -songs and Franz von Kreuzenach sang his German songs. She was a spy, -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> plain and terrible language, and they were utterly duped. On -more than one night while they were there an escaped prisoner was in -the cellar below, with a German uniform, and cypher message, and all -directions for escape across the lines. Though they seldom talked -about the war, yet now and again by casual remarks they revealed the -intentions of the German army and its <i>moral</i>, or lack of <i>moral</i>. With -the old Kommandant she did not feel so conscience-stricken. To her he -was gentle and charming, but to others a bully, and there was in his -character the ruthlessness of the Prussian officer on all matters of -“duty,” and he hated England ferociously.</p> - -<p>With Franz von Kreuzenach it was different. He was a humanitarian, -and sensitive to all cruelty in life. He hated not the English but -the war with real anguish, as she could see by many words he let fall -from time to time. He was, she said, a poet, and could see across the -frontiers of hatred to all suffering humanity, and so revolted against -the endless, futile massacre and the spiritual degradation of civilised -peoples. It was only in a veiled way he could say these things, in the -presence of his superior officer, but she understood. She understood -another thing as time went on—nearly eighteen months all told. She -saw, quite clearly, as all women must see in such a case that this -young German was in love with her.</p> - -<p>“He did not speak any word in that way,” said Eileen when she told us -this, frankly, in her straight manner of speech, “but in his eyes, in -the touch of his hand, in the tones of his voice, I knew that he loved -me, and I was very sorry.”</p> - -<p>“It was a bit awkward,” said Brand, speaking with a strained attempt at -being casual. I could see that he was very much moved by that part of -the story, and that there was a conflict in his mind. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It made me uneasy and embarrassed,” said Eileen. “I don’t like to -be the cause of any man’s suffering, and he was certainly suffering -because of me. It was a tragic thing for both of us when I was found -out at last.”</p> - -<p>“What happened?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>The thing that happened was simple—and horrible. When Eileen and -her companions were denounced by the sentry at the Citadel the case -was reported to the Kommandant of the Intelligence office, who was -in charge of all anti-espionage business in Lille. He was enormously -disturbed by the suspicion directed against Eileen. It seemed to him -incredible, at first, that he could have been duped by her. After that, -his anger was so violent that he became incapable of any personal -action. He ordered Franz von Kreuzenach to arrest Eileen and search her -rooms. “If she resist, shoot her at once,” he thundered out.</p> - -<p>It was at seven o’clock in the evening when Baron Franz von Kreuzenach -appeared at Eileen’s door with two soldiers. He was extremely pale and -agitated.</p> - -<p>Eileen rose from her little table, where she was having an evening meal -of soup and bread. She knew the moment had come which in imagination -she had seen a thousand times.</p> - -<p>“Come in, Baron!”</p> - -<p>She spoke with an attempt at cheerfulness, but had to hold to the back -of her chair to save herself from falling, and she felt her face become -white.</p> - -<p>He stood for a moment in the room, silently, with the two soldiers -behind him, and when he spoke it was in a low voice, in English.</p> - -<p>“It is my painful duty to arrest you, Miss O’Connor.”</p> - -<p>She pretended to be amazed, incredulous, but it was, as she knew, a -feeble mimicry. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Arrest me? Why, that is—ridiculous! On what charge?”</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach looked at her in a pitiful way.</p> - -<p>“A terrible charge. Espionage and conspiracy against German martial -law.... I would rather have died than do this—duty.”</p> - -<p>Eileen told us that he spoke that word “duty” as only a German -could—as that law which for a German officer is above all human -things, all kindly relationships, all escape. She pitied him then, -more, she said, than she was afraid for herself, and told him that she -was sorry the duty had fallen to him. He made only one other remark -before he took her away from her rooms.</p> - -<p>“I pray God the evidence will be insufficient.”</p> - -<p>There was a military car waiting outside the courtyard, and he opened -the door for her to get in, and sat opposite to her. The two soldiers -sat together next to the driver, squeezed close—they were both stout -men—with their rifles between their knees. It was dark in the streets -of Lille, and in the car. Eileen could only see the officer’s face -vaguely, and white. He spoke again as they were driven quickly.</p> - -<p>“I have to search your rooms to-night. Have you destroyed your papers?”</p> - -<p>He seemed to have no doubt about her guilt, but she would not admit it.</p> - -<p>“I have no papers of which I am afraid.”</p> - -<p>“That is well,” said Franz von Kreuzenach.</p> - -<p>He told her that the Baronne de Villers-Auxicourt and Marcelle Barbier -had been arrested also, and that news was like a death-blow to the -girl. It showed that their conspiracy had been revealed, and she was -stricken at the thought of the fate awaiting her friends, those young, -delicate girls who had been so brave in taking risks.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of the journey, which was not far,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> Franz von -Kreuzenach began speaking in a low, emotional voice.</p> - -<p>Whatever happened, he said, he prayed that she might think of him with -friendship, not blaming him for that arrest, which was in obedience -to orders. He would ever be grateful to her for her kindness, and the -songs she had sung. They had been happy evenings to him when he could -see her, and listen to her voice. He looked forward to them in a hungry -way, because of his loneliness.</p> - -<p>“He said—other things,” added Eileen, and she did not tell us, though -dimly we guessed at the words of that German officer who loved her. At -the gate of the prison he delivered her to a group of military police, -and then saluted as he swung round on his heel.</p> - -<p>The next time she saw him was at her trial. Once only their eyes -met, and he became deadly pale and bent his head. During her -cross-examination of him he did not look at her, and his embarrassment, -his agony—she could see that he was suffering—made an unfavourable -impression on the Court, who thought he was not sure of his evidence, -and was making blundering answers when she challenged him. She held him -up to ridicule, but all the time was sorry for him, and grateful to -him, because she knew how much evidence against her he had concealed.</p> - -<p>“He behaved strangely about that evidence,” said Eileen. “What puzzles -me still is why he produced so much and yet kept back the rest. You -see, he put in the papers he had found in the secret passage, and -they were enough to have me shot, yet he hushed up the fact about the -passage, which, of course, was utterly damning. It looked as though he -wanted to give me a sporting chance. But that was not his character, -because he was a simple young man. He could have destroyed the papers -as easily as he kept back the fact about the underground passage, but -he produced them, and I escaped only by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> the skin of my teeth. Read me -that riddle, Wickham Brand!”</p> - -<p>“It’s easy,” said Brand. “The fellow was pulled two ways. By duty -and—sentiment.”</p> - -<p>“Love,” said Eileen in her candid way.</p> - -<p>“Love, if you like.... It was a conflict. Probably his sense of duty -(I know these German officers!) was strong enough to make him hand up -the papers to his superior officers. He couldn’t bring himself to burn -them—the fool! Then the other emotion in him——”</p> - -<p>“Give it a name,” said Eileen, smiling in her whimsical way.</p> - -<p>“That damned love of his,” said Brand, “tugged at him intolerably, and -jabbed at his conscience. So he hid the news about the passage, and -thought what a fine fellow he was. Mr. Facing-Both-Ways. Duty and love, -both sacrificed!... He’d have looked pretty sick if you’d been shot, -and it wasn’t to his credit that you weren’t.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor was amused with Brand’s refusal to credit Franz von -Kreuzenach with any kindness.</p> - -<p>“Admit,” she said, “that his suppression of evidence gave me my chance. -If all were told, I was lost.”</p> - -<p>Brand admitted that.</p> - -<p>“Admit also,” said Eileen, “that he behaved like a gentleman.”</p> - -<p>Brand admitted it grudgingly.</p> - -<p>“A German gentleman.”</p> - -<p>Then he realised his meanness, and made amends.</p> - -<p>“That’s unfair! He behaved like a good fellow. Probably took big risks. -Everyone who knows what happened must be grateful to him. If I meet him -I’ll thank him.”</p> - -<p>Eileen O’Connor held Brand to that promise, and asked him for a favour -which made him hesitate. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>“When you go on to the Rhine, will you take him a letter from me?”</p> - -<p>“It’s against the rules,” said Brand, rather stiffly. Eileen -pooh-poohed these rules, and said Franz von Kreuzenach had broken his, -for her sake.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take it,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>That night when we left Eileen O’Connor’s rooms the Armistice was still -being celebrated by British soldiers. Verey lights were rising above -the houses, fired off by young officers as symbols of their own soaring -spirits. Shadows lurched against us in the dark streets as officers and -men went singing to their billets. Some girls of Lille had linked arms -with British Tommies and were dancing in the darkness, with screams of -mirth. In one of the doorways a soldier with his steel hat at the back -of his head and his rifle lying at his feet, kept shouting one word in -a drunken way:</p> - -<p>“Peace!... Peace!”</p> - -<p>Brand had his arm through mine, and when we came to his headquarters he -would not let me go.</p> - -<p>“Armistice night!” he said. “Don’t let’s sleep just yet. Let’s hug the -thought, over a glass of whiskey. The war is over!... No more blood!... -No more of its tragedy!”</p> - -<p>Yet we had got no farther than the hall before we knew that tragedy had -not ended with the Armistice.</p> - -<p>Colonel Lavington met us and spoke to Brand.</p> - -<p>“A bad thing has happened. Young Clatworthy has shot himself ... -upstairs in his room.”</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p>Brand started back as if he had been hit. He had been fond of -Clatworthy, as he was of all boys, and they had been together for many -months. It was to Brand that Clatworthy wrote his last strange note, -and the Colonel gave it to him then, in the hall. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> - -<p>I saw it afterwards, written in a big scrawl—a few lines which now I -copy out:</p> - -<blockquote><p>“<i>Dear old Brand</i>,</p> - -<p><i>It’s the end of the adventure. Somehow I funk Peace. I don’t -see how I can go back to Wimbledon as if nothing had happened -to me. None of us are the same as when we left, and I’m quite -different. I’m going over to the pals on the other side. They will -understand. Cheerio!</i></p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Cyril Clatworthy.</span>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>“I was playing my flute when I heard the shot,” said the Colonel.</p> - -<p>Brand put the letter in his pocket, and made only one comment.</p> - -<p>“Another victim of the war-devil.... Poor kid!”</p> - -<p>Presently he went up to young Clatworthy’s room, and stayed there a -long time.</p> - -<p>A few days later we began to move on towards the Rhine, by slow stages, -giving the German army time to get back. In Brand’s pocket-book was the -letter to Franz von Kreuzenach, from Eileen O’Connor.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">BOOK TWO: THROUGH HOSTILE GATES</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK TWO: THROUGH HOSTILE GATES</h2> - -<h2>I</h2> - -<p>The advance of the Allied Armies towards the Rhine was by definite, -slow stages, enabling the German Army to withdraw in advance of us -with as much material of war as was left to them by the conditions of -the Armistice. On that retreat of theirs they abandoned so much that -it was clearly impossible for them to resist our demands by fighting -again, however hard might be the Peace Terms. Their acceptance of the -Armistice drawn up by Marshal Foch with a relentless severity in every -clause, so that the whole document was a sentence of death to the -German military system, proved that they had no more “fight” in them. -It was the most abject and humiliating surrender ever made by a great -nation in the hour of defeat, and an acknowledgment before the whole -world that their armies had broken to bits, in organisation and in -spirit.</p> - -<p>On the roads for hundreds of kilometres out from Mons and Le Cateau, -past Brussels and Liège and Namur, was the visible proof of the -disintegration and downfall of what had been the greatest military -machine in the world. Mile after mile and score after score of miles, -on each side of the long straight roads, down which, four years before, -the first German Armies had marched in endless columns after the first -brief check at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> Liège, with absolute faith in victory, there lay now -abandoned guns, trench mortars, aeroplanes, motor-lorries, motor-cars -and transport-wagons. Those monstrous guns which had pounded so much -of our young flesh to pulp, year after year, were now tossed into the -ditches, or upturned in the wayside fields, with broken breach-blocks -or without their sights. It was good to see them there. Field-guns -captured thrust their muzzles into the mud, and Belgian peasant-boys -made cock-shies of them. I liked to see them at that game. Here also -was the spectacle of a war machine which had worn out until, like -the “One Hoss Shay,” it had fallen to pieces. Those motor-lorries, -motor-cars, and transport-wagons were in the last stage of decrepitude, -their axles and spokes all rusty, their woodwork cracked, their wheels -tied round with bits of iron in the place of tyres. Everywhere were -dead horses worn to skin and bones before they had fallen. For lack of -food and fats and rubber and labour the German material of war was in -a sorry state before the failure of their man-power in the fighting -fields after those years of massacre brought home to them the awful -fact that they had no more strength to resist our onslaughts.</p> - -<p>One of those who pointed the moral of all this was the little American -doctor, Edward Small, and he found an immense satisfaction in the sight -of those derelict wrecks of the German war-devils. He and I travelled -together for some time, meeting Brand, Harding, and other friends, in -towns like Liège and Namur. I remember him now, standing by a German -howitzer—a colossus—sprawling out of a ditch. He chuckled in a goblin -way, with his little grey beard thrust up by a muffler which he had -tied over his field-cap and under his chin. (It was cold, with a white -mist which clung damply to our faces.) He went so far in his pleasure -as to pick up a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> big stone (like those Belgian boys) and heave it at -the monster.</p> - -<p>“Fine!” he said. “That devil will never again vomit out death upon men -crouching low in ditches—fifteen miles away. Never again will it smash -through the roofs of farmhouses where people desired to live in peace, -or bash big holes in little old churches where folk worshipped through -the centuries—a loving God!... Sonny, this damned thing is symbolical. -Its overthrow means the downfall of all the machinery of slaughter -which has been accumulated by civilised peoples afraid of each other. -In a little while, if there’s any sense in humanity after this fearful -lesson, we shall put all our guns on to the scrap-heap, and start a new -era of reasonable intercourse between the peoples of the world.”</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” I answered, “there’s a mighty big If in that long sentence of -yours.”</p> - -<p>He blinked at me with beads of mist on his lashes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you go wet-blanketing my faith in a step-up for the human race! -During the next few months we’re going to rearrange life. We are going -to give Fear the knock-out blow.... It was Fear that was the cause of -all this horrible insanity and all this need of sacrifice. Germany was -afraid of being ‘hemmed in’ by England, France and Russia. Fear, more -than the lust of power, was at the back of her big armies. France was -afraid of Germany trampling over her frontiers again. Russian Czardom -was afraid of Revolution within her own borders and looked to war as -a safety-valve. England was afraid of the German Navy, and afraid of -Germans at Calais and Dunkirk. All the little Powers were afraid of the -Big Powers, and made their beastly little alliances as a life insurance -against the time when they would be dragged into the dog-fight. Now, -with the German bogey killed—the most formidable and frightful -bogey—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>Austria disintegrated, Russia groping her way with bloodshot -eyes to a new democracy, a complete set of Fears has been removed. The -spirits of the peoples will be uplifted, the darkness of fear having -passed from them. We are coming out into the broad sunlight of sanity, -and mankind will march to better conquests than those of conscript -armies. Thank God, the United States of America (and don’t you forget -it!) will play a part in this advance to another New World.”</p> - -<p>It was absurd to argue with the little man in a sodden field on the -road to Liège. Besides, though I saw weak links in his chain of -reasoning, I did not want to argue. I wanted to believe also that -our victory would not be a mere vulgar triumph of the old kind, one -military power rising upon the ruins of its rival, one great yell (or -many) of “Yah!—we told you so!” but that it would be a victory for -all humanity, shamed by the degradation of its orgy of blood, in spite -of all pride in long-enduring manhood, and that the peoples of the -world, with one common, enormous, generous instinct, would cry out, -“The horror has passed! Never again shall it come upon us.... Let us -pay back to the dead by contriving a better way of life for them who -follow!” The chance of that lay with living youth, if they would not -allow themselves to be betrayed by their Old Men. That also was a -mighty “If,” but I clung to the hope with as passionate a faith as that -of the little American doctor....</p> - -<p>The way to the Rhine lay through many cities liberated from hostile -rule, through many wonderful scenes in which emotion surged like a -white flame above great crowds. There was a pageantry of life, which -I had never before seen in war or in peace, and those of us who went -that way became dazed by the endless riot of colour, and our ears were -tired by a tumult of joyous sound. In Brussels, Bruges, Ghent, Liège, -Namur, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>Verviers, banners waved above every house. Flags—flags—flags, -of many nations and designs, decorated the house-fronts, were draped -on the balconies, were entwined in the windows, came like flames -above the heads of marching crowds. Everywhere there was the sound of -singing by multitudes, and through those weeks one song was always -in the air, triumphant, exultant, intoxicating, almost maddening in -its effect upon crowds and individuals—the old song of liberty and -revolt: “<i>La Marseillaise</i>.” With it, not so universal, but haunting in -constant refrain between the outbursts of that other tune, they sang -“<i>La Brabançonne</i>” of Belgium, and quaint old folk-songs that came to -life again with the spirit of the people. Bells pealed from churches in -which the Germans had left them by special favour. The belfry of Bruges -had not lost its carillon. In Ghent when the King of the Belgians rode -in along flower-strewn ways under banners that made one great canopy, -while cheers swept up and around him, to his grave, tanned, melancholy -face, unchanged by victory—so I had seen him in his ruined towns among -his dead—I heard the great boom of the Cathedral bell. In Brussels, -when he rode in later, there were many bells ringing and clashing, and -wild cheering which to me, lying in an upper room, after a smash on -the Field of Waterloo, seemed uncanny and inhuman, like the murmur of -innumerable ghost-voices. Into these towns, and along the roads through -Belgium to the Meuse, bands were playing and soldiers singing, and -on each man’s rifle was a flag or a flower. In every city there was -carnival. It was the carnival of human joy after long fasting from the -pleasure of life. Soldiers and civilians, men and women, sang together, -linked arms, danced together, through many streets, in many towns. In -the darkness of those nights of Armistice one saw the eyes of people, -sparkling, laughing, burning;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> the eyes of girls lit up by inner fires, -eager, roving, alluring, untamed; and the eyes of soldiers surprised, -amused, adventurous, drunken, ready for any kind of fun; and sometimes -in those crowds, dead eyes, or tortured eyes, staring inwards and not -outwards because of some remembrance which came like a ghost between -them and carnival.</p> - -<p>In Ghent there were other sounds besides music and laughter, and -illuminations too fierce and ruddy in their glow to give me pleasure. -At night I heard the screams of women. I had no need to ask the meaning -of them. I had heard such screams before, when Pierre Nesle’s sister -Marthe was in the hands of the mob. But one man told me, as though I -did not know.</p> - -<p>“They are cutting off some ladies’ hair. Six of them—the hussies. They -were too friendly with the Germans, you understand? Now they are being -stripped, for shame. There are others, <i>monsieur</i>. Many, many, if one -only knew. Hark at their howling!”</p> - -<p>He laughed heartily, without any touch of pity. I tried to push my way -nearer, to try by some word of protest to stop that merry sport with -hunted women. The crowds were too dense, the women too far away. In any -case no word of mine would have had effect. I went into a restaurant -and ordered dinner, though not hungry. Brand was there, sitting alone -till I joined him. The place was filled with French and Belgian -officers, and womenfolk. The swing-door opened and another woman came -in and sat a few tables away from ours. She was a tall girl, rather -handsome, and better dressed than the ordinary bourgeoisie of Ghent. At -least so it seemed to me when she hung up some heavy furs on the peg -above her chair.</p> - -<p>A waiter advanced towards her, and then, standing stock-still, began to -shout, with a thrill of fury in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> voice. He shouted frightful words -in French and one sentence which I remember now.</p> - -<p>“A week ago you sat there with a German officer!”</p> - -<p>The Belgian officers were listening, gravely. One of them half-rose -from his chair with a flushed, wolfish face. I was staring at the girl. -She was white to the lips and held on to a brass rail as though about -to faint. Then, controlling herself, instantly, she fumbled at the -peg, pulled down her furs and fled through the swing-door.... She was -another Marthe.</p> - -<p>Somebody laughed in the restaurant, but only one voice. For a moment -there was silence, then conversation was resumed, as though no figure -of tragedy had passed. The waiter who had denounced the woman swept -some crumbs off a table and went to fetch some soup.</p> - -<p>Brand did not touch his food.</p> - -<p>“I feel sick,” he said.</p> - -<p>He pushed his plate away and paid the bill.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go.”</p> - -<p>He forgot to ask whether I wanted to eat—he was absent-minded in that -way—but I felt like him, and avoiding the Grande Place we walked by -hazard to a part of the city where some fires were burning. The sky was -reddened and we smelt smoke, and presently felt the heat of flames.</p> - -<p>“What new devilry?” asked Brand. “Can’t these people enjoy Peace? -Hasn’t there been enough violence?”</p> - -<p>“Possibly a bonfire,” I said, “symbolical of joy and warmth after cold -years!”</p> - -<p>Coming closer, I saw that Brand was right. Black figures like dancing -devils were in the ruddy glare of a savage fire up a side street of -Ghent. In other streets were other fires. Close to where we stood -was an old inn called the Hôtel de la Demie-Lune—the Hotel of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -Half-Moon—and its windows had been heaved out, and inside the rooms -Belgian soldiers and citizens were flinging out tables and chairs and -planks and wainscoting to feed the bonfire below, and every time the -flames licked up to the new fuel there were shouts of joy from the -crowd.</p> - -<p>“What does it mean?” asked Brand, and a man in the crowd told us that -the house had been used as the headquarters of a German organisation -for “Flemish Activists”—or Flamagands, as they were called—whose -object was to divide the Walloons, or French-speaking Belgians, from -the Flemings, in the interests of Germany.</p> - -<p>“It is the people’s revenge for those who have tried to sow seeds of -hatred among them,” said the man.</p> - -<p>Other people standing by spoke disapprovingly of the scene.</p> - -<p>“The Germans have made too many fires in this war,” said an elderly man -in a black hat with a high crown and broad brim, like a portrait by -Franz Hals. “We don’t want to destroy our own houses now the enemy has -gone. That is madness.”</p> - -<p>“It seems unnecessary!” said Brand.</p> - -<p>As we made our way back we saw the light of other fires, and heard the -noise of smashing glass and a splintering of wood-work. The mob was -sacking shops which had traded notoriously with the Germans. Out of -one alley a man came running like a hunted animal. We heard his breath -panting as he passed. A shout of “Flamagand! Flamagand!” followed him, -and in another second a mob had caught him. We heard his death-cry, -before they killed him like a rat.</p> - -<p>Never before in the history of the world had such crowds gathered -together as now in Brussels, Ghent or Liège. French and English -soldiers walked the same streets, khaki and sky-blue mingling. These -two races<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> had met before, not as friends, in some of these towns—five -centuries and more before in history. But here also were men from -Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and the New World which -had come to the old world on this adventure, paying back something -to the old blood and the old ghosts because of their heritage, yet -strangely aloof on the whole from these continental peoples, not -understanding them, despising them.</p> - -<p>The English soldier took it all as it came, with that queer -adaptability of his to any environment or any adventure, with his -simple human touch.</p> - -<p>“Better than the old Ypres salient,” said one of them, grinning at me -after a game of Kiss-in-the-Ring at Verviers. He wiped the sweat from -his face and neck, and as he raised his arm I saw by his gold stripes -that he had been three times wounded. Yes, that was better than the old -Hell. He roared with laughter when one of his comrades went into the -ring with a buxom girl while the crowd danced round him, holding hands, -singing, laughing, pulling him this side and that.</p> - -<p>The man who had just left the ring spoke to me again in a confidential -way.</p> - -<p>“My wife wouldn’t like it if she’d seen me just then. I shan’t tell -’er. She wouldn’t understand. Nobody can understand the things we’ve -done, the things we’ve thought, nor the things we’ve seen, unless -they’ve been through with us ... and we don’t understand, neither!”</p> - -<p>“Who does?” I asked, to express agreement with him, but he took my -words as a question to be answered.</p> - -<p>“P’raps Gord knows. If so ’E’s a Clever One,’E is!... I wish I ’ad ’alf -’Is sense.”</p> - -<p>He drifted away from me with a gurgle of laughter at a girl who pushed -his cap on one side.</p> - -<p>Along the kerbstone of the market-place some transport-wagons were -halted, and the drivers were cooking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> their evening meal over a -charcoal stove, as though on one of the roads of war, while a crowd -of Belgians roared with laughter at their by-play with clasp-knives, -leaden spoons, and dixies. One of them was a cockney humourist—his -type was always to be found in any group of English soldiers—and was -performing a pantomime for the edification of the onlookers, and his -own pleasure.</p> - -<p>A woman standing on the edge of this scene touched me on the sleeve.</p> - -<p>“Are you going forward to the Rhine, <i>mon lieutenant</i>?”</p> - -<p>I told her “yes,” and that I should soon be among the Germans.</p> - -<p>She gave a little tug to my sleeve, and spoke in a kind of coaxing -whisper.</p> - -<p>“Be cruel to them, <i>mon lieutenant</i>! Be hard and ruthless. Make them -suffer as we have suffered. Tread on their necks, so that they squeal. -<i>Soyez cruel.</i>”</p> - -<p>Her face and part of her figure were in the glow from the charcoal fire -of the transport men, and I saw that she was a little woman, neatly -dressed, with a thin, gentle, rather worn-looking face. Those words, -“<i>Soyez cruel!</i>” gave me a moment’s shock, especially because of the -soft, wheedling tone of her voice.</p> - -<p>“What would you do,” I asked in a laughing way, “if you were in my -place?”</p> - -<p>“I dream at nights of what I would like to do. There are so many things -I would like to do, for vengeance. I think all German women should be -killed, to stop them breeding. That is one thing.”</p> - -<p>“And the next?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“It would be well to kill all German babies. Perhaps the good God will -do it in His infinite wisdom.”</p> - -<p>“You are religious, madam?”</p> - -<p>“We had only our prayers,” she said, with piety.</p> - -<p>A band of dancing people bore down upon us and swept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> us apart. From -a high balcony an Italian who had been a prisoner of war sang “<i>La -Marseillaise</i>,” and though these people’s ears had been dinned with -it all day, though their throats were hoarse with singing it, they -listened to it now, again, as though it were a new revelation. The -man sang with passion in his voice, as powerful as a trumpet, more -thrilling than that. The passion of four years’ agony in some foul -prison-camp inspired him now, as he sang that song of liberty and -triumph.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“<i>Allons, Enfants de la patrie!</i></div> -<div class="i1"><i>Le jour de gloire est arrivé!</i>”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The crowd took up the song again, and it roared across the square of -Verviers until another kind of music met, and clashed with it, and -overwhelmed it with brazen notes. It was the Town-Band of Verviers, -composed of twenty-five citizens, mostly middle-aged and portly—some -old and scraggy, in long frock-coats and tall pot-hats. Solemnly, with -puffed cheeks, they marched along, parting the waves of people as they -went, as it seemed, by the power of their blasts. They were playing -an old tune called <i>Madelon</i>—its refrain comes back to me now with -the picture of that Carnival in Verviers, with all those faces, all -that human pressure and emotion,—and behind them, as though following -the Pied Piper (twenty-five Pied Pipers!) came dancing at least a -thousand people, eight abreast, with linked arms, or linked hands. -They were young Belgian boys and girls, old Belgian men and women, -children, British soldiers, American soldiers, English, Scottish, -Irish, Canadian, Australian, Russian, and Italian ex-prisoners of war, -just liberated from their prison-camps, new to liberty. They were all -singing that old song of “<i>Madelon</i>,” and all dancing in a kind of jig. -Other crowds dancing and singing came out of side-streets into the wide -Grande Place, mingled,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> like human waves meeting, swirled in wild, -laughing eddies. Carnival after the long fasting.</p> - -<p>Brand clutched me by the arm and laughed in his deep hollow voice.</p> - -<p>“Look at that old satyr!... I believe ‘Daddy’ Small is Pan himself!”</p> - -<p>It was the little American doctor. He was in the centre of a row of -eight in the vanguard of a dancing column. A girl of the <i>midinette</i> -type—pretty, impudent, wild-eyed, with a strand of fair hair blowing -loose from her little fur cap—was clinging to his arm on one side, -while on the other was a stout middle-aged woman with a cheerful -Flemish face and mirth-filled eyes. Linked up with the others they -jigged behind the town band. Dr. Small’s little grey beard had a -raffish look. His field-cap was tilted back from his bony forehead. His -spectacles were askew. He had the happy look of careless boyhood. He -did not see us then, but later in the evening detached himself from the -stout Flemish lady who kissed him on both cheeks, and made his way to -where Brand and I stood under the portico of a hotel.</p> - -<p>“Fie, doctor!” said Brand. “What would your old patients in New York -say to this Bacchanalian orgy?”</p> - -<p>“Sonny,” said the doctor, “they wouldn’t believe it! It’s incredible.”</p> - -<p>He wiped the perspiration from his brow, threaded his fingers through -his grey beard, and laughed in that shrill way which was his habit when -excited.</p> - -<p>“My word, it was good fun! I became part of a people’s joy. I had their -sense of escape from frightful things. Youth came back to me. Their -songs danced in my blood. In spite of my goggles and my grey beard that -buxom lady adored me as though I were the young Adonis. The little girl -clasped my hand as though I were her younger brother. Time rolled back -from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> world. Old age was touched with the divine elixir. In that -crowd there is the springtime of life, when Pan played on his pipes -through pagan woods. I wouldn’t have missed it for a million dollars!”</p> - -<p>That night Brand and I and some others (Charles Fortune among them) -were billeted in a small hotel which had been a German headquarters a -few days before. There was a piano in the billiard room, and Fortune -touched its keys. Several notes were broken, but he skipped them deftly -and improvised a musical caricature of “Daddy” Small dancing in the -Carnival. He too had seen that astonishing vision, and it inspired him -to grotesque fantasies. In his imagination he brought a great general -to Verviers—“Blear-eyed Bill, the Butcher of the Boche”—and gave him -a <i>pas seul</i> in the Grande Place, like an elephant gambolling in green -fields, and trumpeting his joy.</p> - -<p>Young Harding was moody, and confided to me that he did not like the -idea of crossing the German frontier and going to Cologne.</p> - -<p>“There will be dirty work,” he said, “as sure as fate. The Huns will -begin sniping, and then we shall have to start reprisals. Well, if they -ask for it I hope we shall give it to them. Without mercy, after all -they have done. At the first sign of treachery I hope the machine-guns -will begin to play. Every time I see a Hun I shall feel like slitting -his throat.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’ll get into a murderous state of mind,” I answered him. -“We shall see plenty, and live among them. I expect they will be tame -enough.”</p> - -<p>“Some poor devils of ours will be murdered in their beds,” said -Harding. “It makes my blood boil to think of it. I only hope we shan’t -stand any nonsense. I’d like to see Cologne Cathedral go up in flames. -That would be a consolation.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> - -<p>Charles Fortune broke away from his musical fantasy of “Blear-eyed -Bill” and played a bar or two of the <i>Marseillaise</i> in rag-time. It was -a greeting to Pierre Nesle, who came into the room quietly, in his képi -and heavy motor-coat, with a salute to the company.</p> - -<p>“<i>Bon soir, petit Pierre!</i>” said Fortune. “<i>Qu’est-ce-qu’il y a, -donc-quoi?-avec ta figure si sombre, si mélancolique, d’une tristesse -pitoyable</i>——”</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle inspired him to sing a little old French chanson of -Pierrot disconsolate.</p> - -<p>Pierre had just motored down from Lille—a long journey—and was -blue with cold, as he said, warming his hands at the charcoal stove. -He laughed at Fortune’s jesting, begged a cigarette from Harding, -apologised for keeping on his “stink-coat” for a while until he had -thawed out—and I admired the boy’s pluck and self-control. It was the -first time I had seen him since he had gone to Lille to see his sister. -I knew by the new lines about his eyes and mouth, by a haggard, older -look he had that he had seen that sister of his—Marthe—and knew her -tragedy.</p> - -<p>It was to Brand’s room that he went after midnight, and from Brand, -a day later, I heard what had happened. Lie had begun by thanking -Brand for that rescue of his sister in Lille, in a most composed and -courteous way. Then suddenly that mask fell from him, and he sat down -heavily in a chair, put his head down on his arms upon the table, -and wept like a child, in uncontrollable grief. Brand was immensely -distressed and could not think of any word to comfort him. He kept -saying, “Courage! Courage!” as I had said to Madame Chéri when she -broke down about her boy Edouard, as the young Baronne had sent word to -Eileen from her prison death-bed, and as so many men and women had said -to others who had been stricken by the cruelties of war. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The boy was down and out,” said Brand. “What could I say? It is one of -those miseries for which there is no cure. He began to talk about his -sister when they had been together at home, in Paris, before the war. -She had been so gay, so comradely, so full of adventure. Then he began -to curse God for having allowed so much cruelty and men for being such -devils. He cursed the Germans, but then, in most frightful language, -most bitterly of all he cursed the people of Lille for having tortured -a woman who had been starved into weakness, and had sinned to save her -life. He contradicted himself then, violently, and said ‘It was no sin. -My sister was a loyal girl to France. In her soul she was loyal. So she -swore to me on her crucifix. I would have killed her if she had been -disloyal.’ ... So there you are! Pierre Nesle is broken on the wheel of -war, like so many others. What’s the cure?”</p> - -<p>“None,” I said, “for his generation. One can’t undo the things that are -done.”</p> - -<p>Brand was pacing up and down his bedroom, where he had been telling me -these things, and now, at my words, he stopped and stared at me before -answering.</p> - -<p>“No. I think you’re right. This generation has been hard-hit, and -we shall go about with unhealed wounds. But the next generation?... -Let’s try to save it from all this horror! If the world will only -understand——”</p> - -<p>The next day we left Verviers, and crossed the German frontier on the -way to the Rhine.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<h2>II</h2> - -<p>Brand and I, who were inseparable now, and young Harding, who had -joined us, crossed the Belgian frontier with our leading troop of -cavalry—the Dragoon Guards—and entered Germany on the morning of -September 4. For three days our advanced cavalry outposts had been -halted on the frontier line beyond Verviers and Spa. The scenery had -become German already—hill-country, with roads winding through fir -forests above deep ravines, where red undergrowth glowed like fire -through the rich green of fir-trees, and where, on the hillsides and in -the valleys, were wooden châlets and villas with pointed turrets like -those in the Black Forest.</p> - -<p>We halted this side of a little stone bridge over the stream which -divides the two countries. A picket of Dragoons was holding the bridge -with double sentries, under orders to let no man pass until the signal -was given to advance.</p> - -<p>“What’s the name of this place?” asked Brand of a young cavalry officer -smoking a cigarette and clapping his hands to keep warm.</p> - -<p>“Rothwasser, sir,” said that child, removing the cigarette from his -lips. He pointed to a small house on rising ground beyond, a white -building with a slate roof, and said:</p> - -<p>“That’s the first house in Germany. I don’t suppose they’ll invite us -to breakfast.”</p> - -<p>Brand and I leaned over the stone bridge, watching and listening to the -swirl of tawny water over big grey stones. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The Red Water,” said Brand. “Not a bad name when one thinks of the -rivers of blood that have flowed between our armies and this place. -It’s been a long journey to this little bridge.”</p> - -<p>We stared across the brook, and were enormously stirred (I was, at -least) by the historic meaning of this scene. Over there, a few yards -away, was Germany, the fringe of what had been until some weeks ago the -mighty German Empire. Not a human being appeared on that side of the -stone bridge. There was no German sentry facing ours. The gate into -Germany was open and unguarded. A deep silence was over there by the -pinewoods where the undergrowth was red. I wondered what would happen -when we rode through that silence and that loneliness into the first -German town—Malmédy—and afterwards through many German towns and -villages on the way to the Rhine....</p> - -<p>Looking back on that adventure, I remember our psychological -sensations, our surprise at the things which happened and failed to -happen, the change of mind which gradually dawned upon some of our -officers, the incredulity, resentment, suspicion, amazement, which -overcame many of them because of the attitude of the German people whom -they met for the first time face to face without arms in their hands. I -have already said that many of our officers had a secret dread of this -advance into German territory, not because they were afraid of danger -to their own skins but because they had a greater fear of being called -upon to do “dirty work” in the event of civilians sniping and any sign -of the <i>franc-tireur</i>. They had been warned by the High Command that -that might happen, and that there must be a ruthless punishment of any -such crimes.</p> - -<p>“Our turn for atrocities!” whispered young cavalry officers, -remembering Louvain and Alost, and they hated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> the idea. We were in -the state of mind which led to some of the black business in Belgium -when the Germans first advanced—nervous, ready to believe any rumour -of treacherous attack, more afraid of civilian hostility than of armed -troops. A single shot fired by some drunken fool in a German village, -a single man of ours killed in a brawl, or murdered by a German out -for vengeance, might lead to most bloody tragedy. Rumour was already -whispering of ghastly things.</p> - -<p>I remember on the first day of our advance meeting a young officer of -ours in charge of an armoured car which had broken down across the -frontier, outside a village.</p> - -<p>“I’d give a million pounds to get out of this job,” he said gloomily.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He told me that the game was already beginning, and swore frightful -oaths.</p> - -<p>“What game?”</p> - -<p>“Murder,” he answered, sharply. “Don’t you get the news? Two of our -fellows have been killed in that village. Sniped from the windows. -Presently I shall be told to sweep the streets with machine-guns. Jolly -work, what?”</p> - -<p>He was utterly wrong, though where he heard the lie which made him -miserable I never knew. I walked into the village, and found it -peaceful. No men of ours had been killed there. No men of ours had yet -entered it.</p> - -<p>The boy who was to go forward with the leading cavalry patrol across -the Rothwasser that morning had “the needle” to the same degree. -He leaned sideways in his saddle and confided his fears to me with -laughter which did not conceal his apprehensions.</p> - -<p>“Hope there’s no trouble!... Haven’t the ghost of an idea what to do -if the Hun turns nasty. I don’t know a word of their beastly language, -either! If I’m the boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> who take the wrong turning, don’t be too hard -on me!”</p> - -<p>It was a Sunday morning, with a cold white fog on the hill-tops, -and white frost on fir-trees and red bracken. Our cavalry and horse -artillery, with their transport drawn up on the Belgian side of the -frontier before the bugle sounded for the forward march, were standing -by their horses, clapping hands, beating chests, stamping feet. The men -wore their steel hats as though for an advance in the usual conditions -of warfare, and the troopers of the leading patrol rode forward with -drawn swords. They rode at the trot through pine forests along the edge -of deep ravines in which innumerable “Christmas-trees” were powdered -with glistening frost. There was the beat of horses’ hoofs on frozen -roads, but the countryside was intensely silent. The farmhouses we -passed and cottages under the shelter of the woods seemed abandoned. -No flags hung out from them like those millions of flags which had -fluttered along all the miles of our way through Belgium. Now and -again, looking back at a farmhouse window, I saw a face there, staring -out, but it was quickly withdrawn. A dog came out and barked at us -savagely.</p> - -<p>“First sign of hostility!” said the cavalry lieutenant, turning round -in his saddle and laughing boyishly. The troopers behind him grinned -under their steel hats, and then looked stern again, glancing sideways -into the glades of those silent fir-woods.</p> - -<p>“It would be easy to snipe us from those woods,” said Harding. “Too -damned easy!”</p> - -<p>“And quite senseless,” said Brand. “What good would it do them?”</p> - -<p>Harding was prepared to answer the question. He had been thinking it -out.</p> - -<p>“The Hun never did have any sense. He’s not likely to get it now. -Nothing will ever change him. He is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> bad, treacherous, evil swine. We -must be prepared for the worst, and if it comes——”</p> - -<p>“What?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>Harding had a grim look, and his mouth was hard.</p> - -<p>“We must act without mercy, as they did in Louvain.”</p> - -<p>“Wholesale murder, you mean?” said Brand, harshly.</p> - -<p>“A free hand for machine-guns,” said Harding, “if they ask for it.”</p> - -<p>Brand gave his usual groan.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord!... Haven’t we finished with blood?”</p> - -<p>We dipped down towards Malmédy. There was a hairpin turn in the road, -and we could see the town below us in the valley—a German town.</p> - -<p>“Pretty good map-reading!” shouted the cavalry kid. He was pleased with -himself for having led his troop on the right road, but I guessed that -he would be glad to halt this side of the mystery that lay in that town -where Sunday bells were ringing.</p> - -<p>A queer thing happened then. Up a steep bank was a party of girls. -German girls, of course, and the first civilians we had seen. A flutter -of white handkerchiefs came from them. They were waving to us.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m damned!” said Harding.</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” answered Brand, ironically, but he was as much astonished as -all of us.</p> - -<p>When we came into Malmédy, the cavalry patrol halted in the market -square and dismounted. It was about midday, and the German people were -coming out of church. Numbers of them surrounded us, staring at the -horses, whose sleek look seemed to amaze them, and at the men who lit -up cigarettes and loosened the straps of their steel hats. Some girls -patted the necks of the horses, and said;</p> - -<p>“<i>Wünderschön!</i>”</p> - -<p>A young man in the crowd, in black civilian clothes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> with a bowler -hat, spoke in perfect English to the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>“Your horses are looking fine! Ours are skin and bones. When will the -infantry be here?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t an idea,” said the sergeant-major gruffly.</p> - -<p>Another young man addressed himself to me in French, which he spoke as -though it were his native tongue.</p> - -<p>“Is this the first time you have been in Germany, monsieur?”</p> - -<p>I told him I had visited Germany before the war.</p> - -<p>“You will find us changed,” he said. “We have suffered very much, and -the spirit of the people is broken. You see, they have been hungry so -long.”</p> - -<p>I looked round at the crowd, and saw some bonny-faced girls among them, -and children who looked well-fed. It was only the younger men who had a -pinched look.</p> - -<p>“The people here do not seem hungry,” I said.</p> - -<p>He explained that the state of Malmédy was not so bad. It was only a -big-sized village and they could get products from the farms about. All -the same, they were on short commons and were underfed. Never any meat. -No fats. “Ersatz” coffee. In the bigger town there was real hunger, or -at least an <i>unternährung</i>, or malnutrition, which was causing disease -in all classes, and great mortality among the children.</p> - -<p>“You speak French well,” I told him, and he said that many people in -Malmédy spoke French and German in a bi-lingual way. It was so close to -the Belgian frontier.</p> - -<p>“That is why the people here had no heart in the war, even in the -beginning. My wife was a Belgian girl. When I was mobilised she said, -‘You are going to kill my brothers,’ and wept very much. I think that -killed her. She died in ’16.”</p> - -<p>The young man spoke gravely but without any show of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> emotion. He -narrated his personal history in the war. He had been in the first and -second battles of Ypres, then badly wounded and put down at the base -as a clerk for nearly two years. After that, when German man-power was -running short, he had been pushed into the ranks again and had fought -in Flanders, Cambrai, and Valenciennes. Now he had demobilised himself.</p> - -<p>“I am very glad the war is over, monsieur. It was a great stupidity, -from the beginning. Now Germany is ruined.”</p> - -<p>He spoke in a simple, matter-of-fact way, as though describing natural -disturbances of life, regrettable, but inevitable.</p> - -<p>I asked him whether the people farther from the frontier would be -hostile to the English troops, and he seemed surprised at my question.</p> - -<p>“Hostile! Why, sir?... The war is over and we can now be friends -again. Besides, the respectable people and the middle-classes”—he -used the French word <i>bourgeoisie</i>—“will be glad of your coming. It -is a protection against the evil elements who are destroying property -and behaving in a criminal way—the sailors of the Fleet, and the low -ruffians.”</p> - -<p><i>The war is over and we can be friends again!</i> That sentence in the -young man’s speech astonished me by its directness and simplicity. -Was that the mental attitude of the German people? Did they think -that England would forget and shake hands? Did they not realise the -passion of hatred that had been aroused in England by the invasion -of Belgium, the early atrocities, the submarine war, the sinking of -the <i>Lusitania</i>, the execution of Nurse Cavell, the air-raids over -London—all the range and sweep of German frightfulness?</p> - -<p>Then I looked at our troopers. Some of them were chatting with the -Germans in a friendly way. One of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> them close to me gave a cigarette -to a boy in a college cap who was talking to him in schoolboy English. -Another was in conversation with two German girls who were patting -his horse. We had been in the German village ten minutes. There was -no sign of hatred here, on one side or the other. Already something -had happened which in England, if they knew, would seem monstrous and -incredible. A spell had been broken; the spell which, for four years, -had dominated the souls of men and women. At least it seemed to have -been broken in the village where for the first time English soldiers -met the people of the nation they had fought and beaten. These men of -the first cavalry patrol did not seem to be nourishing thoughts of -hatred and vengeance. They were not, it seemed, remembering atrocities. -They were meeting fellow-mortals with human friendliness, and seemed -inclined to talk to them and pass the time of day. Astounding!</p> - -<p>I saw Wickham Brand talking to a group of German children—boys in -sailor caps with the words <i>Hindenburg</i>, <i>Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse</i>, -<i>Unterseeboot</i>, printed in gold letters on the cap-bands, and girls -with yellow pig-tails and coloured frocks. He pulled out a packet of -chocolate from a deep pocket of his “British warm,” and broke it into -small pieces.</p> - -<p>“Who would like a bit?” he asked in German, and there was a chorus of -“<i>Bitte!... Bitte schön!</i>” He held out a piece to the prettiest child, -a tiny fairy-like thing with gold-spun hair, and she blushed very -vividly, and curtseyed when she took the chocolate, and then kissed -Brand’s long lean hand. Young Harding was standing near. He had an -utterly bewildered expression, as a man who sees the ground work of his -faith slipping beneath him. He turned to me as I strolled his way, and -looked at me with wide astonished eyes. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t understand!” he stammered. “Haven’t these people any pride? -This show of friendliness—what does it mean? I’d rather they scowled -and showed their hatred than stand round fawning on us.... And our men! -They don’t seem to bear any malice. Look at that fellow gossiping with -those two girls! It’s shameful.... What have we been fighting for if it -ends in this sort of thing? It makes it all a farce!”</p> - -<p>He was so disturbed, so unnerved by the shock of his surprise, that -there were tears of vexation in his eyes.</p> - -<p>I could not argue with him, or explain things to him. I was astonished -myself, quite baffled by a German friendliness that was certainly -sincere and not a mask hiding either hatred or humiliation. Those -people of Malmédy were pleased to see us! As yet I could not get the -drift of their psychology, in spite of what the young French-speaking -German had told me. I gave Harding the benefit of that talk.</p> - -<p>“This is a frontier town,” I said. “These people are not real Germans -in their sympathies and ideas.”</p> - -<p>That seemed to comfort Harding a little. He clung on to the thought -that when we had got beyond the frontier we should meet the hatred he -expected to see. He wanted to meet it. He wanted to see scowling looks, -deep humiliation, a shameful recognition of defeat, the evil nature of -the people we had been fighting. Otherwise, to him, the war was all a -lie. For four years he had been inspired, strengthened, and upheld by -hatred of the Germans. He believed not only in every atrocity story -that appeared in English newspapers, but also, in accordance with -all else he read, that every German was essentially and unutterably -vile, brutal, treacherous, and evil. The German people were to him a -race apart—the Huns. They had nothing in common with ordinary human -nature, with its kindliness and weakness. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> were physically, -mentally, and morally debased. They were a race of devils, and they -could not be allowed to live. Civilisation could only be saved by their -extermination, or if that were impossible, of their utter subjection. -All the piled-up slaughter of British youth and French youth was to him -justified by the conviction that the last man of ours must die if need -be in order to crush Germany, and kill Germans. It is true that he had -not died, nor even had been wounded, but that was his ill-luck. He had -been in the cavalry, and had not been given many chances of fighting. -Before the last phase, when the cavalry came into their own, he had -been transferred to the Intelligence (though he did not speak a word -of German) in order to organise their dispatch-rider service. He knew -nothing about dispatch-riding, but his cousin was the brother-in-law -of a General’s nephew, and he had been highly recommended for this -appointment, which had surprised and annoyed him. Still, as a young -man who believed in obedience to authority, and in all old traditional -systems, such as patronage and privilege, he had accepted the post -without protest. It had made no difference to his consuming hatred of -the Hun. When all his companions were pessimistic about final victory -he had remained an optimist, because of his faith that the Huns must be -destroyed, or God would be betrayed. When some of his colleagues who -had lived in Germany before the war praised the German as a soldier -and exonerated the German people from part at least of the guilt of -their war lords, he tried to conceal his contempt for this folly (due -to the mistaken generosity of the English character) and repeated -his own creed of abhorrence for their race and character. “The only -good German is a dead German,” he said, a thousand times, to one’s -arguments pleading extenuating circumstances for German peasants,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -German women, German children.... But now in this village of Malmédy -on our first morning across the frontier, within three minutes of our -coming, English troopers were chatting with Germans as though nothing -had happened to create ill-feeling on either side. Brand was giving -chocolate to German children, and German girls were patting the necks -of English horses!</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, after my attempted explanation. “We’re too close to the -frontier. These people are different. Wait till we get on a bit. I’m -convinced we shall have trouble, and at the slightest sign of it we -shall sweep the streets with machine-gun fire. I’ve got my own revolver -handy, and I mean to use it without mercy if there’s any treachery.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> - -<h2>III</h2> - -<p>Harding had no need to use his revolver on the way to the Rhine, or in -Cologne, where he stayed for some months after Armistice. We went on -with the cavalry into many villages and small towns, by slow stages, -the infantry following behind in strength, with guns and transport. The -girls outside Malmédy were not the only ones who waved handkerchiefs -at us. Now and then, it is true, there were scowling looks from men -who had, obviously, been German officers until a few weeks ago. -Sometimes in village inns the German innkeeper would be sullen and -silent, leaving his wife or his maidservant to wait upon us. But even -that was rare. More often there was frank curiosity in the eyes of the -people who stared at us, and often unconcealed admiration at the smart -appearance of our troops. Often German innkeepers welcomed our officers -with bows and smiles and prepared meat meals for us (in the country -districts), while explaining that meat was scarce and hardly tasted by -ordinary folk. Their wives and their maidservants praised God that the -war was over.</p> - -<p>“It lasted too long!” they said. “Oh, the misery of it! It was madness -to slaughter each other like that!”</p> - -<p>Brand and I went into a little shop to buy a toothbrush.</p> - -<p>The woman behind the counter talked about the war.</p> - -<p>“It was due to the wickedness of great people,” she said. “There are -many people who grew rich out of the war. They wanted it to go on, and -on, so that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> could get more rich. They gorged themselves while the -poor starved. It was the poor who were robbed of their life-blood.”</p> - -<p>She did not speak passionately, but with a dull kind of anger.</p> - -<p>“My own life-blood was taken,” she said presently, after wrapping up -the toothbrush. “First they took Hans, my eldest. He was killed almost -at once—at Liège. Then they took my second-born, Friedrich. He was -killed at Ypres. Next, Wilhelm died—in hospital at Brussels. He had -both his legs blown off. Last they took little Karl, my youngest. He -was killed by an air-bomb, far behind the lines, near Valenciennes.”</p> - -<p>A tear splashed on the bit of paper in which she had wrapped the -toothbrush. She wiped it away with her apron.</p> - -<p>“My man and I are now alone,” she said, handing us the packet. “We are -too old to have more children. We sit and talk of our sons who are -dead, and wonder why God did not stop the war.”</p> - -<p>“It is sad,” said Brand. He could find nothing else to say. Not with -this woman could he argue about German guilt.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ja, es ist traurig.</i>”</p> - -<p>She took the money, with a “<i>Danke schön</i>.”</p> - -<p>In the town of Mürren I spent some time with Brand and others in the -barracks where a number of trench-mortars and machine-guns were being -handed over by German officers according to the terms of the Armistice. -The officers were mostly young men, extremely polite, anxious to save -us any kind of trouble, marvellous in their concealment of any kind of -humiliation they may have felt—<i>must</i> have felt—in this delivery of -arms. They were confused only for one moment, and that was when a boy -with a wheelbarrow trundled by with a load<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> of German swords—elaborate -parade swords with gold hilts.</p> - -<p>One of them laughed and passed it off with a few words in English.</p> - -<p>“There goes the old pomp and glory—to the rubbish-heap!”</p> - -<p>Brand made things easier by a tactful sentence.</p> - -<p>“The world will be happier when we are all disarmed.”</p> - -<p>A non-commissioned officer talked to me. He had been a hair-dresser in -Bayswater and a machine-gunner in Flanders. He was a little fellow with -a queer Cockney accent.</p> - -<p>“Germany is <i>kaput</i>. We shall have a bad time in front of us. No money. -No trade. All the same it will be better in the long run. No more -conscription; no more filthy war. We’re all looking to President Wilson -and his Fourteen Points. There is the hope of the world. We can hope -for a good Peace—fair all round. Of course we’ll have to pay, but we -shall get Liberty, like in England.”</p> - -<p>Was the man sincere? Were any of these people sincere? or were they -crawling, fawning, hiding their hatred, ready for any treachery? I -could not make up my mind....</p> - -<p>We went into Cologne some days before our programme at the urgent -request of the Burgermeister. We were invited in! The German seamen -of the Grand Fleet had played the devil, as in all the towns they -had passed through. They had established a Soldiers’ and Workmen’s -Council on the Russian system, raised the Red Flag, liberated the -criminals from the prisons. Shops had been sacked, houses looted. The -Burgermeister desired British troops to ensure law and order.</p> - -<p>There was no disorder visible when we entered Cologne. The -Revolutionaries had disappeared. The streets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> were thronged with -middle-class folk among whom were thousands of men who had taken -off their uniforms a few days before our coming, or had “civilised” -themselves by tearing off their shoulder-straps and badges. As our -first squadron rode into the great Cathedral Square on the way to -the Hohenzollern bridge many people in the crowds turned their heads -away and did not glance at the British cavalry. We were deliberately -ignored, and I thought that for the Germans it was the best attitude, -with most dignity. Others stared gravely at the passing cavalcade, -showing no excitement, no hostility, no friendliness, no emotion of -any kind. Here and there I met eyes which were regarding me with a -dark, brooding look, and others in which there was profound melancholy. -That night, when I wandered out alone and lost my way, and asked for -direction, two young men, obviously officers until a few days back, -walked part of the way to put me right, and said, “<i>Bitte schön! Bitte -schön!</i>” when I thanked them, and saluted with the utmost courtesy.... -I wondered what would have happened in London if we had been defeated -and if German officers had walked out alone at night and lost -themselves in by-streets, and asked the way. Imagination fails before -such a thought. Certainly our civility would not have been so easy. We -could not have hidden our hatred like that, if these were hiding hatred.</p> - -<p>Somehow I could not find even the smouldering fires of hate in any -German with whom I spoke that day. I could find only a kind of dazed -and stupor-like recognition of defeat, a deep sadness among humble -people, a profound anxiety as to the future fate of a ruined Germany, -and a hope in the justice of England and America.</p> - -<p>A score of us had luncheon at the Domhof Hotel, opposite the Cathedral -which Harding had hoped to see in flames. The manager bowed us in as if -we had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> been distinguished visitors in time of peace. The head-waiter -handed us the menu and regretted that there was not much choice of -food, though they had scoured the country to provide for us. He and -six other waiters spoke good English, learnt in London, and seemed to -have had no interruption in their way of life, in spite of war. They -were not rusty in their art, but masters of its service according to -tradition. Yet they had all been in the fighting-ranks until the day -of armistice, and the head-waiter, a man of forty, with hair growing -grey, and the look of one who had spent years in a study rather than -in front-line trenches after table management, told me that he had -been three times wounded in Flanders, and in the last phase had been a -machine-gunner in the rearguard actions round Grevilliers and Bapaume. -He revealed his mind to me between the soup and the stew—strange talk -from a German waiter!</p> - -<p>“I used to ask myself a hundred thousand times, ‘Why am I here—in this -mud—fighting against the English whom I know and like? What devil’s -meaning is there in all this? What are the evil powers that have forced -us to this insane massacre?’ I thought I should go mad, and I desired -death.”</p> - -<p>I did not argue with him, for the same reason that Brand and I did -not argue with the woman behind the counter who had lost four sons. I -did not say “Your War Lords were guilty of this war. The evil passion -and philosophy of you German people brought this upon the world—your -frightfulness.” I listened to a man who had been stricken by tragedy, -who had passed through its horrors, and was now immensely sad.</p> - -<p>At a small table next to us was the boy who had led the first cavalry -patrol, and two fellow-officers. They were not eating their soup. They -were talking to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> waiter, a young fellow who was making a map with -knives and spoons.</p> - -<p>“This is the village of Fontaine Notre Dame,” he said. “I was just here -with my machine-gun when you attacked.”</p> - -<p>“Extraordinary!” said one of the young cavalry officers. “I was here, -at the corner of this spoon, lying on my belly, with my nose in the -mud—scared stiff!”</p> - -<p>The German waiter and the three officers laughed together. Something -had happened which had taken away from them the desire to kill each -other. Our officers did not suspect there might be poison in their -soup. The young waiter was not nervous lest one of the knives he laid -should be thrust into his heart....</p> - -<p>Some nights later I met Wickham Brand in the Hohestrasse. He took me by -the arm and laughed in a strange, ironical way.</p> - -<p>“What do you think of it all?” he asked.</p> - -<p>I told him that if old men from St. James’s Street clubs in London, and -young women in the suburbs clamouring for the Kaiser’s head, could be -transported straight to Cologne without previous warning of the things -they would see, they would go raving mad.</p> - -<p>Brand agreed.</p> - -<p>“It knocks one edgewise. Even those of us who understand.”</p> - -<p>We stood on one side, by a shop window filled with beautiful -porcelain-ware, and watched the passing crowd. It was a crowd of German -middle-class, well-dressed, apparently well-fed. The girls wore heavy -furs. The men were in black coats and bowler hats, or in military -overcoats and felt hats. Among them, not aloof but mingling with them, -laughing with them, were English and Canadian soldiers. Many of them -were arm-in-arm with German girls. Others were surrounded by groups<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> of -young Germans who had been, unmistakably, soldiers until a few weeks -earlier. English-speaking Germans were acting as interpreters, in the -exchange of experiences, gossip, opinions. The German girls needed no -interpreters. Their eyes spoke, and their laughter.</p> - -<p>Brand and I went into an immense café called the “Germania,” so -densely crowded that we had to wander round to find a place, foggy -with tobacco-smoke, through which electric light blazed, noisy with -the music of a loud, unceasing orchestra, which, as we entered, was -playing selections from “Patience.” Here also were many English and -Canadian officers, and men, sitting at the same tables with Germans who -laughed and nodded at them, clinked their mugs or wine-glasses with -them, and raised bowler hats to British Tommies when they left the -tables with friendly greetings on both sides. There was no orgy here, -no impropriety. Some of the soldiers were becoming slightly fuddled -with Rhine wine, but not noisily. “Glad eyes” were passing between -them and German girls, or conversations made up by winks and signs -and oft-repeated words; but all quietly and respectfully, in outward -behaviour.</p> - -<p>Brand and I were wedged close to a table at which sat one of our -sergeant-majors, a corporal, a middle-aged German woman, and two -German girls. One of the girls spoke English, remarkably well, and the -conversation of our two men was directed to her, and through her with -the others. Brand and I were eavesdroppers.</p> - -<p>“Tell your Ma,” said the sergeant-major, “that I shouldn’t have been so -keen to fight Germans if I had known they were such pleasant, decent -people, as far as I find ’em at present, and I take people as I find -’em.”</p> - -<p>The girl translated to her mother and sister, and then answered:</p> - -<p>“My mother says the war was prepared by the Rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> People in Europe, who -made the people mad by lies.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said the sergeant-major, “I shouldn’t wonder! I know some of them -swine. All the same, of course, you began it, you know.”</p> - -<p>There was another translation and the girl answered again:</p> - -<p>“My mother says the Germans didn’t begin it. The Russians began it by -moving their Armies. The Russians hated us and wanted war.”</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major gave a snort of laughter.</p> - -<p>“The Russians?... They soon tired of it, anyhow. Let us all down, eh?”</p> - -<p>“What about atrocities?” said the corporal, who was a Cockney.</p> - -<p>“Atrocities?” said the English-speaking girl. “Oh, yes, there were -many. The Russians were very cruel.”</p> - -<p>“Come off it!” said the corporal. “I mean German atrocities.”</p> - -<p>“German?” said the girl. “No, our soldiers were well-behaved—always! -There were many lies told in the English papers.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true enough,” said the sergeant-major. “Lies? Why, they fed us -up with lies. ‘The Germans are starving. The Germans are on their last -legs.’ ‘The great victory at Neuve Chapelle!’ God! I was in that great -victory. The whole battalion cut to pieces, and not an officer left. A -bloody shambles—and no sense in it.... Another drop of wine, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“Seems to me,” said the cockney corporal, “that there was a deal of -dirty work on both sides. I’m not going to say there wasn’t no German -atrocities—lies or no lies—becos’ I saw a few of ’em myself, an’ no -mistake. But what I says now is what I says when I lay in the lousy -trenches with five-point-nines busting down the parapets. ‘The old -devil ’as got us all by the legs!’ I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> said, and ’ad a fellow-feelin’ -for the poor blighters on the other side of the barbed wire lying in -the same old mud. Now I’m beginning to think the Germans are the same -as us, no better, nor no worse, I reckon. Any’ow, you can tell your -sister, miss, that I like the way she does ’er ’air. It reminds me of -my Liz.”</p> - -<p>The English-speaking German girl did not understand this speech. She -appealed to the sergeant-major.</p> - -<p>“What does your friend say?”</p> - -<p>The sergeant-major roared with laughter.</p> - -<p>“My chum says that a pretty face cures a lot of ill-feeling. Your -sister is a sweet little thing, he says. <i>Comprenney?</i> Perhaps you had -better not translate that part to your Ma.... Have another drop of -wine, my dear.”</p> - -<p>Presently the party rose from the table and went out, the -sergeant-major paying for the drinks in a lordly way, and saying, -“After you, ma’am,” to the mother of the two girls.</p> - -<p>“All this,” said Brand when they had gone, “is very instructive.... And -I’ve been making discoveries.”</p> - -<p>“What kind?”</p> - -<p>Brand looked away into the vista of the room, and his eyes roved about -the tables where other soldiers of ours sat with other Germans.</p> - -<p>“I’ve found out,” he said, “that the British hatred of a nation breaks -down in the presence of its individuals. I’ve discovered that it is not -in the character of English fighting-men—Canadian, too, by the look of -it—to demand vengeance from the innocent for the sins of the guilty. -I’m seeing that human nature, ours anyhow, swings back to the normal, -as soon as an abnormal strain is released. It is normal in human nature -to be friendly towards its kind, in spite of five years’ education in -savagery.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<p>I doubted that, and told him so, remembering scenes in Ghent and Lille, -and that girl Marthe, and the woman of Verviers. That shook Brand a -little from his new point of view and he shifted his ground, with the -words:</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I’m wrong, there.”</p> - -<p>He told me of other “discoveries” of his, after conversation with many -German people, explaining perhaps the lack of hostility and humiliation -which had surprised us all. They were glad to see the English because -they were afraid of the French and Belgians, with their desire for -vengeance. They believed in English fair-play in spite of all the wild -propaganda of the war. Now that the Kaiser had fled and Germany was a -Republic, they believed that in spite of defeat, and great ruin, there -would be a Peace which would give them a chance of recovery, and a new -era of liberty, according to the pledges of President Wilson and the -terms of the “Fourteen Points.” They believed they had been beaten by -the hunger blockade, and not by the failure of the German Armies in the -field, and they would not admit that as a people they were more guilty -in the war than any others of the fighting nations.</p> - -<p>“It is a sense of guilt,” said Brand, “that must be brought home to -them. They must be convinced of that before they can get clean again, -and gain the world’s forgiveness.”</p> - -<p>He leaned over the table with his square face in the palms of his hands.</p> - -<p>“God knows,” he said, “that there was evil on both sides. We have our -Junkerdom too. The philosophy of our Old Men was not shining in its -Christian charity. We share the guilt of the war. Still, the Germans -<i>were</i> the aggressors. They must acknowledge that.”</p> - -<p>“The German war-lords and militarists,” I suggested. “Not that woman -who lost her four sons, nor peasants<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> dragged from their ploughs, -ignorant of <i>Welt-politik</i>.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all a muddle,” said Brand. “I can’t sort it out. I’m full of -bewilderment and contradictions. Sometimes when I look at these Germans -in the streets, some of them so smug, I shudder and say, ‘These are the -people who killed my pals,’ and I’m filled with cold rage. But when -they tell me all they suffered, and their loathing of the war, I pity -them and say, ‘They were trapped, like we were, by false ideas, and -false systems, and the foul lies of politicians, and the dirtiness of -old diplomacy, and the philosophy of Europe, leading up to That.’”</p> - -<p>Then he told me something which interested me more at the time than his -groping to find truth, because a touch of personal drama is always more -striking to the mind than general aspects and ideas.</p> - -<p>“I’m billeted at the house of Franz von Kreuzenach. You -remember?—Eileen’s friend.”</p> - -<p>I was astounded at that.</p> - -<p>“What an amazing coincidence!”</p> - -<p>“It was no coincidence,” he said. “I arranged it. I had that letter to -deliver and I wanted to meet the fellow. As yet, however, I have only -seen his mother and sister. They are very civil.”</p> - -<p>So did Wickham Brand “ask for trouble,” as soldiers say, and certainly -he found it before long.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - -<h2>IV</h2> - -<p>The first meeting between Wickham Brand and young Franz von Kreuzenach -had been rather dramatic, according to my friend’s account of it, and -he did not dramatise his stories much, in spite of being (before the -war) an unsuccessful novelist. It had happened on the third night after -his presentation of the billeting-paper which by military right of -occupation ordered the owners of the house to provide a bedroom and -sitting-room for an officer. There had been no trouble about that. -The <i>Mädchen</i> who had answered the door of the big white house in a -side street off the Kaiserring had dropped a curtsey, and in answer to -Brand’s fluent and polite German said at once, “<i>Kommen Sie herein, -bitte</i>,” and took him into a drawing-room to the right of the hall, -leaving him there while she went to fetch “<i>die gnädige Baronin</i>,” that -is to say the Baroness von Kreuzenach. Brand remained standing, and -studied the German drawing-room to read its character as a key to that -of the family under whose roof he was coming by right of conquest, for -that, in plain words, was the meaning of his presence.</p> - -<p>It was a large square room, handsomely and heavily furnished in an -old-fashioned style, belonging perhaps to the Germany of Bismarck, but -with here and there in its adornment a lighter and more modern touch. -On one wall, in a gilt frame to which fat gilt cupids clung, was a -large portrait of William I. of Prussia, and on the wall opposite, -in a similar frame, a portrait of the ex-Kaiser <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>William II. Brand -saw also, with an instant thrill of remembrance, two large steel -engravings from Winterhalter’s portraits of Queen Victoria and Prince -Albert. He had seen them, as a child, in his grandfather’s house at -Kew, and in the houses of school-fellows’ grandfathers, who cherished -these representations of Victoria and Albert with almost religious -loyalty. The large square of Turkey carpet on polished boards, a -mahogany sideboard, and some stiff big arm-chairs of clumsily-carved -oak, were reminiscent of German furniture and taste in the period -of the mid-nineteenth century, when ours was equally atrocious. The -later period had obtruded itself into that background. There was a -piano in white wood at one end of the room, and here and there light -chairs in the “New Art” style of Germany, with thin legs and straight -uncomfortable backs. The most pleasing things in the room were some -porcelain figures of Saxon and Hanover ware, little German ladies with -pleated gowns and low-necked bodices, and, on the walls, a number of -water-colour drawings, mostly of English scenes, delicately done, with -vision and a nice sense of atmosphere.</p> - -<p>“The younger generation thrusting out the old,” thought Brand, “and the -spirit of both of them destroyed by what has happened in five years.”</p> - -<p>The door opened, he told me, when he had taken stock of his -surroundings, and there came in two women, one middle-aged, the other -young. He guessed that he was in the presence of Frau von Kreuzenach -and her daughter, and made his bow, with an apology for intruding upon -them. He hoped that they would not be in the least degree disturbed by -his billeting-order. He would need only a bedroom and his breakfast.</p> - -<p>The Baroness was courteous but rather cold in her dignity. She was a -handsome woman of about forty-eight, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>with very fair hair streaked with -grey, and a thin, aristocratic type of face, with thin lips. She wore a -black silk dress with some fur round her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“It will be no inconvenience to us, sir,” she answered in good English, -a little hard and over-emphasised. “Although the English people are -pleased to call us Huns”—here she laughed good-humouredly—“I trust -that you will not be too uncomfortable in a German house, in spite -of the privations due to our misfortunes and the severity of your -blockade.”</p> - -<p>In that short speech there was a hint of hostility—masked under a -graciousness of manner—which Wickham Brand did not fail to perceive.</p> - -<p>“As long as it is not inconvenient——” he said, awkwardly.</p> - -<p>It was the daughter who now spoke, and Brand was grateful for her -friendly words, and impressed by her undeniable and exceptional good -looks. That she was the daughter of the older woman was clear at a -glance. She had the same thin face and fair hair, but Youth was on -her side, and her finely-chiselled features had no hardness of line -that comes from age or bitterness. Her hair was like spun gold, as -one sees it in Prussia more, I fancy, than in southern Germany, -and her complexion was that perfect rose-red and lily-white which -often belongs to German girls, and is doll-like if they are soft and -plump, as many are. This girl’s fault was thinness, but to Brand, -not a sentimentalist, nor quickly touched by feminine influence (I -have written that, but on second thoughts believe that under Brand’s -ruggedness there was a deep strain of sentiment, approaching weakness), -she seemed flower-like and spiritual. So he told me after his early -acquaintance with her.</p> - -<p>Her first words to him were charming.</p> - -<p>“We have suffered very much from the war, sir, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> we welcome you to -our house not as an enemy, because the war finished with the Armistice, -but as an Englishman who may come to be our friend.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>He could find nothing else to say at the moment, but spoke that one -word gratefully.</p> - -<p>The mother added something to her daughter’s speech.</p> - -<p>“We believed the English were our friends before they declared war upon -us. We were deeply saddened by our mistake.”</p> - -<p>“It was inevitable,” said Brand, “after what had happened.”</p> - -<p>The daughter—her name was Elsa—put her hand on her mother’s arm with -a quick gesture of protest against any other words about the war.</p> - -<p>“I will show Captain Brand to his rooms.”</p> - -<p>Brand wondered at her quickness in knowing his name after one glance -at his billeting-paper, and said, “Please do not trouble, <i>gnädiges -Fräulein</i>,” when he saw a look of disapproval, almost of alarm, on the -mother’s face.</p> - -<p>“It will be better for Truda to show the gentleman to his rooms. I will -ring for her.”</p> - -<p>Elsa von Kreuzenach challenged her mother’s authority by a smile of -amusement, and there was a slight deepening of that delicate colour in -her face.</p> - -<p>“Truda is boiling the usual cabbage for the usual <i>Mittagessen</i>. I will -go, mother.”</p> - -<p>She turned to Brand with a smile, and bowed to him.</p> - -<p>“I will act as your guide upstairs, Captain Brand. After that, you may -find your own way. It is not difficult.”</p> - -<p>Brand, who described the scene to me, told me that the girl went very -quickly up a wide flight of stairs, so that in his big riding-boots he -found it difficult to keep pace with her. She went down a long corridor -lined with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> etchings on the walls, and opened a white door leading -into a big room, furnished as a library. There was a wood fire burning -there, and at a glance Brand noticed one or two decorations on the -walls—a pair of foils with a fencing-mask and gauntlets, some charcoal -drawings—one of a girl’s head, which was this girl’s when that gold -hair of hers hung in two Gretchen pig-tails—and some antlers.</p> - -<p>“Here you can sit and smoke your pipe,” said Elsa von Kreuzenach, -“Also, if you are bored, you can read those books. You see we have -many English authors—Bernard Shaw, H. G. Wells, G. K. Chesterton, -Kipling—heaps. My brother and I used to read all we could get of -English books.”</p> - -<p>Brand remembered that Franz von Kreuzenach had read Kipling. He had -quoted “Puck of Pook’s Hill” to Eileen O’Connor.</p> - -<p>“Now and then,” he said, “I may read a little German.”</p> - -<p>“Pooh!” said the girl. “It is so dull, most of it. Not exciting, like -yours.”</p> - -<p>She opened another door.</p> - -<p>“Here is your bedroom. It used to belong to my brother Heinrich.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t he want it?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>He could have bitten his tongue out for that question when the girl -answered it.</p> - -<p>“He was killed in France.”</p> - -<p>A sudden sadness took possession of her eyes and Brand said, “I’m -sorry.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I was sorry, too, and wept for weeks. He was a nice boy, so -jolly, as you say. He would have been an artist if he had lived. All -those charcoal sketches are by him.”</p> - -<p>She pointed to the drawing of a young man’s head over the -dressing-table. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That is my brother Franz. He is home again, <i>Gott sei dank</i>! Heinrich -worshipped him.”</p> - -<p>Brand looked at the portrait of the man who had saved Eileen O’Connor. -He had Eileen’s letter to him in his pocket. It was a good-looking -head, clean-cut, with frank eyes, rather noble.</p> - -<p>“I hope we shall meet one day,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>Elsa von Kreuzenach seemed pleased with those words.</p> - -<p>“He will like to meet you—ever so much. You see, he was educated at -Oxford, and does not forget his love for England.”</p> - -<p>“In spite of the war?” asked Brand.</p> - -<p>The girl put both her hands to her breast.</p> - -<p>“The war!” she said. “Let us forget the years when we all went mad. It -was a madness of hate and of lies and of ignorance—on both sides. The -poor people in all countries suffered for the sins of the wicked men -who made this war against our will, and called out our evil passions. -The wicked men in England were as bad as those in Germany. Now it is -for good people to build up a new world out of the ruins that war made, -the ruin of hearts.”</p> - -<p>She asked a direct question of Brand, earnestly.</p> - -<p>“Are you one of those who will go on hating?”</p> - -<p>Brand hesitated. He could not forget many things. He knew, so he told -me, that he had not yet killed the old hatred that had made him a -sniper in No Man’s Land. Many times it surged up again. He could not -forgive the Germans for many cruelties. To this girl, then, he hedged a -little.</p> - -<p>“The future must wipe out the past. The Peace must not be for -vengeance.”</p> - -<p>At those last words the blue eyes of Elsa von Kreuzenach lighted up -gladly.</p> - -<p>“That is the old English spirit! I have said to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> mother and father a -thousand times ‘England is generous at heart. She loves fair play. Now -that victory is hers she will put away base passions and make a noble -peace that will help us out of our agony and ruin. All our hope is with -England, and with the American President, who is the noblest man on -earth.’”</p> - -<p>“And your father and mother?” asked Brand. “What do they say?”</p> - -<p>The girl smiled rather miserably.</p> - -<p>“They belong to the old school. Franz and I are of the younger -generation ... my father denounces England as the demon behind all -the war-devils, and Little Mother finds it hard to forgive England -for joining the war against us, and because the English Army killed -Heinrich. You must be patient with them.”</p> - -<p>She spoke as though Brand belonged already to their family life and -would need great tact.</p> - -<p>She moved towards the door, and stood framed there in its white -woodwork, a pretty figure.</p> - -<p>“We have two maidservants for this great house,” she said. “The war -has made us poor. Truda and Gretchen, they are called. They are -both quarrelling for the pleasure of waiting on you. They are both -frightfully excited to have an English officer in the house!”</p> - -<p>“Queer!” said Brand, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Why queer?” asked Elsa von Kreuzenach. “I am a little excited, too.”</p> - -<p>She made a half-curtsey, like an Early Victorian girl, and then closed -his door, and Brand was sorry, as he told me quite frankly, that he was -left alone.</p> - -<p>“The girl’s a pretty piece of Dresden china,” he said.</p> - -<p>When I chaffed him with a “Take care, old lad!” he only growled and -muttered, “Oh, to hell with that! I suppose I can admire a pretty -thing, even if it’s made in Germany?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<p>Brand told me that he met Elsa’s father and brother on the third -evening that he slept in the Kreuzenachs’ house. When he arrived that -evening, at about five o’clock, the maidservant Truda, who “did” -his bedroom and dusted his sitting-room with a German passion for -cleanliness and with many conversational advances, informed him with a -look of mysterious importance that the Old Man wanted to see him in the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“What old man?” asked Brand, at which Truda giggled and said, “the old -Herr Baron.”</p> - -<p>“He hates the English like ten thousand devils,” added Truda, -confidentially.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I had better not go, then,” was Brand’s answer.</p> - -<p>Truda told him that he would have to go. When the Old Herr Baron asked -for a thing it had to be given him. The only person who dared to -disobey him was Fräulein Elsa, who was very brave, and a “<i>hübsches -Mädchen</i>.”</p> - -<p>Brand braced himself for the interview, but felt extremely nervous when -Truda rapped at the drawing-room door, opened it and announced, in -German,</p> - -<p>“The English officer!”</p> - -<p>The family von Kreuzenach was in full strength, obviously waiting for -his arrival. The Baroness was in an evening gown of black silk showing -her bare neck and arms. She was sitting stiffly in a high-backed chair -by the piano, and was very handsome in her cold way.</p> - -<p>Her husband, General von Kreuzenach, was pretending to read a book by -the fireside. He was a tall, bald-headed, heavy-jowled man with a short -white moustache. The ribbon of the Iron Cross was fastened to the top -buttonhole of his frock-coat.</p> - -<p>Elsa was sitting on a stool by his side, and on a low seat, with his -back to the fire, was a tall young man with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> his left arm in a sling, -whom Brand knew at once to be Franz von Kreuzenach, Eileen O’Connor’s -friend.</p> - -<p>When Brand came into the room, everybody rose in a formal, frightening -way, and Elsa’s mother rose very graciously and, spoke to her husband.</p> - -<p>“This, Baron, is Captain Brand, the English officer who is billeted in -our house.”</p> - -<p>The Baron bowed stiffly to Brand.</p> - -<p>“I hope, sir, that my servants are attending to your needs in every -way. I beg of you to believe that as an old soldier I wish to fulfil my -duty as an officer and a gentleman, however painful the circumstances -in which you find us.”</p> - -<p>Brand replied with equal gravity, regretting his intrusion, and -expressing his gratitude for the great courtesy that had been shown to -him. Curiously, he told me, he had a strong temptation to laugh. The -enormous formality of the reception touched some sense of absurdity -so that he wanted to laugh loudly and wildly. Probably that was sheer -nervousness.</p> - -<p>“Permit me to present my son,” said the lady. “Lieutenant Franz von -Kreuzenach.”</p> - -<p>The young man came forward and clicked heels in the German fashion, -but his way of shaking hands, and his easy “How do you do?” were -perfectly English. For a moment Brand met his eyes, and found them -frank and friendly. He had a vision of this man sitting in Eileen -O’Connor’s room, gazing at her with love in his eyes, and, afterwards, -embarrassed, shameful, and immensely sad in that trial scene.</p> - -<p>Elsa also shook hands with him, and helped to break the hard ice of -ceremony.</p> - -<p>“My brother is very glad to meet you. He was at Oxford, you know. Come -and sit here. You will take tea, I am sure.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<p>They had prepared tea for him specially, and Elsa served it like an -English girl, charmingly.</p> - -<p>Brand was not an easy conversationalist His drawing-room manners were -gauche always, and that evening in the German drawing-room he felt, -he told me, “a perfect fool,” and could think of no small-talk. Franz -von Kreuzenach helped him out by talking about Oxford, and Brand felt -more at ease when he found that the young German officer knew some of -his old college friends, and described a “rag” in his own third year. -The old Baron sat stiffly, listening with mask-like gravity to this -conversation. Elsa laughed without embarrassment at her brother’s -description of a “debagging” incident, when the trousers of a Proctor -had been removed in “the High,” and the Frau von Kreuzenach permitted -herself a wintry smile.</p> - -<p>“Before the war,” she said, “we wished our children to get an English -education. Elsa went to a school at Brighton—— We were very fond of -England.”</p> - -<p>The General joined in the conversation for the first time.</p> - -<p>“It was a weakness. Without offence, sir, I think that our German youth -would have been better employed at German universities, where education -is more seriously regarded, and where the national spirit is fostered -and strengthened.”</p> - -<p>Brand announced that he had been to Heidelburg University, and agreed -that German students take their studies more seriously than English.</p> - -<p>“We go to our universities for character more than for knowledge.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the elder von Kreuzenach. “It is there the English learn -their Imperialism and political ambitions. From their point of view -they are right. English pride—so arrogant—is a great strength.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach toned down his father’s remark.</p> - -<p>“My father uses the word pride in its best sense—pride of race and -tradition. Personally, what struck me most at Oxford was the absence of -all deliberate philosophical influence. The men were very free in their -opinions. Most of those in my set were anti-Imperialists and advanced -Liberals, in a light-hearted way. But I fancy most of them did not -worry very much about political ideas. They were up for ‘a good time,’ -and made the most of Youth, in sport and companionship. They laughed -enormously. I think the Germans laugh too little. We are lacking in a -national sense of humour, except of a coarse and rustic type.”</p> - -<p>“I entirely disagree with you, Franz,” said the elder man, sternly. “I -find my own sense of humour sufficiently developed. You are biassed by -your pro-English sympathy, which I find extraordinary and regrettable, -after what has happened.”</p> - -<p>He turned to Brand and said that as a soldier he would understand that -courtesy to individuals did not abolish the sacred duty of hating a -country which was essentially hostile to his own in spirit and in act.</p> - -<p>“England,” he added, “has behaved in an unforgivable way. For many -years before the war she plotted the ruin of Germany in alliance -with Russia and France. She challenged Germany’s trade interests and -national development in every part of the globe, and built a great -fleet for the sole purpose of preventing Germany’s colonial expansion. -England has always been our enemy since she became aware of our -increasing strength, for she will brook no rival. I do not blame her, -for that is the right of her national egotism. But as a true German I -have always recognised the inevitability of our conflict.”</p> - -<p>Brand had no need to answer this denunciation, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Elsa von Kreuzenach -broke into her father’s speech impatiently.</p> - -<p>“You are too bad, Father! Captain Brand does not wish to spend the -evening in political argument. You know what Franz and I think. -We believe that all the evil of the war was caused by silly old -hatred and greedy rivalries. Isn’t the world big enough for the free -development of all its peoples? If not, then life is not worth living, -and the human race must go on killing each other until the world is a -wilderness.”</p> - -<p>“I agree,” said Brand, looking at Elsa. “The peoples of Europe must -resist all further incitements to make war on each other. Surely the -American President has given us all a new philosophy by his call for a -League of Nations, and his promise of peace without vengeance, with the -self-determination of peoples.”</p> - -<p>“That is true,” said Franz von Kreuzenach. “The Allies are bound by -Wilson’s Fourteen Points. We agreed to the Armistice on that basis, and -it is because of the promise that lies in those clauses—the charter of -a New World—that the German people, and the Austrians—accept their -defeat with resignation, and look forward with hope—in spite of our -present ruin—to a greater liberty and to a more beautiful democracy.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Elsa, “what my brother says, Captain Brand, explains the -spirit with which your English soldiers have been received on the -Rhine. Perhaps you expected hostility, hatred, black looks? No, the -German people welcome you, and your American comrades, because the -bitterness of defeat is softened by the knowledge that there is to be -no more bloodshed—alas, we are drained of blood!—and that the Peace -will begin a nobler age in history, for all of us.”</p> - -<p>The General shifted in his chair so that it scraped the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> polished -boards. A deep wave of colour swept up to his bald head.</p> - -<p>“Defeat?” he said. “My son and daughter talk of defeat!... There was no -defeat. The German Armies were invincible to the last. They never lost -a battle. They fell back not because of their own failure but because -the heart of the German people was sapped by the weakness of hunger, -caused by the infamous English blockade, which starved our women and -children. <i>Ja</i>, even our manhood was weakened by starvation. Still -more, our civilians were poisoned by a pestilential heresy learnt in -Russia, a most damnable pacifism, which destroyed their will to win. -Our glorious Armies were stabbed in the back by anarchy and treachery.”</p> - -<p>“It is defeat, sir, all the same,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, with -grim deference, to his father. “Let us face the tragedy of the facts. -As an officer of the rearguard defence, I have to admit, too, that -the German Armies were beaten in the field. Our war machines were -worn out and disintegrated, by the repeated blows that struck us. Our -man-power was exhausted, and we could no longer resist the weight of -the Allied Armies. The Americans had immense reserves of men to throw -in against us. We could only save ourselves by retreat. Field Marshal -von Hindenburg, himself, has admitted that.”</p> - -<p>The General’s face was no longer flushed with angry colour. He was very -white, with a kind of dead look, except for the smouldering fire of his -eyes. He spoke in a low, choking voice, in German.</p> - -<p>“If I had known that a son of mine, bearing the name of Franz von -Kreuzenach, would have admitted the defeat of the German Army, before -an officer of an enemy power, I would have strangled him at birth.”</p> - -<p>He grasped the arms of his chair and made one or two efforts to rise, -but could not do so. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Anna!” he commanded, harshly, to his wife, “give me your arm. This -officer will excuse me, I trust. I feel unwell.”</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach went quickly over to his father, before his mother -could rise.</p> - -<p>“Father, I deeply regret having pained you. The truth is tragic -enough——”</p> - -<p>The old man answered him ferociously.</p> - -<p>“You have not spoken truth, but lies. You are a disgrace to the rank of -a German officer, and to my name. You have been infected by the poison -of socialism and anarchy. Anna—your arm!”</p> - -<p>Elsa’s mother stooped over her husband, and lifted his hand to her lips.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mein lieber Mann</i>,” she said, very softly.</p> - -<p>The old man rose stiffly, leaning on his wife’s arm, and bowed to Brand.</p> - -<p>“I beg you to excuse me, sir. As a German soldier I do not admit the -words ‘defeat’ or ‘retreat,’ even when spoken within my own household. -The ever-glorious German Army has never been defeated, and has never -retreated—except according to plan. I wish you good-night.”</p> - -<p>Brand was standing, and bowed to the General in silence.</p> - -<p>It was a silence which lasted after the husband and wife had left the -room. The girl Elsa was mopping her eyes. Franz von Kreuzenach stood, -very pale, by the empty chair in which his father had sat. He was the -first to speak.</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully sorry. I ought not to have spoken like that before my -father. He belongs to the old school.”</p> - -<p>Brand told me that he felt abominably uncomfortable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> and wished with -all his heart that he had not been billeted in this German house.</p> - -<p>Elsa rose quickly and put her hand on her brother’s arm.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you spoke as you did, Franz. It is hateful to hurt our dear -father, but it is necessary to tell the truth now, or we cannot save -ourselves, and there will be no new era in the world. It is the younger -generation that must re-shape the world, and that cannot be done if we -yield to old falsehoods, and go the way of old traditions.”</p> - -<p>Franz raised his sister’s hand to his lips, and Brand told me that -his heart softened at the sight of that caress, as it had when Elsa’s -mother kissed the hand of her old husband. It seemed to him symbolical -of the two generations, standing together, the old against the young, -the young against the old.</p> - -<p>“In England, also,” he said, “we have those who stand by hate, and -those who would break with the old traditions and forget, as soon as -possible, old enmities.”</p> - -<p>“It is the new conflict,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, solemnly. “It will -divide the world, and many houses, as Christ’s gospel divided father -from son, and blood-brothers. It is the new agony.”</p> - -<p>“The new Hope,” said Elsa, passionately.</p> - -<p>Brand made an early excuse to retire to his room, and Franz von -Kreuzenach conducted him upstairs, and carried his candlestick.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Brand in the doorway of his room. Then suddenly he -remembered Eileen O’Connor’s letter, and put his hand into his -breast-pocket for his case.</p> - -<p>“I have a letter for you,” he said.</p> - -<p>“So?” The young German was surprised.</p> - -<p>“From a lady in Lille,” said Brand. “Miss Eileen O’Connor.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach started violently, and for a moment or two he -was incapable of speech. When he took the letter from Brand his hand -trembled.</p> - -<p>“You know her?” he said, at last.</p> - -<p>“I knew her in old days, and met her in Lille,” answered Brand. “She -told me of your kindness to her. I promised to thank you when I met -you. I do so now.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand, and Franz von Kreuzenach grasped it in a hard -grip.</p> - -<p>“She is well?” he asked, with deep emotion.</p> - -<p>“Well and happy,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>“That is good.”</p> - -<p>The young German was immensely embarrassed, absurdly self-conscious and -shy.</p> - -<p>“In Lille,” he said, “I had the honour of her friendship.”</p> - -<p>“She told me,” answered Brand. “I saw some of your songs in her room.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I sang to her.”</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach laughed, awkwardly. Then suddenly a look of -something like fear—certainly alarm—changed his expression.</p> - -<p>“I must beg of you to keep secret any knowledge of my—my -friendship—with that lady. She acted—rashly. If it were known, even -by my father, that I did—what I did—my honour, perhaps even my life, -would be unsafe. You understand, I am sure.”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>“As a German officer,” said Franz von Kreuzenach, “I took great risk.”</p> - -<p>He emphasised his words.</p> - -<p>“As a German officer I took liberties with my duty—because of a higher -law.”</p> - -<p>“A higher law than discipline,” said Brand. “Perhaps a nobler duty than -the code of a German officer.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<p>He spoke with a touch of irony, but Franz von Kreuzenach was -unconscious of that.</p> - -<p>“Our duty to God,” he said gravely. “Human pity. Love.”</p> - -<p>An expression of immense sentiment filled his eyes. An Englishman would -have masked it more guardedly.</p> - -<p>“Good night,” said Brand, “and thanks again.”</p> - -<p>The young German clicked his heels and bowed.</p> - -<p>“Good night, sir.”</p> - -<p>Brand went to bed, in a leisurely way, and before sleeping heard -a violin being played in the room above his own. By the tune he -remembered the words of an old song, as Eileen O’Connor had sung it in -Lille, and as he had learnt it in his own home before the war.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>There’s one that is pure as an angel,</div> -<div class="i1">And fair as the flowers of May,</div> -<div>They call her the gentle maiden</div> -<div class="i1">Wherever she takes her way.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach was having an orgy of sentiment, and Brand somehow -envied him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> - -<h2>V</h2> - -<p>Our entry into Cologne and life among the people whom we had been -fighting for four years, and more, was an amazing psychological -experience, and not one of us there on the Rhine could escape its -subtle influence upon our opinions and sub-conscious state of mind. -Some of our officers, I am sure, were utterly unaware of the change -being wrought in them by daily association with German civilians. They -did not realise how, day by day, their old beliefs on the subject of -“the Hun” were being broken down by contact with people who behaved -with dignity, for the most part, and according to the ordinary rules -of human nature. Charles Fortune, our humorist, delighted to observe -these things, and his irony found ready targets in Cologne, both among -British officers and German civilians, neither of whom he spared. -I remember that I was walking one day down Hohestrasse with young -Harding, after the proclamation had been issued (and enforced with -numerous arrests and fines by the A.P.M. and the military police) that -all German civilians were to salute British officers by doffing their -hats in the streets. The absurdity of it was so great that in a crowded -street like the Hohestrasse the civilian people would have had to -remain bareheaded, owing to the constant passing of our officers.</p> - -<p>Fortune saluted Harding and myself not only with one hand but with two. -He wore his “heroic” face, wonderfully noble and mystical.</p> - -<p>“How great and glorious is the British Army!” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> “How immense -are the power and majesty of the temporary lieutenant! For four -years and a half we have fought to crush militarism. Nine hundred -thousand men of ours have died explosive deaths in order to abolish -the philosophy of Zabernism—you remember!—the claim of the military -caste to the servility of civilian salutes. Two million men of ours are -blind, crippled, shell-shocked, as martyrs for democracy made free of -Junkerdom by the crushing of the Hun. Now, by a slight error in logic -(the beautiful inconsistency of our English character!) we arrest, -fine, or imprison any German man or child who does not bare his head -before a little English subaltern from Peckham Rye or Tooting in a -Gor’blimy cap! How great and good we are! How free from hypocrisy! How -splendid our victory for the little peoples of the earth!”</p> - -<p>Young Harding, who had been returning salutes solemnly and mechanically -to great numbers of Germans, flushed a little.</p> - -<p>“I suppose it’s necessary to enforce respect. All the same, it’s a -horrid bore.”</p> - -<p>Fortune wagged his hand behind his ear to an elderly German who took -off his bowler hat. The man stared at him in a frightened way, as -though the English officer had suddenly gone mad and might bite him.</p> - -<p>“Strange!” said Fortune. “Not yet have they been taught the beauty of -the Guards’ salute. That man ought to be put into a dark cell, with -bread and water, and torture from 9 a.m. till mid-day, on Wednesdays -and Fridays.”</p> - -<p>Fortune was vastly entertained by the sight of British soldiers -walking about with German families in whose houses they were billeted. -Some of them were arm-in-arm with German girls, a sergeant-major was -carrying a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> small flaxen-haired boy on whose sailor’s cap was the word -“<i>Vaterland</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Disgraceful!” said Fortune, looking sternly at Harding. “In spite of -all our atrocity tales, our propaganda of righteous hate, our training -of the young idea that a Hun must be killed at sight—‘the only good -German is a dead German,’ as you remember, Harding—these soldiers of -ours are fraternising with the enemy and flirting with the enemy’s -fair-haired daughters, and carrying infant Huns shoulder-high. Look at -that sergeant-major forgetting all my propaganda. Surely he ought to -cut the throat of that baby Hindenburg? My heart aches for Blear-eyed -Bill, the Butcher of the Boche. All his work undone. All his fury -fizzled. Sad! sad!”</p> - -<p>Harding looked profoundly uncomfortable at this sarcasm. He was -billeted with a German family who treated him as an honoured friend. -The mother, a dear old soul, as he reluctantly admitted, brought him an -early cup of tea in the morning, with his shaving-water. Three times -he had refused it, remembering his oath never to accept a favour from -male or female Hun. On the fourth time his will-power weakened under -the old lady’s anxious solicitations and his desire for the luxury of -tea before dressing. He said <i>Danke schön</i>, and afterwards reproached -himself bitterly for his feeble resistance. He was alarmed at his own -change of heart towards these people. It was impossible for him to draw -back solemnly or with pompous and aloof dignity when the old lady’s -grandchild, a little girl of six, waylaid him in the hall, dropped a -curtsey in the pretty German style, and then ran forward to kiss his -hand and say, “<i>Guten Tag, Herr Officer</i>!”</p> - -<p>He bought a box of chocolate for her in the Hohestrasse and then walked -with it irresolutely, tempted to throw it into the Rhine, or to give -it to a passing Tommy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> Half-an-hour later he presented it to little -Elizabeth, who received it with a cry of delight, and, jumping on to -his knee, kissed him effusively on both cheeks. Young Harding adored -children, but felt as guilty at these German kisses as though he had -betrayed his country and his faith.</p> - -<p>One thing which acted in favour of the Germans was the lack of manners -displayed by some young English officers in the hotels, restaurants, -and shops. In all armies there are cads, and ours was not without -them, though they were rare. The conditions of our military occupation -with absolute authority over the civilian people provided a unique -opportunity for the caddish instincts of “half-baked” youth. They came -swaggering into Cologne determined to “put it across the Hun” and “to -stand no nonsense.” So they bullied frightened waiters, rapped their -sticks on shop-counters, insulted German shop-girls, and talked loudly -about “Hunnish behaviour” in restaurants where many Germans could hear -and understand.</p> - -<p>Harding, Fortune and I were in the Domhof Hotel when one such scene -occurred. A group of noisy subalterns were disputing the cost of their -meal and refusing to pay for the wine.</p> - -<p>“You stole all the wine in Lille,” shouted one lieutenant of ours. “I’m -damned if I’ll pay for wine in Cologne.”</p> - -<p>“I stole no wine in Lille, sir,” said the waiter politely. “I was never -there.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you insult English officers,” said one of the other subalterns. -“We are here to tread on your necks.”</p> - -<p>Fortune looked at me and raised his eye-brows.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t a good imitation,” he said. “If they want to play the game of -frightfulness, they really ought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> do better than that. They don’t -even make the right kind of face.”</p> - -<p>Harding spoke bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Cads!... Cads!... Somebody ought to put them under arrest.”</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t really impress the Germans,” said Fortune. “They know it’s -only make-believe. You see, the foolish boys are paying their bill! -Now, if I, or Blear-eyed Bill, were to do the Junker stunt, we should -at least look the real ogres.”</p> - -<p>He frowned horribly, puffed out his cheeks, and growled and grumbled -with an air of senile ferocity—to the great delight of a young German -waiter watching him from a corner of the room, and already aware that -Fortune was a humourist.</p> - -<p>The few cads among us caused a reaction in the minds of all men of -good manners, so that they took the part of the Germans. Even various -regulations and restrictions ordered by the military governor during -the first few months of our occupation were resented more by British -officers and men than by the Germans themselves. The opera was closed, -and British officers said, “What preposterous nonsense! How are the -poor devils going to earn their living, and how are we going to amuse -ourselves?” The wine-concerts and restaurants were ordered to shut down -at ten o’clock, and again the British Army of Occupation “groused” -exceedingly and said, “We thought this war had been fought for liberty. -Why all this petty tyranny?” Presently these places were allowed -to stay open till eleven, and all the way down the Hohestrasse, as -eleven o’clock struck, one saw groups of British officers and men, and -French and American officers, pouring out of a Wein-stube, a <i>Kunstler -Conzert</i> or a <i>Bier-halle</i>, with farewell greetings or promises of -further <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>rendezvous with laughing German girls, who seemed to learn -English by magic.</p> - -<p>“Disgraceful!” said young Harding, who was a married man with a pretty -wife in England for whom he yearned with a home-sickness which he -revealed to me boyishly when we became closer friends in this German -city.</p> - -<p>“Not disgraceful,” said the little American doctor, who had joined us -in Cologne, “but only the fulfilment of nature’s law, which makes man -desire woman. Allah is great!... But juxtaposition is greater.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small was friends with all of us, and there was not one among our -crowd who had not an affection and admiration for this little man whose -honesty was transparent, and whose vital nervous energy was like a -fresh wind to any company in which he found himself. It was Wickham -Brand, however, who had captured the doctor’s heart, most of all, and -I think I was his “second best.” Anyhow, it was to me that he revealed -his opinion of Brand, and some of his most intimate thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Wickham has the quality of greatness,” he said. “I don’t mean to say -he’s great now. Not at all. I think he’s fumbling and groping, not sure -of himself, afraid of his best instincts, thinking his worst may be -right. But one day he will straighten all that out and have a call as -loud as a trumpet. What I like is his moodiness and bad-temper.”</p> - -<p>“Queer taste, doctor!” I remarked. “When old Brand is in the sulks -there’s nothing doing with him. He’s like a bear with a sore ear.”</p> - -<p>“Sure!” said Dr. Small. “That’s exactly it. He is biting his own sore -ear. I guess with him, though, it’s a sore heart. He keeps moping -and fretting, and won’t let his wounds heal. That’s what makes him -different from most others, especially you English. You go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> through -frightful experiences and then forget them and say, ‘Funny old world, -young fellah! Come and have a drink.’ You see civilisation rocking like -a boat in a storm, but you say, in your English way, ‘Why worry?’ ... -Wickham worries. He wants to put things right, and make the world safer -for the next crowd. He thinks of the boys who will have to fight in the -next war—wants to save them from his agonies.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he’s frightfully sensitive underneath his mask of ruggedness,” I -said.</p> - -<p>“And romantic,” said the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Romantic?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes. That girl, Eileen O’Connor, churned up his heart all right. -Didn’t you see the worship in his eyes? It made me feel good.”</p> - -<p>I laughed at the little doctor, and accused him of romanticism.</p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” I said, more seriously, “Eileen O’Connor is not without -romance herself, and I don’t know what she wrote in that letter to -Franz von Kreuzenach, but I suspect she re-opened an episode which had -best be closed.... As for Brand, I think he’s asking for trouble of the -same kind. If he sees much of that girl Elsa I won’t answer for him. -She’s amazingly pretty, and full of charm, from what Brand tells me.”</p> - -<p>“I guess he’ll be a darned fool if he fixes up with that girl,” growled -the doctor.</p> - -<p>“You’re inconsistent,” I said. “Are you shocked that Wickham Brand -should fall in love with a German girl?”</p> - -<p>“Not at all, sonny,” said Dr. Small. “As a biologist, I know you can’t -interfere with natural selection, and a pretty girl is an alluring -creature, whether she speaks German or Icelandic. But this girl, Elsa -von Kreuzenach, is not up to a high standard of eugenics.”</p> - -<p>I was amused by the doctor’s scientific disapproval. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. “And when did you meet her?”</p> - -<p>“Sonny,” said the doctor, “what do you think I’ve been doing all these -weeks in Cologne? Drinking coffee at the Domhof Hotel with the A.P.M. -and his soldier-policemen? Watching the dancing-girls every evening in -wine-rooms like this?”</p> - -<p>We sat in a <i>Wein-stube</i> as we talked, for the sake of light and a -little music. It was typical of a score of others in Cologne, with -settees of oak divided from each other in “cosy corners” hung with -draperies of green and red silk; and little tables to which waiters -brought relays of Rhine wines in tall thin bottles for the thirstiness -of German civilians and British officers. At one end of the room was a -small stage, and an orchestra composed of a pianist who seemed to be -suffering from a mild form of shell-shock (judging from a convulsive -twitch), a young German-Jew who played the fiddle squeakily, and a -thin, sad-faced girl behind a ’cello. Every now and then a bald-headed -man in evening clothes mounted the stage and begged the attention of -the company for a dance by the well-known artist Fräulein So-and-So. -From behind a curtain near the wine-bar came a dancing-girl, in the -usual ballet dress and the usual fixed and senseless smile, who -proceeded to perform Pavlova effects on a stage two yards square, while -the young Jew fiddler flattened himself against the side curtain, with -a restricted use of his bow, and the pianist with the shell-shock -lurched sideways as he played, to avoid her floppy skirts, and the girl -behind the ’cello drew deep chords with a look of misery.</p> - -<p>“These are pretty dull spots,” I said to the little doctor, “but where -have you been spending your time? And when did you meet Elsa von -Kreuzenach?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small told me that he had been seeking knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> in the only place -where he could study social health and social disease—hospitals, -work-shops, babies’ crèches, slum tenements. He was scornful of English -officers and correspondents who summed up the social state of Germany -after a stroll down the Hohestrasse, a gorge of <i>ersatz</i> pastry -(“filth!” he said) in the tea-shops, and a dinner of four courses in a -big hotel on smuggled food at fantastic prices.</p> - -<p>“You might as well judge Germany by the guzzling swine in this place as -England by a party of profiteers at Brighton. The poor middle-classes -and the labourers stay indoors after their day’s job, and do not -exhibit their misery in the public ways.”</p> - -<p>“Real misery?” I asked. “Hunger?”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small glowered at me through his goggles.</p> - -<p>“Come and see. Come and see the mothers who have no milk for their -babes, and the babes who are bulbous-headed, with rickets. Come and see -the tenement lodgings where working-families sit round cabbage-soup, as -their chief meal, with bread that ties their entrails into knots but -gives ’em a sense of fulness, not enjoyed by those who have no bread. -Man, it’s awful. It tears at one’s heart. But you needn’t go into -the slums to find hunger—four years of under-nourishment which has -weakened growing girls so that they swoon at their work, or fall asleep -through weakness in the tram-cars. In many of the big houses where life -looks so comfortable, from which women come out in furs, looking so -rich, these German people have not enough to eat, and what they eat is -manufactured in the chemist’s shop and the <i>ersatz</i> factories. I found -that out from that girl, Elsa von Kreuzenach.”</p> - -<p>“How?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“She is a nurse in a babies’ <i>crèche</i>, poor child. Showed me round -with a mother-look in her eyes, while all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> scrofulous kiddies -cried, ‘<i>Guten Tag! Guten Tag!</i>’ like the quacking of ducks. ‘After -to-morrow,’ she said, ‘there will be no more milk for them. What can -we do for them then, doctor? They will wither and die.’ Those were her -words, and I saw her sadness. I saw something else, presently. I saw -her sway a little, and she fell like that girl Marthe on the door-step -at Lille. ‘For the love of Mike!’ I said, and when she pulled round -bullied her.</p> - -<p>“‘What did you have for breakfast?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Ersatz</i> coffee,’ she said, laughing, ‘and a bit of bread. A good -<i>Frühstuck</i>, doctor.’</p> - -<p>“‘Good be hanged!’ I said. ‘What did you have for lunch?’</p> - -<p>“‘Cabbage-soup, and <i>ein kleines Brödchen</i>,’ she says. ‘After four -years one gets used to it.’</p> - -<p>“‘What will you have for dinner?’ said I, not liking the look of things.</p> - -<p>“She laughed, as though she saw a funny joke.</p> - -<p>“‘Cabbage soup and turnips,’ she said, ‘and a regular feast.’</p> - -<p>“‘I thought your father was a Baron,’ I remarked in my sarcastic way.</p> - -<p>“‘That’s true,’ she says, ‘and an honest man he is, and therefore -poor. It is only the profiteers who feed well in Germany. All through -the war they waxed fat on the flesh-and-blood of the men who fought -and died. Now they steal the food of the poor by bribing the peasants -to sell their produce at any price. <i>Schleichandlung</i> is the word she -used. That means ‘smuggling.’ It also means hell’s torture, I hope, for -those who do it.... So there you are. If Wickham Brand marries Elsa -von Kreuzenach, he marries a girl whose health has been undermined by -four years’ semi-starvation. What do you think their children will be? -Ricketty, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>tuberculous, undersized, weak-framed. Wickham Brand deserves -better luck than that, sonny.’”</p> - -<p>I roared with laughter at the little doctor, and told him he was -looking too far ahead, as far as Brand and the German girl were -concerned. This made him angry, in his humourous way, and he told me -that those who don’t look ahead fail to see the trouble under their -nose until they fall over it.</p> - -<p>We left the <i>Weinstube</i> through a fog of smoke. Another dancing girl -was on the tiny stage, waving her arms and legs. An English officer, -slightly fuddled, was writing a cheque for his bill and persuading the -German manager to accept it. Two young French officers were staring at -the dancing-girl with hostile eyes. Five young Germans were noisy round -six tall bottles of Liebfraumilch. The doctor and I walked down to the -bank of the Rhine below the Hohenzollern bridge. Our sentries were -there, guarding heavy guns which thrust their snouts up from tarpaulin -covers.</p> - -<p>Two German women passed, with dragging footsteps, and one said wearily, -“<i>Ach, lieber Gott!</i>”</p> - -<p>The doctor was silent for some time after his long monologue. He stared -across the Rhine, on whose black surface lights glimmered with a milky -radiance. Presently he spoke again, and I remember his words, which -were, in a way, prophetic.</p> - -<p>“These German people are broken. They <i>had</i> to be broken. They are -punished. They <i>had</i> to be punished. Because they obeyed the call of -their leaders, which was to evil, their power has been overthrown -and their race made weak. You and I, an Englishman, an American, -stand here, by right of victory, overlooking this river which has -flowed through two thousand years of German history. It has seen the -building-up of the German people, their industry, their genius, their -racial <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>consciousness. It has been in the rhythm of their poetry and -has made the melody of their songs. On its banks lived the little -people of German fairy-tales, and the heroes of their legends. Now -there are English guns ready to fire across the water, and English, -French and American soldiers pacing this road along the Rhine, as -victors and guards of victory. What hurt to the pride of this people! -What a downfall! We must be glad of that because the German challenge -to the world was not to be endured by free peoples. That is true, and -nothing can ever alter its truth or make it seem false. I stand firm -by that faith. But I see also, what before I did not see, that many of -these Germans were but slaves of a system which they could not change, -and spellbound by old traditions, old watch-words, belonging to the -soul of their race, so that when they were spoken they had to offer -their lives in sacrifice. High power above them arranged their destiny, -and the manner and measure of their sacrifice, and they had no voice, -or strength, or knowledge, to protest—these German peasants, these -boys who fought, these women and children who suffered and starved. Now -it is they, the ignorant and the innocent, who must go on suffering, -paying in peace for what their rulers did in war. Men will say that is -the justice of God. I can see no loving God’s work in the starvation -of babes, nor in the weakening of women so that mothers have no milk. -I see only the cruelty of men. It is certain now that, having won the -war, we must be merciful in peace. We must relieve the Blockade, which -is still starving these people. We must not go out for vengeance but -rather to rescue. For this war has involved the civilian populations -of Europe and is not limited to armies. A treaty of peace will be with -Famine and Plague rather than with defeated generals and humiliated -diplomats. If we make a military peace, without regard to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> agonies -of peoples, there will be a tragic price to pay by victors as well as -by vanquished. For the victors are weak too. Their strength was nearly -spent. They—except my people—were panting to the last gasp when their -enemy fell at last. They need a peace of reconciliation for their own -sakes, because no new frontiers may save them from sharing the ruin of -those they destroy, nor the disease of those they starve. America alone -comes out of the war strong and rich. For that reason we have the power -to shape the destiny of the human race, and to heal, as far as may be, -the wounds of the world. It is our chance in history. The most supreme -chance that any race has had since the beginning of the world. All -nations are looking to President Wilson to help them out of the abyss -and to make a peace which shall lead the people out of the dark jungle -of Europe. My God!... If Wilson will be noble and wise and strong, he -may alter the face of the world, and win such victory as no mortal -leader ever gained. If not—if not—there will be anguish unspeakable, -and a worse darkness, and a welter of anarchy out of whose madness -new wars will be bred, until civilisation drops back to savagery, or -disappears.... <i>I am afraid!</i>”</p> - -<p>He spoke those last words with a terrible thrill in his rather high, -harsh voice, and I, too, standing there in the darkness, by the -Rhine, had a sense of mighty powers at work with the destiny of many -peoples, and of risks and chances and hatreds and stupidities thwarting -the purpose of noble minds and humble hearts after this four years’ -massacre.... And I was afraid.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VI</h2> - -<p>Symptoms of restless impatience which had appeared almost as soon as -the signing of the Armistice began to grow with intensity among all -soldiers who had been long in the zone of war. Their patience, so -enduring through the bad years, broke at last. They wanted to go home, -desperately. They wanted to get back to civil life, in civil clothes. -With the Armistice all meaning had gone out of their khaki uniform, out -of military discipline, out of distinctions of rank, and out of the -whole system of their soldiers’ life. They had done the dirty job, they -had faced all its risks, and they had gained what glory there might be -in human courage. Now they desired to get back to their own people, and -their own places, and the old ways of life and liberty.</p> - -<p>They remembered the terms of their service—these amateurs who had -answered the call in early days. “For the duration of the war.” Well, -the war was finished. There was to be no more fighting—and the wife -wanted her man, and the mother her son. “Demobilisation” became the -word of hope, and many men were sullen at the delays which kept them in -exile and in servitude. The men sent deputations to their officers. The -officers pulled wires for themselves which tinkled little bells as far -away as the War Office, Whitehall, if they had a strong enough pull. -One by one, friends of mine slipped away after a word of farewell and a -cheerful grin.</p> - -<p>“Demobbed!... Back to civvies!... Home!”</p> - -<p>Harding was one of those who agonised for civil liberty, and release -from military restraint, and the reason<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> of it lay in his pocket-book, -where there was the photograph of a pretty girl—his wife.</p> - -<p>We had become good friends, and he confided to me many things about -his state of mind with a simplicity and a sincerity which made me -like him. I never met a man more English in all his characteristics, -or more typical of the quality which belongs to our strength and our -weakness. As a Harrow boy, his manners were perfect, according to the -English code—quiet, unemotional, easy, unobtrusively thoughtful of -other people’s comfort in little things. According to the French Code, -he would have been considered cold, arrogant, conceited and stupid. -Certainly he had that touch of arrogance which is in all Englishmen -of the old tradition. All his education and environment had taught -him to believe that English civilisation—especially in the hunting -set—was perfect and supreme. He had a pity rather than contempt for -those unlucky enough to be born Frenchmen, Italians, or of any other -race. He was not stupid by nature—on the contrary, he had sound -judgment on matters within his range of knowledge and a rapid grasp of -detail, but his vision was shut in by those frontiers of thought which -limit public-school life in England and certain sets at Oxford who do -not break free, and do not wish to break free, from the conventional -formula of “good form,” which regulates every movement of their brain -as well as every action of their lives. It is, in its way, a noble -formula, and makes for aristocracy. My country, right or wrong; loyalty -to King and State; the divine right of the British race to rule -uncivilised peoples for their own good; the undoubted fact that an -English gentleman is the noblest work of God; the duties of “<i>noblesse -oblige</i>,” in courage, in sacrifice, in good manners, and in playing the -game, whatever the game may be, in a sporting spirit. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<p>When I was in Harding’s company I knew that it was ridiculous to -discuss any subject which lay beyond that formula. It was impossible -to suggest that England had ever been guilty of the slightest -injustice, a touch of greed, or a tinge of hypocrisy, or something -less than wisdom. To him that was just traitor’s talk. A plea for -the better understanding of Ireland, for a generous measure of -“self-determination” would have roused him to a hot outburst of anger. -The Irish to him were all treacherous, disloyal blackguards, and the -only remedy of the Irish problem was, he thought, martial law and -machine-gun demonstrations, stern and, if need be, terrible. I did not -argue with him, or chaff him as some of his comrades did, and, keeping -within the prescribed limits of conversation set by his code, we got on -together admirably. Once only in those days on the Rhine did Harding -show an emotion which would have been condemned by his code. It was -due, no doubt, to that nervous fever which made some wag change the -word “demobilisation” into “demoralisation.”</p> - -<p>He had a room in the Domhof Hotel, and invited me to drink a whiskey -with him there one evening. When I sat on the edge of the bed while he -dispensed the drink, I noticed on his dressing-table a large photograph -of a girl in evening dress—a wonderfully pretty girl, I thought.</p> - -<p>He caught my glance, and after a moment’s hesitation and a visible -blush, said:</p> - -<p>“My wife.... We were married before I came out, two years ago exactly.”</p> - -<p>He put his hand into the breast-pocket of his tunic and pulling out a -pocket-book, opened it with a snap, and showed me another photograph.</p> - -<p>“That’s a better one of her.”</p> - -<p>I congratulated him, but without listening to my words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> he asked me -rather awkwardly whether I could pull any strings for him to get -“demobbed.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all a question of ‘pull,’” he said, “and I’m not good at that -kind of thing. But I want to get home.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody does,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know, and of course I want to play the game, and all that. But -the fact is, my wife—she’s only a kid, you know—is rather hipped with -my long absence. She’s been trying to keep herself merry and bright, -and all that, with the usual kind of war-work. You know—charity -bazaars, fancy-dress balls for the wounded, Red Cross work, and all -that. Very plucky, too. But the fact is, some of her letters lately -have been rather—well—rather below par,—you know—rather chippy and -all that. The fact is, old man, she’s been too much alone, and anything -you can do in the way of a pull at the War Office——”</p> - -<p>I told him bluntly that I had as much influence at the War Office as -the charwoman in Room M.I.8, or any other old room—not so much—and -he was damped, and apologised for troubling me. However, I promised to -write to the one High Bird with whom I had a slight acquaintance, and -this cheered him up considerably.</p> - -<p>I stayed chatting for some time—the usual small-talk—and it was -only when I said good-night that he broached another subject which -interested me a good deal.</p> - -<p>“I’m getting a bit worried about Wickham Brand,” he remarked in a -casual kind of way.</p> - -<p>“How’s that?”</p> - -<p>I gathered from Harding’s vague, disjointed sentences that Brand was -falling into the clutches of a German hussy. He had seen them together -at the Opera—they had met as if by accident—and one evening he had -seen them together down by the Rhine outside Cologne. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> was bound -to admit the girl was remarkably good-looking, and that made her -all the more dangerous. He hated to mention this, as it seemed like -scandal-mongering about “one of the best,” but he was frightfully -disturbed by the thought that Brand, of all men, should fall a victim -to the wiles of a “lady Hun.” He knew Brand’s people at home—Sir Amyas -Brand, the Member of Parliament, and his mother, who was a daughter of -the Harringtons. They would be enormously “hipped” if Wickham were to -do anything foolish. It was only because he knew that I was Wickham’s -best chum that he told me these things, in the strictest confidence. -A word of warning from me might save old Brand from getting into a -horrible mess—“and all that.”</p> - -<p>I pooh-poohed Harding’s fears, but when I left him to go to my own -billet I pondered over his words, and knew that there was truth in them.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt to my mind that Brand was in love with Elsa von -Kreuzenach. At least, he was going through some queer emotional phase -connected with her entry into his life, and he was not happy about -it, though it excited him. The very day after Harding spoke to me on -the subject I was, involuntarily, a spy upon Brand and Fräulein Elsa -on a journey when we were fellow-travellers, though they were utterly -unaware of my presence. It was in one of the long electric trams which -go without a stop from Cologne to Bonn. I did not see Brand until -I had taken my seat in the small first-class smoking-car. Several -middle-class Germans were there, and I was wedged between two of them -in a corner. Brand and a girl whom I guessed to be Elsa von Kreuzenach -were on the opposite seat, but farthest away from me, and screened a -little by a German lady with a large feathered hat. If Brand had looked -round the compartment he would have seen me at once, and I waited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> to -nod to him, but never once did he glance my way, but turned slightly -sideways towards the girl, so that I only saw his profile. Her face was -in the same way turned a little to him, and I could see every shade -of expression which revealed her moods as she talked, and the varying -light in her eyes. She was certainly a pretty thing, exquisite, even, -in delicacy of colour and fineness of feature, with that “spun-gold” -hair of hers; though I thought (remembering Dr. Small’s words) that -she had a worn and fragile look which robbed her of the final touch of -beauty. For some time they exchanged only a few words now and then, -which I could not hear, and I was reading a book when I heard Brand say -in his clear, rather harsh voice:</p> - -<p>“Will your people be anxious about you?”</p> - -<p>The girl answered in a low voice. I glanced up and saw that she was -smiling, not at Brand, but at the countryside which seemed to travel -past us as the tram went on its way. It was the smile of a girl to whom -life meant something good just then.</p> - -<p>Brand spoke again.</p> - -<p>“I should hate to let your mother think that I have been disloyal to -her confidence. Don’t let this friendship of ours be spoilt by secrecy. -I am not afraid of it!”</p> - -<p>He laughed in a way that was strange to me. There was a note of joy -in it. It was a boy’s laugh, and Brand had gone beyond boyhood in the -war. I saw one or two of the Germans look up at him curiously, and then -stare at the girl, not in a friendly way. She was unconscious of their -gaze, though a wave of colour swept her face. For a second she laid her -hand on Brand’s brown fist, and it was a quick caress.</p> - -<p>“Our friendship is good!” she said.</p> - -<p>She spoke these words very softly, in almost a whisper, but I heard -them in spite of the rattle of the tramcar and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> the guttural argument -of two Germans next to me. Those were the only words I heard her say on -that journey to Bonn, and after that Brand talked very little, and then -only commonplace remarks about the time and the scenery. But what I had -heard was revealing, and I was disturbed, for Brand’s sake.</p> - -<p>His eyes met mine as I passed out of the car, but they were unseeing -eyes. He stared straight through me to some vision beyond. He gave -his hand to Elsa von Kreuzenach and they walked slowly up from -the station and then went inside the Cathedral. I had business in -Bonn with officers at our headquarters in the hotel, “Die Goldene -Stern.” Afterwards I had lunch with them, and then, with one, went to -Beethoven’s house—a little shrine in which the spirit of the master -still lives, with his old instruments, his manuscript sheets of music -and many relics of his life and work.</p> - -<p>It was at about four o’clock in the afternoon that I saw Brand and the -German girl again. There was a beautiful dusk in the gardens beyond the -University, with a ruddy glow through the trees when the sun went down, -and then a purple twilight. Some German boys were playing leap-frog -there, watched by British soldiers, and townsfolk passed on their way -home. I strolled the length of the gardens and at the end which is near -the old front of the University buildings I saw Brand and Elsa von -Kreuzenach together on a wooden seat. It was almost dark where they -sat under the trees, but I knew Brand by his figure and by the tilt of -his field-cap, and the girl by the white fur round her neck. They were -holding hands like lovers in a London park, and when I passed them I -heard Brand speak.</p> - -<p>“I suppose this was meant to be. Fate leads us....”</p> - -<p>When I went back to Cologne by tram that evening I wondered whether -Brand would confide his secret to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> We had been so much together -during the last phase of the war and had talked so much in intimate -friendship that I guessed he would come one day and let me know this -new adventure of his soul.</p> - -<p>Several weeks passed and he said no word of this, though we went for -walks together and sat smoking sometimes in cafés after dinner. It had -always been his habit to drop into deep silences, and now they lasted -longer than before. Now and then, however, he would be talkative, -argumentative, and passionate. At times there was a new light in -his eyes, as though lit by some inward fire. And he would smile -unconsciously as he blew out clouds of smoke, but more often he looked -worried, nervous, and irritable, as though passing through some new -mental crisis.</p> - -<p>He spoke a good deal about German psychology and the German point of -view, illustrating his remarks sometimes by references to conversations -with Franz von Kreuzenach, with whom he often talked. He had come -to the conclusion that it was quite hopeless to convince even the -broadest-minded Germans that they were guilty of the war. They -admitted freely enough that their military party had used the Serbian -assassination and Austrian fury as the fuel for starting the blaze -in Europe. Even then they believed that the Chancellor and the civil -Ministry of State had struggled for peace until the Russian movements -of troops put the military party into the saddle so that they might -ride to Hell. But in any case it was, Brand said, an unalterable -conviction of most Germans that sooner or later the war had been bound -to come, as they were surrounded by a ring of enemies conspiring to -thwart their free development and to overthrow their power. They -attacked first as a means of self-defence. It was an article of faith -with them that they had fought a defensive warfare from the start. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That is sheer lunacy!” I said. Brand laughed, and agreed.</p> - -<p>“Idiotic in the face of plain facts, but that only shows, how strong -is the belief of people in their own righteousness. I suppose even now -most English people think the Boer war was just and holy. Certainly -at the time we stoned all who thought otherwise. Yet the verdict of -the whole world was against us. They regarded that war as the brutal -aggression of a great Power upon a small and heroic people.”</p> - -<p>“But surely,” I said, “a man like Franz von Kreuzenach admits -the brutality of Germany in Belgium—the shooting of priests and -civilians—the forced labour of girls—the smashing of machinery—and -all the rest of it?”</p> - -<p>Brand said that Franz von Kreuzenach deplored the “severity” of German -acts, but blamed the code of war which justified such acts. It was not -his view that Germans had behaved with exceptional brutality, but that -war itself is a brutal way of argument. “‘We must abolish war,’ he -says, ‘not pretend to make it kind.’ As far as that goes, I agree with -him.”</p> - -<p>“How about poison gas, the <i>Lusitania</i>, the sinking of hospital ships, -submarine warfare?”</p> - -<p>Brand shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“The German answer is always the same. War is war, and they were -hard-pressed by our superiority in material, man-power and sea power. -We were starving them to death with our blockade. They saw their -children dying from disease, their old people carried to the grave, -their men weakened. They had to break through somehow, anyhow, to save -their race. I don’t think we should have stopped at much if England -had been ringed round with enemy ships and the kids were starving in -Mayfair and Maida Vale, and every town and hamlet.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - -<p>He laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he lit his pipe for about -the fifteenth time.</p> - -<p>“Argument is no good,” he said. “I’ve argued into the early hours of -the morning with that fellow Franz von Kreuzenach, who is a fine fellow -and the whitest man I’ve met in Germany. Nothing will convince him -that his people were more guilty than ourselves. Perhaps he’s right. -History will decide. Now we must start afresh—wipe out the black past, -confess that though the Germans started the war we were all possessed -by the devil—and exorcise ourselves. I believe the German people are -ready to turn over a new leaf and start a fresh chapter of history, if -we will help them and give them a chance. They have an immense hope -that England and America will not push them over into the bottomless -abyss, now that they have fulfilled Wilson’s demand to get rid of their -old rulers and fall into line with the world’s democracy. If that -hope fails them they will fall back to the old philosophy of hatred -with vengeance as its goal—and the Damned Thing will happen again in -fifteen—twenty—thirty years.”</p> - -<p>Brand made one remark that evening which referred, I fancy, to his -love-affair with Elsa von Kreuzenach.</p> - -<p>“There is so much folly in the crowd that one despairs of reaching a -higher stage of civilisation. I am falling back on individualism. The -individual must follow his own ideals, strive for his own happiness, -find friendship and a little love where he can, and stand apart from -world problems, racial rivalries, international prejudices, as far as -he may without being drawn into the vortex. Nothing that he can do -will alter human destiny, or the forces of evolution, or the cycles of -history, which make all striving futile. Let him get out of the rain -and comfort himself with any human warmth he can find. Two souls in -contact are company enough.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sometimes,” I said, “mob passion tears them asunder and protests -against their union with stones or outlaw judgment. Taboo will -exist for ever in human society, and it is devilish unpleasant for -individuals who violate the rules.”</p> - -<p>“It needs courage,” said my friend. “The risk is sometimes worth -taking.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VII</h2> - -<p>Brand decided to take the risk, and though he asked my advice -beforehand, as a matter of friendship, I knew my warnings were useless. -It was about a month after that tram journey to Bonn that he came into -my room at the Domhof, looking rather pale but with a kind of glitter -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I may as well tell you,” he said abruptly, “that I am going to marry a -German girl.”</p> - -<p>“Elsa von Kreuzenach?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. How did you know?”</p> - -<p>“Just a guess.”</p> - -<p>“It’s against her parents’ wish,” he said, “to say nothing of my -parents, who think I have gone mad. Elsa and I will have to play a lone -hand.”</p> - -<p>“‘Lone’ is not the word,” I suggested. “You are breaking that taboo -we talked of. You will be shunned by every friend you have in the -world—except one or two queer people like myself”—(Here he said, -“Thanks,” and grinned rather gratefully) “and both you and she will be -pariahs in England, Germany, and anywhere on the wide earth where there -are English, Germans, French, Americans and others who fought the war. -I suppose you know that?”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly,” he answered, gravely.</p> - -<p>I told him that I was amazed that he of all men should fall in love -with a German girl—he who had seen all the abomination of the war, -and had come out to it with a flaming idealism. To that he answered -savagely: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Flaming idealism be blowed! I came out with blood-lust in my heart, -and having killed until I was sick of killing—German boys who popped -their heads over the parapet—I saw that the whole scheme of things was -wrong, and that the grey men had no more power of escape than the brown -men. We had to go on killing each other because we were both under the -same law, thrust upon us by those directing the infernal machinery -of world-politics. But that’s not the point, and it’s old and stale, -anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“The point is,” I said, “that you will be looked upon as a traitor by -many of your best pals, that you will smash your father and mother, and -that this girl Elsa and you will be profoundly miserable.”</p> - -<p>“We shall be enormously and immensely happy,” he answered, “and that -outweighs everything.”</p> - -<p>He told me that he needed happiness. For more than four years he had -suffered agony of mind in the filth and mud of war. He craved for -beauty, and Elsa fulfilled his ideal. He had been a lonely devil, and -Elsa had offered him the only cure for the worst disease in life, -intimate and eternal love.</p> - -<p>Something prompted me to say words which I deeply regretted as soon as -they were spoken. It was the utterance of a subconscious thought.</p> - -<p>“There is a girl, not German, who might have cured your loneliness. You -and Eileen O’Connor would have made good mates.”</p> - -<p>For some reason he was hit rather hard by that remark. He became -exceedingly pale, and for a moment or two did not answer me. I thought -he would blurt out some angry reply, damning my impudence, but when he -spoke it was in a grave, gentle way which seemed to me more puzzling. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Eileen would make a fine wife for any man she liked. But she’s above -most of us.”</p> - -<p>We stayed up, talking, nearly all that night, and Wickham Brand -described one scene within his recent experiences which must have been -sensational. It was when he announced to the family von Kreuzenach that -he loved Elsa and desired her hand in marriage.</p> - -<p>Brand’s sense of humour came back to him when he told me of this -episode, and he laughed now at the frightfulness of his ordeal. It was -he who had insisted upon announcing the news to Elsa’s parents, to -avoid any charge of dishonesty. Elsa herself was in favour of hiding -their love until Peace was declared, when perhaps the passionate -hostility of her parents to England might be abated. For Brand’s sake -also she thought it would be better. But she yielded to his argument -that secrecy might spoil the beauty of their friendship, and give it an -ugly taint.</p> - -<p>“We’ll go through with it straight from the start,” he had cried.</p> - -<p>Elsa’s answer was quick and glad.</p> - -<p>“I have no fear now of anything in the world except the loss of you!”</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach was the first to know, and Elsa told him. He -seemed stunned with surprise, and then immensely glad, as he took his -sister in his arms and kissed her.</p> - -<p>“Your marriage with an English officer,” he said, “will be the symbol -of reconciliation between England and Germany.”</p> - -<p>After that he remembered his father and mother, and was a coward at the -thought of their hostility. The idea of telling his father, as Elsa -asked him to do, put him into what Brand called “the bluest of blue -funk.” He had the German reverence for parental authority and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> though -he went as far as the door-handle of his father’s study, he retreated, -and said in a boyish way, speaking in English, as usual, with Brand and -his sister:</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the pluck! I would rather face shell-fire than my father’s -wrath.”</p> - -<p>It was Brand who “went over the top.”</p> - -<p>He made his announcement formally, in the drawing-room after dinner, in -the curiously casual way which proved him a true Englishman. He cleared -his throat (he told me, grinning at his own mannerism), and during a -gap in the conversation said to the General:</p> - -<p>“By the way, sir, I have something rather special to mention to-night.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Bitte?</i>” said the old General, with his hard, deliberate courtesy.</p> - -<p>“Your daughter and I,” said Brand, “wish to be married as soon as -possible. I have the honour to ask your consent.”</p> - -<p>Brand told me of the awful silence which followed his statement. It -seemed interminable. Franz von Kreuzenach, who was present, was as -white as though he had been condemned to death by court-martial. Elsa -was speechless, but came over to Brand’s side and held his hand. Her -mother had the appearance of a lady startled by the sudden appearance -of a poisonous snake. The General sat back in his chair, grasping its -arms and gasping for breath as though Brand had hit him in the stomach.</p> - -<p>It was the mother who spoke first, and ignoring Brand completely, she -addressed her daughter harshly.</p> - -<p>“You are mad, Elsa!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mother,” said the girl. “I am mad with joy.”</p> - -<p>“This English officer insults us intolerably,” said the mother, still -ignoring Brand by any glance. “We were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> forced to receive him into our -house. At least he might have behaved with decency and respect.”</p> - -<p>“Mother,” said Elsa, “this gentleman has given me the great honour of -his love.”</p> - -<p>“To accept it,” said the lady, “would be a dishonour so dreadful for a -good German girl that I refuse to believe it possible.”</p> - -<p>“It is true, Mother, and I am wonderfully happy.”</p> - -<p>Elsa went over to her mother, sinking down on her knees, and kissing -the lady’s hand. But Frau von Kreuzenach withdrew her hand quickly, and -then rose from her chair and stood behind her husband, with one hand on -his shoulder.</p> - -<p>The old man had found his means of speech at last.</p> - -<p>He spoke in a low, stern voice to his daughter. Brand was ignored by -him as by the mother. They did not recognise his presence.</p> - -<p>“My daughter,” he said (if Brand remembered his words), “the German -people have been brought to ruin and humiliated by one nation in Europe -who was jealous of our power and genius. That nation was England, our -treacherous, hypocritical enemy. Without England, France would have -been smashed. Without England our Emperor would have prevailed over -all his enemies. Without the English blockade we should not have been -weakened by hunger, deprived of the raw material necessary to victory, -starved so that our children died, and our will to win was sapped. -They were English soldiers who killed my dear son Heinrich, and your -brother. The flower of German manhood was slain by the English in -Flanders and on the Somme.”</p> - -<p>The General spoke very quietly, with an intensity of effort to be calm. -But suddenly his voice rose, said Brand, to a kind of harsh shout.</p> - -<p>“Any German girl who permits herself to love an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> Englishman is a -traitorous hussy. I would have her stripped and flogged. The curse of -our old German God shall follow her.”</p> - -<p>Another silence, in which there was no sound except the noisy breathing -of the old man, was broken by the hard voice of Frau von Kreuzenach.</p> - -<p>“Your father has spoken, Elsa. There is no more to say.”</p> - -<p>Elsa had become very pale, but she was smiling at Brand, he told me, -and still held his hand in a tight grip.</p> - -<p>“There is something more to say, my dear father and mother,” she -answered. “It is that I love Captain Brand, and that I will follow him -anywhere in the world if he will take me. For love is stronger than -hate, and above all nationality.”</p> - -<p>It was Franz von Kreuzenach who spoke now. He was standing at the -table, facing his father, and it was to his father that he talked. He -said that Elsa was right about love. In spite of the war, the souls of -men and women were not separated by racial boundaries. When two souls -touched and mingled, no hatred of peoples, no patriotic passion, could -intervene. Elsa’s love for an English gentleman was but a symbol of -the peace that was coming, when all countries would be united in a -Society of Nations with equal rights and equal duties, and a common -brotherhood. They saw in the streets of Cologne that there was no -natural, inevitable hatred between English and Germans. The Army of -Occupation had proved itself to be an instrument of good will between -those who had tried to kill each other for four years of slaughter. -Captain Brand had behaved with the most charming courtesy and chivalry, -according to the traditions of an English gentleman, and he, Franz von -Kreuzenach, was glad and honoured because this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> officer desired to take -Elsa for his wife. Their marriage would be a consecration of the new -peace.</p> - -<p>The father listened to him silently, except for that hard noise of -breathing. When his son uttered those last words, the old man leaned -forward in his chair, and his eyes glittered.</p> - -<p>“Get out of my house, <i>Schweinhund</i>! Do not come near me again, or I -will denounce you as a traitor, and shoot you like a dog.”</p> - -<p>He turned to Elsa with outstretched hand.</p> - -<p>“Go up to bed, girl. If you were younger I would flog you with my -hunting-whip.”</p> - -<p>For the first time he spoke to Brand, controlling his rage with a -convulsive effort.</p> - -<p>“I have not the power to evict you from the house. For the time being -the German people of the Rhineland are under hostile orders. Perhaps -you will find another billet more to your convenience, and more -agreeable to myself.”</p> - -<p>“To-night, sir,” said Brand, and he told me that he admired the old -man’s self-control and his studied dignity.</p> - -<p>Elsa still clasped his hand, and before her family he kissed her.</p> - -<p>“With your leave, or without leave,” he said, “your daughter and I will -be man and wife, for you have no right to stand between our love.”</p> - -<p>He bowed and left the room, and in an hour, the house.</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach came into his room before he left, and wrung his -hand.</p> - -<p>“I must go, too,” he said. “My father is very much enraged with me. It -is the break between the young and the old—the new conflict, as we -were saying, one day.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<p>He was near weeping, and Brand apologised for being the cause of so -much trouble.</p> - -<p>In the hall Elsa came to Brand, as the orderly carried out his bags.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow,” she said, “we will meet at Elizabeth von Detmold’s—my -true friend.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were wet with tears, but she was smiling, and there was, said -Brand, a fine courage shining in her face.</p> - -<p>She put her hands on Brand’s shoulders, and kissed him, to the deep -astonishment and embarrassment of the orderly, who stood by. It was -from this man, Brock, that the news of Brand’s “entanglement” spread, -through other orderlies, to officers of his mess, as he knew by the -cold shoulder that some of them turned to him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VIII</h2> - -<p>I met Elsa and Franz von Kreuzenach at the house of Elizabeth von -Detmold in the Hohenzollern ring, which became a meeting-place for -Brand and the girl to whom he was now betrothed. Dr. Small and I -went round there to tea, at Brand’s invitation, and I spent several -evenings there, owing to the friendship of Elizabeth von Detmold, who -seemed to like my company. That lady was in many ways remarkable, and -I am bound to say that in spite of my repugnance to many qualities -of the German character I found her charming. The tragedy of the -war had hit her with an almost particular malignancy. Married in -1914 to a young officer of the Prussian Guard, she was widowed at -the first battle of Ypres. Her three brothers had been killed in -1915, ’16 and ’17. Both her parents had died during the war, owing -to its accumulating horror. At twenty-six years of age she was left -alone in her big house, with hardly enough money for its upkeep, and -not enough to supplement the rigid war rations which were barely -sufficient for life. I suppose there were thousands of young women in -Germany—hundreds of thousands—who had the same cause for sorrow (we -do not realise how German families were massacred in that blood-bath -of war, so that even French and British losses pale in tragedy before -their piled dead), but there were few, I am sure, who faced their -grief with such high courage, and such unembittered charity. Like -Elsa von Kreuzenach, she devoted her days to suffering childhood in -the <i>crèches</i> and feeding-centres which she had helped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> to organise, -and she spent many of her evenings in working-women’s clubs, and -sometimes in working-men’s clubs, where she read and lectured to them -on social problems. The war had made her an ardent Pacifist, and to -some extent a revolutionary of the Liebknecht school. She saw no hope -for civilisation so long as the Junker caste remained in Europe, and -the philosophy of militarism, which she believed stood fast not only -in Germany but in France and England, and other nations. She had a -passionate belief, like many other German people at that time, in -President Wilson and his League of Nations, and put all her hopes in -the United States as the one power in the world who could make a peace -of reconciliation and establish a new brotherhood of peoples. After -that she looked to a social revolution throughout the world by which -the working-classes should obtain full control of their own destiny and -labour.</p> - -<p>I found it strange to hear that patrician girl, for she was one of the -aristocratic caste, with an elegance that came from long breeding, -adopting the extreme views of revolutionary socialism, not as a pretty -intellectual theory but with a passionate courage that might lead her -to prison or to death in the conflict between the old powers and the -new.</p> - -<p>To Elsa von Kreuzenach she behaved in a protective and mothering way, -and it seemed to me that “Brand’s girl,” as Dr. Small called her, -was the spiritual child of this stronger and more vital character. -Elsa was, I fancy, timid of those political and pacifist ideas which -Elizabeth von Detmold stated with such frank audacity. She cherished -the spirit of the human charity which gave them their motive power, -but shrank from the thought of the social strife and change which -must precede them. Yet there was nothing doll-like in her character. -There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> were moments when I saw her face illumined by a kind of mediæval -mysticism which was the light of a spirit revealed perhaps by the -physical casket which held it, insecurely. Truly she was as pretty and -delicate as a piece of Dresden china, but for Brand’s sake I did not -like the fragile look which hinted at a quick fading of her flower-like -beauty. Her adoration for Brand was, in my opinion, rather pitiful. -It was very German, too, in its meek reverence, as of a mediæval maid -to knighthood. I prefer the way of French womanhood, convinced of -intellectual equality with men, and with their abiding sense of humour; -or the arrogance of the English girl, who makes her lover prove his -mettle by quiet obedience. Elsa followed Brand with her eyes wherever -he moved, touched his hard, tanned hand with little secret caresses, -and whenever he spoke her eyes shone with gladness at the sound of his -voice. I liked her better when she was talking to our little doctor or -to myself, and therefore not absorbed in sentiment. At these times she -was frank and vivacious, and, indeed, had an English way with her which -no doubt she had learnt in her Brighton school.</p> - -<p>Brand interested me intensely at these times. Sometimes I found myself -doubting whether he was really so much in love with his German girl -as he imagined himself to be. I noticed that he was embarrassed by -Elsa’s public demonstrations of love—that way she had of touching his -hand, and another trick of leaning her head against his shoulder. As -a typical Englishman, in some parts of his brain, at least, he shrank -from exposing his affection. It seemed to me also that he was more -interested in political and psychological problems than in the by-play -of love’s glances and revealings. He argued long and deeply with -Elizabeth von Detmold on the philosophy of Karl Marx, the anarchist -movement in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> Berlin, and on the possibility of a Rhineland Republic -which was then being advocated by a party in Cologne and Mainz whose -watchword was “<i>Los von Berlin!</i>” and freedom from Prussian domination -for the Rhine provinces. Even with Elsa he led the conversation to -discussions about German mentality, the system of German education, and -the possible terms of peace. Twice, at least, when I was present he -differed with her rather bluntly—a little brutally I thought—about -the German administration of Belgium.</p> - -<p>“Our people did no more than was allowed by the necessities of war,” -said Elsa. “It was stern and tragic, but not more barbarous than what -other nations would have done.”</p> - -<p>“It was horrible, bloody, and unjustified,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>“All war,” said Elizabeth von Detmold, “is bloody and unjustified. -Directly war is declared the moral law is abrogated. It is simply the -reign of devildom. Why pretend otherwise—or weaken the devilish logic -by a few inconsistencies of sentiment?”</p> - -<p>Brand’s answer to Elsa was not exactly lover-like. I saw the colour -fade from her face at the harshness of his answer, but she leaned her -head against his body (she was sitting by his side on a low stool), and -was silent until her friend Elizabeth had spoken. Then she laughed, -bravely, I thought.</p> - -<p>“We differ in expression, but we all agree. What Wickham thinks is my -thought. I hate to remember how Belgium suffered.”</p> - -<p>Brand was utterly unconscious of his harsh way of speech and of his -unconcealed acknowledgment of Elizabeth von Detmold’s intellectual -superiority in her own drawing-room, so that when she spoke his -interest was directed from Elsa to this lady.</p> - -<p>“Daddy” Small was also immensely impressed by Frau<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> von Detmold’s -character, and he confessed to me that he made notes of her -conversation every time he left her house.</p> - -<p>“That woman,” he said, “will probably be a martyr for civilisation. I -find myself so cussedly in agreement with her that when I go back to -New York I shall probably hang a Red Flag out of my window and lose all -my respectable patients. She has the vision of the future.”</p> - -<p>“What about Brand and Elsa?” I asked, dragging him down to -personalities.</p> - -<p>He put his arm through mine as we walked down the Hohestrasse.</p> - -<p>“Brand,” he said in his shrewd way, “is combining martyrdom with -romance—an unsafe combination. The pretty Elsa has lighted up his -romantic heart because of her adoration and her feminine sentiment. I -don’t blame him. At his age—after four years of war and exile—her -golden-spun hair would have woven a web round my heart. Youth is youth, -and don’t you forget it, my lad.”</p> - -<p>“Where does the martyrdom come in?” I asked.</p> - -<p>The little doctor blinked through his horn spectacles.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see it? Brand has been working out new ideals of life. After -killing a good many German boys, as sniper and Chief Assassin of the -11th Corps, he wants to marry a German girl as a proclamation to the -world that he—Wickham Brand—has done with hatred and is out for the -brotherhood of man, and the breaking-down of the old frontiers. For -that ideal he is going to sacrifice his reputation, and make a martyr -of himself—not forgetting that romance is pleasant and Elsa von -Kreuzenach as pretty as a peach! Bless his heart, I admire his courage -and his boyishness.”</p> - -<p>Any doubt I had about the reality of Brand’s passion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> for Elsa was at -least partly dispelled when he told me, a few nights later, of a tragic -thing that had happened to both of them.</p> - -<p>He came into my room at the Domhof as though he had just seen a ghost. -And indeed it was a ghost that had frightened him and put a cold hand -between him and Elsa.</p> - -<p>“My dear old man!” I cried at the sight of him. “What on earth has -happened?”</p> - -<p>“A damnable and inconceivable thing!”</p> - -<p>I poured him out some brandy and he drank it in gulps. Then he did a -strange and startling thing. Fumbling in his breast-pocket he pulled -out a silver cigarette-case and going over to the fireplace dropped it -into the blaze of the wood logs which I had had lighted because of the -dampness of the room.</p> - -<p>“Why do you do that?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He watched the metal box blacken, and then begin to melt. Several times -he poked it so as to get it deeper into the red embers.</p> - -<p>“My poor little Elsa!” he said in a pitiful way. “<i>Mein hübsches -Mädel!</i>”</p> - -<p>The story he told me later was astounding. Even now to people who were -not in the war, who do not know many strange, fantastic things happened -in that wild nightmare, it will seem improbable and untrue. Indeed, I -think the central fact was untrue, except as a subjective reality in -the minds of Brand and Elsa.</p> - -<p>It happened when they were sitting alone in Elizabeth von Detmold’s -drawing-room. I fancy they must have been embracing each other, -though Brand did not tell me that. Anyhow, Elsa put her hand into his -breast-pocket and in a playful way pulled out his cigarette-case.</p> - -<p>“May I open it?” she asked.</p> - -<p>But she did not open it. She stared at a little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>monogram on its cover, -and then began to tremble so that Brand was scared.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” he said.</p> - -<p>Elsa let the cigarette-case drop on to the carpet.</p> - -<p>“That box!” she said in an agonised voice. “Where did you find it?”</p> - -<p>Brand remembered where he had found it, though he had not given a -thought to it for more than two years. He had found it on a night in -No Man’s Land out by the Bois Français, near Fricourt. He had been -lying out there on the lip of a mine-crater below a hummock of white -chalk. Just before dawn a German patrol had crept out and he had shot -at them. One man dropped quite close to where Brand lay. After an hour, -when dawn came with a thick white mist rising from the moist earth, -Brand crawled over to the body and cut off its shoulder-straps for -identification. It was the body of a young man, almost a boy, and Brand -saw, with a thrill of satisfaction (it was his “tiger” time), that -he had shot him clean through the heart. A good shot in the twilight -of the dawn! He thrust his hands into the man’s pockets for papers, -and found his pay-book and some letters, and a cigarette-case. With -these he crawled back into his own trench. He remembered reading the -letters. One was from the boy’s sister lamenting the length of the -war, describing the growing hunger of civilians in Germany and saying -how she prayed every night for her brother’s safety, and for peace. -He had read thousands of German letters, as an Intelligence officer -afterwards, but he remembered those because of the night’s adventure. -He had handed them over to the adjutant, for headquarters, and had -kept the cigarette-case, having lost his own. It had the monogram of -H. v. K. He had never thought about it from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> that time to this. Now he -thought about it with an intensity of remembrance.</p> - -<p>Brand told Elsa von Kreuzenach that he had found the box in No Man’s -Land.</p> - -<p>“It is my brother Heinrich’s,” she cried. “I gave it to him.”</p> - -<p>She drew back, shivering, from the cigarette-case—or was it from -Brand? When she spoke next it was in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“Did you kill him?”</p> - -<p>Brand lied to her, and she knew he was lying. She wept bitterly and -when Brand kissed her she was cold, and fainted in his arms.</p> - -<p>That was Brand’s story, and it was incredible. Even now I cannot help -thinking that such a coincidence could not have happened. There is -plenty of room for doubt about that cigarette-case. It was of a usual -pattern, plain, with a wreath engraved round a monogram. That monogram -H. v. K. was astonishing in relation to Elsa von Kreuzenach, but there -are thousands of Germans, I imagine, with the same initials. I know -two, Hermann von Kranitz and Hans von Kurtheim. In a German directory -I have found many other names with those initials. I refuse to believe -that Brand should have gone straight to the house of that boy whom he -had killed in No Man’s Land.</p> - -<p>He believed it, and Elsa was sure of it. That was the tragedy, and the -ghost of the girl’s dead brother stood between them now.</p> - -<p>For an hour or more, he paced up and down my room in an agony of mind, -and none of my arguments would convince him or comfort him.</p> - -<p>Several times he spoke one sentence which puzzled me.</p> - -<p>“It makes no difference,” he said. “It makes no difference.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - -<p>I think he meant that it made no difference to his love or purpose. -When one thinks over this incident one is inclined to agree with that -view. He was no more guilty in killing Elsa’s brother, if he did, than -in killing any other German. If their love were strong enough to cross -over fields of dead, the fact that Elsa’s brother lay there, shot by -Brand’s bullet, made, as he said, “no difference.” It only brought home -more closely to two poor individuals the meaning of that world-tragedy.</p> - -<p>Elsa, after her first shock of horror, argued that too, and at the -beginning of March Brand and she stood at the altar together, in a -church at the end of the Hohenzollern ring, and were made man and wife.</p> - -<p>At the ceremony there were present Elizabeth von Detmold, Franz von -Kreuzenach, Dr. Small, and myself as Brand’s best man. There was, I -think, another presence there, visible only to the minds of Brand and -Elsa, and, strangely enough, to mine. As the bride and bridegroom stood -together before the priest I had a most uncomfortable vision of the -dead body of a German boy lying on the altar beyond them, huddled up as -I had seen many grey figures in the mud of Flanders and Picardy. This -idea was, of course, due to that war-neurosis which, as Dr. Small said, -was the malady of the world. I think at one moment of the service Elsa -and Brand felt some cold touch upon them, for they both looked round in -a startled way. It may have been a draught stealing through the aisle.</p> - -<p>We had tea at Elizabeth von Detmold’s house, and Brand and his wife -were wonderfully self-controlled. They could not be happy beyond the -sense of a spiritual union, because Brand had been ordered by telegram -to report at the War Office in London, and was leaving Cologne at four -o’clock that afternoon, while Elsa was going home to her parents, who -were ignorant of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> marriage. Brand’s recall, I am convinced, had -been engineered by his father, who was determined to take any step to -prevent his son’s marriage with a German girl.</p> - -<p>Young Harding was going with him, having been given his demobilisation -papers, and being desperately anxious, as I have told, to get home. It -was curious that Brand should be his fellow-traveller that night, and -I thought of the contrast of their journey, one man going to his wife -with eager gladness, the other man leaving his wife after a few hours -of marriage.</p> - -<p>At the end, poor Elsa clung to her husband with most passionate grief -and, without any self-consciousness now, because of the depth of his -emotion, Brand, with tears in his eyes, tenderly embraced her. She -walked back bravely, with her brother, to her mother’s house, while -Brand and I raced to the station, where his orderly was waiting with -his kit.</p> - -<p>“See you again soon,” said Brand, gripping my hand.</p> - -<p>“Where?” I asked, and he answered gloomily:</p> - -<p>“God knows.”</p> - -<p>It was not on the Rhine. There was a general exodus of all officers -who could get “demobbed” on any claim or pretext, the small Army of -Occupation settled down to a routine life, without adventure, and the -world’s interest shifted to Paris, where the fate of Europe was being -settled by a company of men with the greatest chance in history. I -became a wanderer in a sick world.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">BOOK THREE: BUILDERS OF PEACE </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK THREE: BUILDERS OF PEACE</h2> - -<h2>I</h2> - -<p>Those of us who had been in exile during the years of war and now -returned to peace found that England had changed in our absence. We -did not know this new England. We did not understand its spirit or -its people. Nor did they understand the men who came back from the -many fronts of war, by hundreds of thousands, now that demobilisation -had become a spate after murmurings that were loud with the menace of -revolt from men who had been long patient.</p> - -<p>These “<i>revenants</i>,” the men who came back out of the Terror, were -so many Rip van Winkles (of a youthful kind), looking round for the -companions of their boyhood, going to old places, touching old stones, -sitting by the same fireside, but with a sense of ghostliness. A new -generation had arrived since 1914. The children had become boys and -girls, the girls had grown into womanhood precociously. There were -legions of “flappers” in London and other big cities, earning good -wages in Government offices and factories, spending most of their money -on the adornment of their prettiness, self-reliant, audacious, out for -the fun of life, and finding it. The tragedy of the war had not touched -them. It had been a great “lark” to them. They accepted the slaughter -of their brothers or their fathers light-heartedly, after a few bursts -of tears and a period of sentiment in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> pride was strongest. -They had grown up to the belief that a soldier is generally killed or -wounded and that he is glad to take the risk, or, if not, ought to -be, as part of the most exciting and enjoyable game of war. Women had -filled many of the jobs which formerly were the exclusive possession of -men, and the men coming back looked at these legions of women clerks, -tram-conductors, ticket-collectors, munition-workers, plough-girls, and -motor-drivers with the brooding thought that they, the men, had been -ousted from their places. A new class had arisen out of the whirlpool -of social upheaval. The Profiteers, in a large way of business, had -prospered exceedingly out of the supply and demand of massacre. The -Profiteer’s wife clothed herself in furs and jewels. The Profiteer’s -daughters were dancing by night and sleeping by day. The farmers and -the shop-keepers had made a good thing out of war. They liked war, so -long as they were untouched by air-raids or not afflicted by boys who -came back blind or crippled. They had always been Optimists. They were -Optimists now, and claimed a share in the merit of the Victory that had -been won by the glorious watchword of “business as usual.” They hoped -the terms of peace would be merciless upon the enemy, and they demanded -the Kaiser’s head as a pleasant sacrifice, adding spice to the great -banquet of Victory celebrations.</p> - -<p>Outwardly England was gay and prosperous and light-spirited. It was -only by getting away from the seething crowds in the streets, from the -dancing crowds and the theatre crowds, and the shopping crowds, that -men came face to face with private and hidden tragedy. In small houses, -or big, there were women who had lost their men and were listless -and joyless, the mothers of only sons who did not come back with the -demobilised tide, and the sweethearts of boys who would never fulfil -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> promise that had given hope in life to lonely girlhood. There was -a New Rich, but there was also a New Poor, and people on small fixed -incomes or with little nest-eggs of capital, on which they scraped out -life, found themselves reduced to desperate straits by the soaring of -prices and the burden of taxation. Underneath the surface joy of a -victorious people there was bitterness to which Victory was a mockery, -and a haggard grief at the cost of war in precious blood. But the -bitterness smouldered without any flame of passion, and grief nagged at -people’s hearts silently.</p> - -<p>Many of the men who came back were in a strange mood: restless, morbid, -neurotic. Their own people did not understand them. They could not -understand themselves. They had hated war, most of them, but this -peace seemed flat and unprofitable to their souls. All purpose and -meaning seemed suddenly to have gone out of life. Perhaps it was the -narrowness of English home-life. Men who had travelled to far places -of the world, who had seen the ways of foreign people, and had been -part of a great drama, found themselves back again in a little house -closed in and isolated by the traditions of English individualism, so -that often the next-door neighbour is a stranger. They had a sense of -being suffocated. They could not stay indoors with the old pleasure in -a pipe, or a book by the fireside, or a chat with mother or wife. Often -they would wander out on the chance of meeting some of the “old pals,” -or after a heavy sigh say, “Oh, God!... let’s go to a theatre or a -‘movie’ show!” The theatres were crammed with men seeking distraction, -yet bored with their pleasures and relapsing into a deeper moodiness -afterwards. Wives complained that their husbands had “changed.” Their -characters had hardened and their tempers were frayed so that they were -strangely irritable, and given to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> storms of rage about nothing at -all. It was frightening.... There was an epidemic of violence and of -horrible sensual crimes with women-victims, ending often in suicide. -There were mob riots by demobilised soldiers, or soldiers still waiting -in camps for demobilisation. Police-stations were stormed and wrecked -and policemen killed by bodies of men who had been heroes in the war -and now fought like savages against their fellow-citizens. Some of -them pleaded guilty in court and made queer statements about an utter -ignorance of their own actions after the disorder had begun. It seemed -as though they had returned to the psychology of that war when men, -doped with rum, or drunk with excitement, had leapt over the parapet -and remembered nothing more of a battle until they found themselves -panting in an enemy trench, or lying wounded on a stretcher. It was a -dangerous kind of psychology in civil life.</p> - -<p>Labourers back at work in factories or mines or railway-stations -or dock-yards, after months or years of the soldier-life, did not -return to their old conditions or their old pay with diligence and -thankfulness. They demanded higher wages to meet the higher cost of -life, and after that a margin for pleasure, and after that shorter -hours for higher pay, and less work in shorter hours. If their demands -were not granted they downed tools and said, “What about it?” Strikes -became frequent and general, and at a time when the cost of war -was being added up to frightful totals of debt which could only be -reduced by immense production, the worker slacked off, or suspended -his labours, and said, “Who gets the profits of my sweat?... I want -a larger share.” He was not frightened of a spectre that was scaring -all people of property and morality in the Western world. The spectre -of Bolshevism, red-eyed, dripping with blood, proclaiming anarchy as -the new gospel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> did not cause a shiver to the English working-man. He -said, “What has Russia to do with me? I’m English. I have fought this -war to save England, I have done the job; now then, where’s my reward?”</p> - -<p>Men who looked round for a living while they lived on an unemployment -dole that was not good enough for their new desires, became sullen -when they returned home night after night with the same old story of -“Nothing doing.” The women were still clinging to their jobs. They -had earned their independence by good work in war-time. They hated -the thought of going back to little homes to be household drudges, -dependent for pocket-money on father and brothers. They had not only -tasted liberty. They had made themselves free of the large world. They -had proved their quality and strength. They were as good as men, and -mostly better. Why should they slink back to the little narrow rut of -life? But the men said, “Get out. Give us back our jobs.”</p> - -<p>It was hard on the officer boys—hardest of all on them. They had gone -straight from school to the war, and had commanded men twice as old as -themselves, and drawn good pay for pocket-money as first lieutenants, -captains, even majors of air-squadrons and tank battalions. They had -gained immense experience in the arts and crafts of war, and that -experience was utterly useless in peace.</p> - -<p>“My dear young man,” said the heads of prosperous businesses who had -been out to “beat the Boche,” even though they sacrificed their only -sons, or all their sons (with heroic courage!). “You have been wasting -your time. You have no qualifications whatever for a junior clerkship -in this office. On the contrary, you have probably contracted habits -of idleness and inaccuracy which would cause a lot of trouble. This -vacancy is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> being filled by a lad who has not been vitiated by military -life, and has nothing to unlearn. Good morning!”</p> - -<p>And the young officers, after a statement like that, went home with -swear-words learnt in Flanders, and said, “That’s the reward of -patriotism, eh? Well, we seem to have been fooled, pretty badly. Next -time we shan’t be so keen to strew the fields of death with our fresh -little corpses.”</p> - -<p>These words, all this murmur from below, did not reach those who sat in -High Places. They were wonderfully complacent, except when outbreaks -of violence, or the cessation of labour, shocked them with a sense of -danger. They arranged Peace celebrations before the Peace, Victory -marches when the fruits of Victory were as bitter as Dead Sea fruit in -the mouths of those who saw the ruin of the world; and round a Council -Table in Paris statesmen of Europe abandoned all the ideals for which -the war had been fought by humble men, and killed the hopes of all -those who had looked to them as the founders of a new era of humanity -and commonsense.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - -<h2>II</h2> - -<p>It was when the Peace Treaty had been signed but not ratified by the -representatives of Germany and Austria that I met some of the friends -with whom I had travelled along many roads of war or had met in scenes -which already seemed far back in history. In London, after a journey -to America, I came again in touch with young Harding, whom I had seen -last on his way home to his pretty wife, who had fretted at his long -absence, and Charles Fortune, whose sense of humour had made me laugh -so often in the time of tragedy. Those were chance meetings in the -eddies of the great whirlpool of London life, as I saw other faces, -strange for a moment or two, until the difference between a field-cap -and a bowler hat, a uniform and civil clothes, was wiped out by a look -of recognition, and the sound of a remembered voice.</p> - -<p>Not by chance but by a friendship which had followed me across the -world with written words, I found myself once more in the company of -Wickham Brand, and with him went again to spend some evenings with -Eileen O’Connor, who was now home in Kensington, after that grim drama -which she had played so long in Lille.</p> - -<p>With “Daddy” Small I had been linked up by a lucky chain of -coincidences which had taken us both to New York at the same time and -brought us back to Europe on the same boat, which was the White Star -liner <i>Lapland</i>.</p> - -<p>My chance meeting with Harding led to a renewal of friendship which was -more of his seeking than mine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> though I liked him a good deal. But he -seemed to need me, craving sympathy which I gave with sincerity, and -companionship, which I could not give so easily, being a busy man.</p> - -<p>It was on the night when London went mad, because of Peace, though not -so mad, I was told, as on the night of Armistice. It all seemed mad to -me when I was carried like a straw in a raging torrent of life which -poured down the Strand, swirled round Trafalgar Square, and choked -all channels westwards and eastwards of Piccadilly Circus. The spirit -of London had broken bounds. It came wildly from mean streets in the -slum quarters to the heart of the West End. The worst elements had -surged up and mingled with the middle-class folk and those who claim -exclusiveness by the power of wealth. In ignorance that all barriers -of caste were to be broken that night, “society” women, as they are -called, rather insolent in their public display of white shoulders, and -diamonds, and furs, set out in motor-cars for hotels and restaurants -which had arranged Peace dinners, and Peace dances. Some of them, -I saw, were unaccompanied by their own men, whom they were to meet -later, but the vacant seats in their open cars were quickly filled by -soldiers, seamen, or merry devils in civil clothes who climbed over the -backs of the cars when they were brought to a standstill in the crush -of vast crowds. Those uninvited guests, some of them wearing women’s -bonnets, most of them fluttering with flags pinned to their coats, all -of them provided with noise-making instruments, behaved with ironical -humour to the pretty ladies, touched their coiled hair with “ticklers,” -blew loud blasts on their toy trumpets, delivered cockney orations to -them for the enjoyment of the crowds below. Some of the pretty ladies -accepted the situation with courage and good-humour,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> laughing with -shrill mirth at their grotesque companions. Others were frightened, -and angry. I saw one girl try to beat off the hands of men clambering -about her car. They swarmed into it and paid no heed to her cries of -protest....</p> - -<p>All the flappers were out in the Strand, and in Trafalgar Square, and -many streets. They were factory-girls, shop-girls, office-girls, and -their eyes were alight with adventure and a pagan ecstasy. Men teased -them as they passed with the long “ticklers,” and they, armed with -the same weapon, fought duels with these aggressors, and then fled, -and were pursued into the darkness of side-streets, where they were -caught and kissed. Soldiers in uniform, English, Scots, Canadians, -Australians, came lurching along in gangs, arm-in-arm, then mingled -with the girls, changed head-gear with them, struggled and danced and -stampeded with them. Seamen, three sheets in the wind, steered an -uneven course through this turbulent sea of life, roaring out choruses, -until each man had found a maid for the dance of joy.</p> - -<p>London was a dark forest with nymphs and satyrs at play in the glades -and Pan stamping his hoofs like a giddy goat. All the passions let -loose by war, the breaking-down of old restraints, the gladness of -youth at escape from death, provided the motive-power, unconscious and -primitive, behind this Carnival of the London crowds.</p> - -<p>From some church a procession came into Trafalgar Square, trying -to make a pathway through the multitude. A golden Cross was raised -high and clergymen in surplices, with acolytes and faithful women, -came chanting solemn words. The crowd closed about them. A mirthful -sailor teased the singing women with his tickler. Loud guffaws, shrill -laughter, were in the wake of the procession, though some men stood -to attention as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> Cross passed, and others bared their heads and -something hushed the pagan riot a moment.</p> - -<p>At the windows in Pall Mall men in evening clothes who had been -officers in the world-war, sat by the pretty women who had driven -through the crowds, looking out on the noisy pageant of the street. A -piano-organ was playing, and two young soldiers danced with ridiculous -grace, imitating the elegance and languorous ecstasy of society -dancers. One of them wore a woman’s hat and skirt and was wonderfully -comic.</p> - -<p>I stood watching them, a little stupefied by all the noise and tumult -of this “Peace” night, and with a sense of tragic irony, remembering -millions of boys who lay dead in quiet fields and the agony of many -peoples in Europe. It was then that I saw young Harding. He was sitting -in his club window just above the dancing soldiers, and looking out -with a grave and rather woebegone face, remarkable in contrast with -the laughing faces of fellow-clubmen and their women. I recognised him -after a moment’s query in my mind, and said, “Hulloa, Harding!”</p> - -<p>He stared at me and I saw the sudden dawning of remembrance.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” he answered. “I had no idea you were back again!”</p> - -<p>So I went into his club and sat by his side at the open window, glad of -this retreat from the pressure and tumult of the mob below.</p> - -<p>He talked conventionally for a little while, and asked me whether I -had had “a good time” in the States, and whether I was busy, and why -the Americans seemed so hostile to President Wilson. I understood from -him that he approved of the Peace Treaty and was glad that Germany and -Austria had been “wiped off the map” as far as it was humanly possible.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - -<p>We chatted like that for what I suppose was something more than -half-an-hour, while we looked out upon the seething multitude in the -street below, when suddenly the boy’s mask fell from him, so abruptly, -and with such a naked revelation of a soul in anguish, that concealment -was impossible.</p> - -<p>I saw him lean forward with his elbows on the window-sill and his -hands clenching an iron bar. His face had become like his shirt front, -almost as white as that. A kind of groan came from him, like that of -a man badly wounded. The people on either side of him turned to look -at him, but he was unconscious of them, as he stared at something in -the street. I followed the direction of his eyes and guessed that he -was looking at a motor-car which had been stopped by the crowd who -were surging about it. It was an open car and inside were a young man -and woman in fancy-dress as Pierrot and Columbine. They were standing -up and pelting the crowd with long coloured streamers, which the mob -caught, and tossed back again, with shouts of laughter. The girl was -very pretty, with an audacious little face beneath the white sugar-loaf -cap, and her eyes were on fire. Her companion was a merry-eyed fellow, -clean-shaven and ruddy-faced (for he had not chalked it to Pierrot’s -whiteness), and looked to me typical of a naval officer or one of our -young air men. I could see nothing to groan about in such a sight.</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong, Harding?”</p> - -<p>I touched him on the elbow, for I did not like him to give himself away -before the other company in the window-seat.</p> - -<p>He rose at once, and walked, in a stumbling way, across the room, while -I followed. The room was empty where we stood.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you well?” I asked. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p>He laughed in a most tragic way.</p> - -<p>“Did you see those two in the car? Pierrot and Columbine?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“Columbine was my wife. Pierrot is now her husband. Funny, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>My memory went back to that night in Cologne less than six months -before, when Harding had asked me to use my influence to get him -demobilised, and as an explanation of his motive opened his pocket-book -and showed me the photograph of a pretty girl, and said, “That’s my -wife ... she is hipped because I have been away so long.” I felt -enormously sorry for him.</p> - -<p>“Come and have a whiskey in the smoke-room,” said Harding. “I’d like a -yarn, and we shall be alone.”</p> - -<p>I did not want him to tell me his tale. I was tired of tragic history. -But I could not refuse. The boy wanted to unburden himself. I could see -that, though for quite a time after we had sat on each side of the wood -fire, he hesitated in getting to the point and indulged in small-talk -about his favourite brand of cigars, and my evil habit of smoking the -worst kind of cigarettes.</p> - -<p>Suddenly we plunged into what was the icy waters of his real thoughts.</p> - -<p>“About my wife.... I’d like you to know. Others will tell you, and -you’d have heard already if you hadn’t been away so long. But I think -you would get a wrong notion from others. The fact is, I don’t blame -Evelyn. I would like you to understand that. I blame the Germans for -everything.”</p> - -<p>“The Germans?”</p> - -<p>That was a strange statement, and I could not see the drift of it until -he explained his meaning.</p> - -<p>“The Germans made the war, and the war took me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> away from Evelyn, just -after our marriage.... Imagine the situation. A kid of a girl, wanting -to be merry and bright, eager for the fun of life and all that, left -alone in a big old house in the country, or when she got fed up with -that, in a big gloomy house in town. She got fed up with both pretty -quick. I used to get letters from her—every day for a while—and she -used to say in every one of them, ‘I’m fed up like Billy-O.’ That was -her way of putting it, don’t you know, and I got scared. But what could -I do—out there—except write and tell her to try and get busy with -something? Well, she got busy all right!”</p> - -<p>Harding laughed again in his woful way, which was not good to hear. -Then he became angry and passionate, and told me it was all the fault -of “those damned women.”</p> - -<p>I asked him what “damned women,” and he launched into a wild -denunciation of a certain set of women—most of the names he mentioned -were familiar to me from full-length portraits in the <i>Sketch</i> and -<i>Tatler</i>—who had spent the years of war in organising fancy bazaars, -charity matinées, private theatricals for Red Cross funds—“and all -that,” as Harding remarked in his familiar phrase. He said they were -rotten all through, utterly immoral, perfectly callous of all the death -and tragedy about them, except in a false, hysterical way at times.</p> - -<p>“They were ghouls,” he said.</p> - -<p>Many of them had married twice, three times, even more than that, -before the boys who were killed were cold in their graves. Yet those -were the best, with a certain respect for convention. Others had just -let themselves go. They had played the devil with any fellow who came -within their circle of enticement, if he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> had a bit of money, or could -dance well, or oiled his hair in the right way.</p> - -<p>“They corrupted English society,” said Harding, “while they smiled, -and danced, and dressed in fancy clothes, and posed for their photos -in the papers. It was they who corrupted Evelyn, when the poor kid was -fighting up against her loneliness, and very hipped, and all that.”</p> - -<p>“Who was the man?” I asked, and Harding hesitated before he told me. It -was with frightful irony that he answered.</p> - -<p>“The usual man in most of these cases. The man who is always one’s best -pal. Damn him!”</p> - -<p>Harding seemed to repent of that curse, at least his next words were -strangely inconsistent.</p> - -<p>“Mind you, I don’t blame him, either. It was I who sent him to Evelyn. -He was in the Dragoons with me, and when he went home on leave I said, -‘Go and cheer up my little wife, old man. Take her to a theatre or -two, and all that. She’s devilish lonely.’ Needless to say, he fell in -love with her. I might have known it. As for Evelyn, she was immensely -taken with young Dick. He was a bit of a humourist and made her laugh. -Laughter was a devilish good thing in war-time. That was where Dick had -his pull. I might have known <i>that</i>! I was a chuckle-headed idiot.”</p> - -<p>The end of the story was abrupt, and at the time I found it hard -to find extenuating circumstances in the guilt of the girl who had -smashed this boy Harding. She lied to him up to the very moment of his -demobilisation—at least, she gave him no clue to her purpose until -she hit him, as it were, full in the face with a mortal blow to his -happiness.</p> - -<p>He had sent her a wire with the one word “Demobilised,” and then had -taken the next train back, and a cab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> from Charing Cross to that house -of his at Rutland Gate.</p> - -<p>“Is the mistress well?” he had asked one of the maids, when his kit was -bundled into the hall.</p> - -<p>“The mistress is out, sir,” said the maid, and he remembered afterwards -that she looked queerly at him, with a kind of pity.</p> - -<p>There was the usual note waiting for him. Evelyn was “very sorry.” She -hated causing her husband the grief she knew he would feel, but she and -Dick could not do without each other. The war had altered everything, -and many wives to many husbands. She hoped Harding would be happy after -a bit....</p> - -<p>Harding was not happy. When he read that note he went a little mad, and -roamed round London with an automatic pistol, determined to kill his -former friend if he could set eyes on him. Fortunately, he did not find -him. Evelyn and Dick had gone off to a village in Devonshire, and after -three days with murder in his heart Harding had been very ill, and had -gone into a nursing-home. There in his weakness he had, he told me, -“thought things out.” The result of his meditations amounted to no more -than the watchword of many people in years of misery:</p> - -<p>“<i>C’est la guerre!</i>”</p> - -<p>It was the war which had caused his tragedy. It had put too great a -strain on human nature, or at least on human nerves and morals. It -had broken down the conventions and traditions of civilised life. The -Germans had not only destroyed many towns and villages, but many homes -and hearts far from the firing-line. They had let the devil loose.</p> - -<p>“Quite a number of my pals,” said Harding, “are in the same boat with -me. They either couldn’t stick to their wives, or their wives couldn’t -stick them. It gives one a sense of companionship!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - -<p>He smiled in a melancholy way, but then confessed to loneliness—so -many of his real pals had gone West—and asked whether he could call on -me now and then. It was for that reason that he came to my house fairly -often, and sometimes Fortune, who came too at times, made him laugh, as -in the old days.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> - -<h2>III</h2> - -<p>Fortune and I met also in a crowd, but indoors. Brand and Eileen -O’Connor were both to be at one of the evening parties which assembled -every now and then in a flat at Chelsea belonging to Susy Whincop, -designer of stained-glass, driver of ambulances for the Scottish -Women’s Convoy, and sympathetic friend, before the war, of any ardent -soul who grew long hair if a man, short hair if a woman, and had some -special scheme, philosophy, or inspiration for the welfare of humanity.</p> - -<p>I had known Susy and her set in the old days. They were the minor -intellectuals of London, and I had portrayed some of them in a novel -called “Intellectual Mansions,” which they did not like, though I -loved them all. They wrote little poems, painted little pictures, -produced little plays, and talked about all subjects under heaven, with -light-hearted humour, an arrogance towards popular ideas, and a quick -acceptance of the new, the unusual and the revolutionary, in art and -thought. Into their way of life war crashed suddenly with its thunder -notes of terror. All that they had lived for seemed to be destroyed, -and all their ideals overthrown. They had believed in beauty, and it -was flung into the mud and bespattered with blood, and buried beneath -the ugly monsters of war’s idolatry. They had been devotees of liberty, -and were made slaves of the drill-sergeant and other instruments of -martial law. They had been enemies of brutality, cruelty, violence, but -all human effort now was for the slaughter of men, and the hero<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> was he -who killed most, with bayonet or bomb. Their pretty verses were made -of no account. Their impressionistic paintings were not so useful as -the camouflage of tin huts. Their little plays were but feeble drama -to that which now was played out on the world’s stage to the roar of -guns and the march of armies. They went into the tumult and fury of -it all, and were lost. I met some of them, like Fortune and Brand, in -odd places. Many of them died in the dirty ditches. Some of them wrote -poems before they died, stronger than their work before the war, with -a noble despair, or the exaltation of sacrifice. Others gave no sign -of their previous life, and were just absorbed into the ranks—ants -in these legions of soldier-ants. Now those who had escaped with life -were coming back to their old haunts, trying to pick up old threads, -getting back, if they could, to the old ways of work, hoping for a new -inspiration out of immense experience, but not yet finding it.</p> - -<p>In Susy Whincop’s flat some of them had gathered when I went there, and -when I looked round upon them, seeing here and there vaguely-remembered -faces, I was conscious of a change that had overtaken them, and, with -a shock, wondered whether I too had altered so much in those five -years. I recognised Peter Hallam, whom I had known as a boy just down -from Oxford, with a genius (in a small way) for satirical verse, and a -talent for passionate lyrics of a morbid and erotic type. Yes, it was -certainly Peter, though his face had hardened and he had cropped his -hair short and walked with one leg stiff.</p> - -<p>He was talking to a girl with bobbed hair—it was Jennie Southcombe, -who had been one of the heroines of the Serbian retreat, according to -accounts of newspaper-correspondents.</p> - -<p>“My battery,” said Peter, “plugged into old Fritz with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> open sights for -four hours. We just mowed ’em down.”</p> - -<p>Another face rang a little bell in my memory. Surely that was Alfred -Lyon, the Futurist painter? No, it could not be, for Lyon had dressed -like an apache and this man was in conventional evening clothes and -looked like a Brigadier in mufti. Alfred Lyon?... Yes, there he was, -though he had lost his pose—cribbed from Mürger’s <i>Vie de Bohème</i>—and -his half-starved look, and the wildness in his eyes. As he passed Susy -Whincop he spoke a few words, which I overheard.</p> - -<p>“I’ve abandoned Futurism. The Present knocked that silly. Our little -violence, which shocked Suburbia, was made ridiculous by the enormous -Thing that smashed every convention into a cocked hat. I’m just going -to put down some war-scenes—I made notes in the trenches—with that -simplicity of the primitive soul to which we went back in that way of -life. The soldier’s point of view, his vision, is what I shall try for.”</p> - -<p>“Splendid!” said Susy. “Only, don’t shrink from the abomination. We’ve -got to make the world understand—and remember.”</p> - -<p>I felt a touch on my sleeve, and a voice said, “Hulloa!... Back again?”</p> - -<p>I turned and saw an oldish-young man, with white hair above a lean, -clean-shaven face, and sombre eyes. I stared, but could not fix him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you remember?” he said. “Wetherall, of the State Society.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord, yes!”</p> - -<p>I grasped his hand, and tried to keep the startled look out of my eyes. -But he saw it, and smiled.</p> - -<p>“Four years as a prisoner of the Turk has altered me a bit. This white -hair, eh? And I feel like Rip van Winkle.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<p>He put into words something which I had been thinking since my arrival -in Susy’s rooms.</p> - -<p>“We are the <i>revenants</i>, the ghosts who have come back to their old -haunts. We are pretending that everything is the same as before, and -that we are the same. But it’s all different, and we have changed most -of all. Five years of war have dug their hoofs into the faces of most -people in this crowd. Some of them look fifteen—twenty years older, -and I expect they’ve been through a century of experience and emotion.”</p> - -<p>“What’s coming out of it?” I asked. “Anything big?”</p> - -<p>“Not from us,” said Wetherall. “Most of us are finished. Our nerves -have gone to pieces, and our vitality has been sapped. We shall put -down a few notes of things seen and understood. But it’s the next -generation that will get the big vision—or the one after next.”</p> - -<p>Then I was able to shake hands with Susy Whincop, and, as I have said, -she left me in no doubt about the change that four years of war had -made to me.</p> - -<p>She held me at arm’s-length, studying my face.</p> - -<p>“Soul alive!” she said. “You’ve been through it all right! Hell’s -branding-irons have been busy with a fair-faced man.”</p> - -<p>“As bad as that?” I asked, and she answered very gravely, “As bad as -that.”</p> - -<p>She had hardly changed, except for a few streaks of grey in her brown -hair. Her low, broad forehead was as smooth as before, her brown eyes -shown with their old steady light. She had not lost her sense of -humour, though she had seen a good deal of blood and agony and death.</p> - -<p>“How’s humanity?” I asked, and she laughed and shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p>“What can one do with it? I thought we were going to catch the old -devil by the tail and hold him fast, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> he’s broken loose again. This -Peace! Dear God!... And all the cruelty and hatred that have survived -the massacre! But I don’t despair, even now. In this room there is -enough good-will and human kindness to create a new world. We’re going -to have a good try to make things better by-and-by.”</p> - -<p>“Who’s your star to-night?” I asked. “Who is the particular -Hot-Gospeller with a mission to convert mankind?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve several,” said Susy.</p> - -<p>She glanced round the room, and her eyes rested on a little man with -goggles and a goatee beard—none other than my good friend Dr. Small, -with whom I had travelled down many roads. I had no notion that he knew -Susy or was to be here to-night.</p> - -<p>“There’s one great soul—a little American doctor whose heart is as big -as humanity itself, and whose head is filled with the wisdom of the -wise.”</p> - -<p>“I know him,” I said. “And I agree with you.”</p> - -<p>He caught our eyes fixed on him, and blinked through his goggles, and -then waved his hand, and made his way to us.</p> - -<p>“Hulloa, doc,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you know Susy Whincop?”</p> - -<p>“No need,” he answered. “Miss Whincop is the golden link between all -men of good-will.”</p> - -<p>Susy was pleased with that. She patted the little doctor’s hand and -said, “Bully for you, Doctor—and may the Stars and Stripes wave over -the League of Nations!”</p> - -<p>Then she was assailed by other guests, and the Doctor and I took refuge -in a corner.</p> - -<p>“How’s everything?” I asked.</p> - -<p>The doctor was profoundly dejected, and did not hide the gloom that -possessed his soul.</p> - -<p>“Sonny,” he answered, “we shall have to fight with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> our backs to the -wall, because the enemy—the old Devil—is prevailing against us. I -have just come over from Paris, and I don’t mind telling you that -what I saw during the Peace Conference has made me doubt the power of -goodness over evil.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” I said.</p> - -<p>Daddy Small’s story was not pleasant to hear. It was the story of the -betrayal, one by one, of every ideal for which simple men had fought -and died, a story of broken pledges, of hero-worship dethroned, and of -great peoples condemned to lingering death. The Peace Treaty, he said, -would break the heart of the world and prepare the way for new, more -dreadful, warfare.</p> - -<p>“How about Wilson?” I asked.</p> - -<p>The little doctor raised his hands like a German crying, “<i>Kamerad!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Wilson was not big enough. He had the future of civilisation in his -hands, but his power was filched from him, and he never knew until -the end that he had lost it. He was like a simple Gulliver among the -Lilliputians. They tied him down with innumerable threads of cotton -while he slept in self-complacency with a sense of righteousness. -He was slow-thinking among quick-witted people. He stated a general -principle and they drafted out clauses which seemed to fulfil the -principle while violating it in every detail. They juggled with facts -and figures so that black seemed white through his moral spectacles, -and he said Amen to their villainy, believing that God had been served -by righteousness. Bit by bit they broke his pledges and made a jigsaw -puzzle of them, so artfully that he believed they were uncracked. -Little by little they robbed him of his honour, and he was unaware of -the theft. In preambles and clause-headings and interpretations they -gave lip-service to the Fourteen Points upon which the Armistice was -granted, and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> which the Allied Nations were utterly pledged, not -only to the Germans and all enemies, but to their own people. Not one -of those Fourteen Points is in the reality of the Treaty. There has -been no self-determination of peoples. Millions have been transferred -into unnatural boundaries. There have been no open covenants openly -arrived at. The Conference was within closed doors. The clauses of -the Peace Treaty were kept secret from the world until an American -journalist got hold of a copy and sent it to his paper. What has -become of the equality of trade conditions and the removal of economic -barriers among all nations consenting to peace? Sonny, Europe has been -carved up by the spirit of vengeance, and multitudes of men, women, and -children have been sentenced to death by starvation. Another militarism -is enthroned above the ruin of German militarism. Wilson was hoodwinked -into putting his signature to a peace of injustice which will lead by -desperation to world anarchy and strife. When he understands what thing -he has done, he will be stricken by a mortal blow to his conscience and -his pride.”</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” I said, “there is still hope in the League of Nations. We -must all back that.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“The spirit has gone out of it. It was born without a soul. I believe -now that the future welfare of the world depends upon a change of heart -among the peoples, inspired by individuals in all nations who will -work for good, and give a call to humanity, indifferent to statesmen, -treaties and governments.”</p> - -<p>“The International League of Good-will?”</p> - -<p>He nodded and smiled.</p> - -<p>“Something like that.”</p> - -<p>I remembered a dinner-party in New York, after the Armistice. I had -been lecturing on the League of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>Nations at a time when the Peace -Treaty was still unsigned, but when already there was a growing -hostility against President Wilson, startling in its intensity. The -people of the United States were still moved by the emotion and -idealism with which they had roused great armies and sent them to the -fields of France. Some of the men were returning home again. I stood -outside a club in New York when a darky regiment returned its colours, -and I heard the roars of cheering that followed the march of the -negro troops. I saw Fifth Avenue filled with triumphal arches, strung -across with jewelled chains, festooned with flags and trophies of the -home-coming of the New York Division. The heart of the American people -was stirred by the pride of its achievement on the way to victory and -by a new sense of power over the destiny of mankind. But already there -was a sense of anxiety about the responsibilities to which Wilson in -Europe was pledging them without their full and free consent. They -were conscious that their old isolation was being broken down and that -by ignorance or rash promise they might be drawn into other European -adventures which were no concern of theirs. They knew how little was -their knowledge of European peoples, with their rivalries and racial -hatreds, and secret intrigues. Their own destiny as a free people might -be thwarted by being dragged into the jungle of that unknown world. In -any case, Wilson was playing a lone hand, pledging them without their -advice or agreement, subordinating them, it seemed, to the British -Empire with six votes on the Council of the League to their poor one. -What did he mean? By what right did he do so?</p> - -<p>At every dinner-table these questions were asked, before the soup -was drunk; at the coffee end of the meal every dinner-party was a -debating-club, and the women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> joined with the men in hot discussion, -until some tactful soul laughed loudly, and some hostess led the way to -music or a dance.</p> - -<p>The ladies had just gone after one of those debates, leaving us to our -cigars and coffee, when Daddy Small made a proposition which startled -me at the time.</p> - -<p>“See here,” he said to his host and the other men. “Out of this -discussion one thing stands clear and straight. It is that in -this room, now, at this table, are men of intellect—American and -English—men of good-will towards mankind, men of power in one way -or another, who agree that whatever happens there must be eternal -friendship between England and the United States.”</p> - -<p>“Sure!” said a chorus of voices.</p> - -<p>“In other countries there are men with the same ideals as -ourselves—peace, justice between men and nations, a hatred of cruelty, -pity for women and children, charity, and truth. Is that agreed?”</p> - -<p>“Sure!” said the other guests.</p> - -<p>They were mostly business men, well-to-do, but not of the “millionaire” -class, with here and there a writingman, an artist and, as I remember, -a clergyman.</p> - -<p>“I am going to be a commercial traveller in charity,” said the little -doctor. “I am going across the frontiers to collect clients for an -international society of Good-will. I propose to establish a branch at -this table.”</p> - -<p>The suggestion was received with laughter by some of the men, but, as I -saw, with gravity by others.</p> - -<p>“What would be the responsibilities, Doctor? Do you want money?”</p> - -<p>This was from the manager of an American railroad.</p> - -<p>“We shall want a bit,” said the doctor. “Not much. Enough for stamps -and occasional booklets and typewriting. The chief responsibility would -be to spot lies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> leading to national antagonism, and to kill them by -exposure to cold truth; also, to put in friendly words, privately and -publicly, on behalf of human kindness, across the barriers of hate and -malignity. Any names for the New York branch?”</p> - -<p>The doctor took down twelve names, pledged solemnly to his programme....</p> - -<p>I remembered that scene in New York when I stood with the little man in -Susy Whincop’s drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“What about this crowd?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Sonny,” he said, “this place is reeking with humanity. The real stuff. -Idealists who have seen Hell pretty close, most of them. Why, in this -room there’s enough good-will to move mountains of cruelty, if we could -get a move on all together.”</p> - -<p>It was then that I saw Charles Fortune, though I was looking for Brand.</p> - -<p>Fortune was wearing one of his special “faces.” I interpreted it as his -soulful and mystical face. It broke a little as he winked at me.</p> - -<p>“Remarkable gathering,” he said. “The Intellectuals come back to their -lair. Some of them, like Little Bo-peep who lost her sheep and left -their tails behind them.”</p> - -<p>“What does that mean?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he answered. “We used to talk like that. I’m trying to grope -back.”</p> - -<p>He put his hand over his forehead wearily.</p> - -<p>“God!” he said. “How terrible was war in a Nissen hut! I cannot even -now forget that I was every yard a soldier!”</p> - -<p>He began to hum his well-remembered anthem, “Blear-eyed Bill, the -Butcher of the Boche,” and then checked himself.</p> - -<p>“Nay, let us forget that melody of blood. Let us rather sing of -fragrant things of peace.” He hummed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> the nursery ballad of “Twinkle, -twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!”</p> - -<p>Susy Whincop seized him by the wrist.</p> - -<p>“So the Fat Boy has escaped the massacre? Come and make us laugh. We -are getting too serious at the piano end of the room.”</p> - -<p>“Lady,” said Fortune, “tempt me not to mirth-making. My irony is -terrible when roused.”</p> - -<p>As he went to the piano I caught sight of Brand just making his way -through a group by the door.</p> - -<p>I had never seen him in civil clothes, but he looked as I had imagined -him, in an old pre-war dinner-jacket and baggy trousers, and a shirt -that bulged abominably. A tuft of hair stuck up behind—the tuft that -Eileen O’Connor had pulled for Auld Lang Syne. But he looked fine and -distinguished, with his hard, lean face, and strong jaw, and melancholy -eyes.</p> - -<p>He caught sight of me and gripped my hand, painfully.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, old man! Welcome back. I have heaps to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Good things?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Not good.... Damned bad, alas!”</p> - -<p>He did not continue the conversation. He stared across my shoulder at -the door as though he saw an apparition. I turned to see the object of -his gaze. It was Eileen O’Connor, whom I had first met in Lille.</p> - -<p>She was in an evening frock cut low at the neck, and her arms were -bare. There was a smile in her dark Irish eyes, and about her long, -humourous mouth. The girl I had seen in Lille was not so elegant as -this, not so pretty. The lifting of care perhaps had made the change. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> - -<p>Susy Whincop gave a cry of “Is that Eileen?” and darted to her.</p> - -<p>“It’s myself,” said Eileen, releasing herself from an ardent embrace, -“and all the better for seeing you. Who’s who in this distinguished -crowd?”</p> - -<p>“Old friends,” I said, being nearest to her. “Four men who walked one -day of history up a street in Lille, and met an Irish girl who had the -worship of the crowd.”</p> - -<p>She took my hand and I was glad of her look of friendship.</p> - -<p>“Four?” she said. “That’s too good to be true. All safe and home again?”</p> - -<p>It was astonishing that four of us should be there in a room in London -with the girl who had been the heroine of Lille. But there was Fortune, -and Daddy Small, and Brand, and myself.</p> - -<p>The crowd gave us elbow-room while we stood round Eileen. To each she -gave her hands—both hands—and merry words of greeting. It was only I, -and she perhaps, who saw the gloom on Brand’s face when she greeted him -last and said,</p> - -<p>“Is it well with you, Wickham?”</p> - -<p>Her colour rose a little at the sight of him, and he was paler than -when I saw him first that night.</p> - -<p>“Pretty well,” he said. “One still needs courage—even in Peace.”</p> - -<p>He laughed a little as he spoke, but I knew that his laughter was the -camouflage of hidden trouble, at which he had hinted in his letters to -me.</p> - -<p>We could not have much talk that evening. The groups shifted and -re-shifted. The best thing was when Eileen sang “The Gentle Maiden” as -on a night in Lille. Brand, standing near the door, listened, strangely -unconscious of the people about him.</p> - -<p>“It’s good to hear that song again,” I said. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> - -<p>He started, as though suddenly awakened.</p> - -<p>“It stirs queer old memories.”</p> - -<p>It was in Eileen’s own house that Brand and I renewed a friendship -which had been made in a rescued city where we had heard the adventure -of this girl’s life.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<h2>IV</h2> - -<p>As Brand admitted to me, and as he had outlined the trouble in his -letters, he was having “a bad time.” Since his marriage with Elsa -von Kreuzenach he had not had much peace of mind nor any kind of -luck. After leaving Cologne the War Office, prompted by some unknown -influence,—he suspected his father, who knew the Secretary for -War—had sent him off on a special mission to Italy and had delayed -his demobilisation until a month before this meeting of ours. That had -prevented his plan of bringing Elsa to England, and now, when he was -free and her journey possible, he was seriously embarrassed with regard -to a home for her. There was plenty of room in his father’s house at -Cheyne Walk, Chelsea—too big a house for his father and mother and -younger sister, now that the eldest girl had married and his younger -brother lay dead on the Somme. It had been his idea that he and Elsa -would live in the upper rooms—it made a kind of flat—while he got -back to novel-writing until he earned enough to provide a home of -his own. It was still his idea, as the only possible place for the -immediate future, but the family was dead against it and expressed the -utmost aversion, amounting almost to horror, at the idea of receiving -his German wife. By violent argument, by appeals to reason and charity, -most of all by the firm conviction of his father that he was suffering -from shell-shock and would go over the border-line of sanity if -thwarted too much, a grudging consent had been obtained from them to -give Elsa house-room. Yet he dreaded the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>coldness of her welcome, and -the hostility not only of his own people but of any English society in -which she might find herself.</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have believed,” said Brand, “that such vindictive hatred -could have outlasted the war, in England. The people here at home, who -have never seen war closer than an air-raid, are poisoned, twisted and -envenomed with hate. And the women are worst. My own mother—so sweet -and gentle in the old days—would see every German baby starve rather -than subscribe to a single drop of milk. My own sister—twenty years -of age, and as holy as an angel—would scratch out the eyes of every -German girl. She reads the papers every day with a feverish desire for -the Kaiser’s trial. She licks her lips at the stories of starvation -in Austria. ‘They are getting punished,’ she says. ‘Who?’ I ask her. -‘Austrian babies?’ and she says, ‘The people who killed my brother -and yours.’ What’s the good of telling her that I have killed <i>their</i> -brothers—many of them—even the brother of my wife——”</p> - -<p>I shook my head at that, but Brand was insistent.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure of it.... It is useless telling her that the innocent are -being punished for the guilty, and that all Europe was involved in the -same guilt. She says, ‘You have altered your ideas. The strain of war -has been too much for you.’ She means I’m mad or bad!... Sometimes -I think I may be, but when I think of those scenes in Cologne, the -friendly way of our fighting-men with their former enemy, the charity -of our Tommies, their lack of hatred now the job is done, I look at -these people in England, the stay-at-homes, and believe it is they who -are warped.”</p> - -<p>The news of Brand’s marriage with a German girl had leaked out, though -his people tried to hush it up. It came to me now and then as a tit-bit -of scandal from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> men who had been up at Oxford with him in the old days.</p> - -<p>“You know that fellow Wickham Brand?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Heard the rumour about him?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“They say he’s got a German wife. Married her after the Armistice.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>That question of mine made them stare as though I had uttered -some blasphemy. Generally they did not attempt to answer it, but -shrugged their shoulders with a look of unutterable disgust, or said, -“Disgraceful!” They were men, invariably, who had done <i>embusqué</i> work -in the war, in Government offices and soft jobs. Soldiers who had -fought their way to Cologne were more lenient. One of them said, “Some -of the German girls are devilish pretty. Not my style, perhaps, but -kissable.”</p> - -<p>I saw something of Brand’s trouble when I walked down Knightsbridge -with him one day on the way to his home in Chelsea. Horace Chipchase, -the novelist, came face to face with us and gave a whoop of pleasure -when he saw us. Then suddenly, after shaking hands with me and -greeting Brand warmly, he remembered the rumour that had reached him. -Embarrassment overcame him, and ignoring Brand he confined his remarks -to me, awkwardly, and made an excuse for getting on. He did not look at -Brand again.</p> - -<p>“Bit strained in his manner,” I remarked, glancing sideways at Wickham.</p> - -<p>He strode on, with tightened lips.</p> - -<p>“Shared rooms with me once, and I helped him when he was badly in need -of it.... He’s heard about Elsa. Silly blighter!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - -<p>But it hurt the man, who was very sensitive under his hard crust.</p> - -<p>It was on the way to his house that he told me he had made arrangements -at last for Elsa to join him in England. One of his friends at -headquarters in Cologne was providing her with a passport and had -agreed to let her travel with him to Paris, where he was to give -evidence before a committee of the Peace Conference. Brand could fetch -her from there in a week’s time.</p> - -<p>“I am going to Paris next week,” I told him, and he gave a grunt of -pleasure, and said, “Splendid! We can both meet Elsa.”</p> - -<p>I thought it curious then, and afterwards, that he was anxious for my -company when he met his wife and when she was with him. I think the -presence of a third person helped him to throw off a little of the -melancholy into which he relapsed when alone.</p> - -<p>I asked him if Elsa’s family knew of her marriage and were reconciled -to it, and he told me that they knew, but were less reconciled now than -when she had first broken the news to her father and mother on the -day of her wedding. Then there had been a family “scene.” The General -had raged and stormed, and his wife had wept, but after that outburst -had decided to forgive her, in order to avoid a family scandal. There -had been a formidable assembly of uncles, aunts and cousins of the -von Kreuzenach family to sit in judgment upon this affair which, as -they said, “touched their honour,” and Elsa’s description of it, -and of her terror and sense of guilt (it is not easy to break with -racial traditions) was very humourous, though at the same time rather -pathetic. They had graciously decided, after prolonged discussions -in which they treated Elsa exactly as though she were the prisoner -at a court-martial, to acknowledge and accept her marriage with -Captain Brand. They had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> been led to this decision mainly owing to -the information given by Franz von Kreuzenach that Captain Brand -belonged to the English aristocracy, his father being Sir Amyas Brand, -and a member of the English House of Parliament. They were willing -to admit that, inferior as Captain Brand’s family might be to that -of von Kreuzenach—so old and honoured in German history—it was yet -respectable and not unworthy of alliance with them. Possibly—it was an -idea suggested with enormous solemnity by Onkel von Kreuzenach—Elsa’s -marriage with the son of an English Member of Parliament might be of -service to the Fatherland in obtaining some amelioration of the Peace -Terms (the Treaty was not yet signed), and in counteracting the harsh -malignity of France. They must endeavour to use this opportunity -provided by Elsa in every possible way as a patriotic duty.... So at -the end of the family conclave Elsa was not only forgiven but was to -some extent exalted as an instrument of God for the rescue of their -beloved Germany.</p> - -<p>That position of hers lasted in her family until the terms of the -Peace Treaty leaked out, and then were published in full. A storm of -indignation rose in Germany, and Elsa was a private victim of its -violence in her own house. The combined clauses of the Treaty were -read as a sentence of death by the German people. Clause by clause, -they believed it fastened a doom upon them, and insured their ruin. It -condemned them to the payment of indemnities which would demand all -the produce of their industry for many and uncertain years. It reduced -them to the position of a Slave state, without an army, without a -fleet, without colonies, without the right to develop industries in -foreign countries, without ships to carry their merchandise, without -coal to supply their factories, or raw material for their manufactures. -To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> enforce the payment of these indemnities foreign commissions -would seize all German capital invested in former enemy or neutral -states, and would keep armed forces on the Rhine ready to march at -any time, years after the conclusion of peace, into the heart of -Germany. The German people might work, but not for themselves. They had -freed themselves of their own tyrants, but were to be subject to an -international tyranny depriving them of all hope of gradual recovery -from the ruin of defeat. On the West and on the East, Austria was to -be hemmed in by new States formed out of her own flesh-and-blood under -the domination of hostile races. She was to be maimed and strangled. -The Fourteen Points to which the Allies had pledged themselves before -the Armistice had been abandoned utterly, and Wilson’s promise of a -peace which would heal the wounds of the world had been replaced by a -peace of vengeance which would plunge Central Europe into deep gulfs of -misery, despair, and disease. That, at least, was the German point of -view.</p> - -<p>“They’re stunned,” said Brand. “They knew they were to be punished, and -they were willing to pay a vast price of defeat. But they believed that -under a Republican Government they would be left with a future hope of -progress, a decent hope of life, based upon their industry. Now they -have no hope, for we have given them a thin chance of reconstruction. -They are falling back upon the hope of vengeance and revolt. We have -prepared another inevitable war when the Germans, with the help of -Russia, will strive to break the fetters we have fastened on them. So -goes the only purpose for which most of us fought this war, and all our -pals have died in vain.”</p> - -<p>He stopped in the street and beat the pavement with his stick. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The damned stupidity of it all!” he said. “The infernal wickedness of -those Old Men who have arranged this thing!”</p> - -<p>Three small boys came galloping up Cheyne Walk with toy reins and -tinkling bells.</p> - -<p>“Those children,” said Brand, “will see the things that we have -seen and go into the ditches of death before their manhood has been -fulfilled. We fought to save them, and have failed.”</p> - -<p>He told me that even Elsa had been aghast at the Peace Terms.</p> - -<p>“I hoped more from the generous soul of England,” she had written to -him.</p> - -<p>Franz von Kreuzenach had written more bitterly than that.</p> - -<p>“We have been betrayed. There were millions of young men in Germany who -would have worked loyally to fulfil Wilson’s conditions of peace as -they were pledged in his Fourteen Points. They would have taken their -punishment, with patience and courage, knowing the penalty of defeat. -They would have worked for the new ideals of a new age, which were to -be greater liberty and the brotherhood of man in a League of Nations. -But what is that League? It is a combination of enemies, associated -for the purpose of crushing the German people and keeping her crushed. -I, who loved England and had no enmity against her even in war, cannot -forgive her now for her share in this Peace. As a German I find it -unforgivable, because it perpetuates the spirit of hatred, and thrusts -us back into the darkness where evil is bred.”</p> - -<p>“Do you agree with that?” I asked Brand.</p> - -<p>“On the whole, yes,” he said, gravely. “Mind you, I’m not against -punishing Germany. She had to be punished. But we are substituting -slow torture for just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> retribution, and like Franz I’m thinking of the -effect on the future. By generosity we should have made the world safe. -By vengeance we have prepared new strife. Europe will be given up to -anarchy and deluged in the blood of the boys who are now babes.”</p> - -<p>I had dinner with Brand’s people and found them “difficult.” Sir Amyas -Brand had Wickham’s outward hardness and none of his inner sensibility. -He was a stiff, pompous man who had done extremely well out of the war, -I guessed, by the manufacture of wooden huts, to which he attached a -patriotic significance, apart from his profits. He alluded to the death -of his younger son as his “sacrifice for the Empire,” though it seemed -to me that the boy Jack had been the real victim of sacrifice. To -Wickham he behaved with an exasperating air of forgiveness, as to one -who had sinned and was physically and morally sick.</p> - -<p>“How do you think Wickham is looking?” he asked me at table, and when I -said, “Very well,” he sighed and shook his head.</p> - -<p>“The war was a severe nervous strain upon him. It has changed him -sadly. We try to be patient with him, poor lad.”</p> - -<p>Brand overhead his speech and flushed angrily.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry I try your patience so severely, sir,” he said in a bitter, -ironical way.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let’s argue about it, dear lad,” said Sir Amyas Brand suavely.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Lady Brand plaintively, “you know argument is bad for you, -Wickham. You become so violent, dear.”</p> - -<p>“Besides,” said Ethel Brand, the daughter, in a low and resigned voice, -“what’s done can’t be undone.”</p> - -<p>“Meaning Elsa?” asked Wickham savagely. I could see that but for my -restraining presence as a stranger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> there was all the inflammable stuff -here for a first-class domestic ‘flare-up.’</p> - -<p>“What else?” asked Ethel coldly, and meeting her brother’s challenging -eyes with a perfectly steady gaze. She was a handsome girl with -regular, classical features, and tight lips, as narrow-minded, I -imagined, as a mid-Victorian spinster in a cathedral town, and as hard -as granite in principle and prejudice.</p> - -<p>Wickham weakened, after signs of an explosion of rage. He spoke gently, -and revealed a hope to which I think he clung desperately.</p> - -<p>“When Elsa comes you will all fall in love with her.”</p> - -<p>It was the worst thing he could have said, though he was unconscious of -his “gaffe.”</p> - -<p>His sister Ethel reddened, and I could see her mouth harden.</p> - -<p>“So far, I have remarkably little love for Germans, male or female.”</p> - -<p>“I hope we shall behave with Christian charity,” said Lady Brand.</p> - -<p>Sir Amyas Brand coughed uneasily, and then tried to laugh off his -embarrassment for my benefit.</p> - -<p>“There will be considerable scandal in my constituency!”</p> - -<p>“To hell with that!” said Brand irritably. “It’s about time the British -public returned to sanity.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Sir Amyas, “there’s a narrow border-line between sanity and -shell-shock. Really, it is distressing what a number of men seem to -come back with disordered nerves. All these crimes, all these cases of -violence——”</p> - -<p>It gave him a chance of repeating a leading article which he had -read that morning in <i>The Times</i>. It provided a conversation without -controversy until the end of dinner. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the hall, before I left, Wickham Brand laughed, rather miserably.</p> - -<p>“It’s not going to be easy! Elsa will find the climate rather cold -here, eh?”</p> - -<p>“She will win them over,” I said hopefully, and these words cheered him.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, they’re bound to like her.”</p> - -<p>We arranged for the Paris trip two weeks later, but before then we -were sure to meet at Eileen O’Connor’s. As a matter of fact, we dined -together with Daddy Small next day, and Eileen was with him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<h2>V</h2> - -<p>I found Eileen O’Connor refreshing and invigorating, so that it was -good to be in her company. Most people in England at that time, at -least those I met, were “nervy,” depressed, and apprehensive of evil -to come. There was hardly a family I knew who had not one vacant chair -wherein a boy had sat when he had come home from school or office, and -afterwards on leave. Their ghosts haunted these homes and were present -in any company where people gathered for conversation or distraction. -The wound to England’s soul was unhealed, and the men who came back had -received grave hurt, many of them, to their nervous and moral health.</p> - -<p>This Irish girl was beautifully gay, not with that deliberate and -artificial gaiety which filled London theatres and dancing-halls, but -with an inner flame of happiness. It was difficult to account for that. -She had seen much tragedy in Lille. Death and the agony of men had been -familiar to her. She had faced death herself, very closely, escaping, -as she said, by a narrow “squeak.” She had seen the brutality of war -and its welter of misery for men and women, and now in time of Peace -she was conscious of the sufferings of many people, and did not hide -these things from her mental vision, or cry, “All’s right with the -world!” when all was wrong. But something in her character, something, -perhaps, in her faith, enabled her to resist the pressure of all this -morbid emotion and to face it squarely, with smiling eyes. Another -thing that attracted one was her fearlessness of truth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> At a time when -most people shrank from truth her candour was marvellous, with the -simplicity of childhood joined to the wisdom of womanhood.</p> - -<p>I saw this at the dinner-party for four, arranged in her honour, -by Daddy Small. That was given, for cheapness’ sake, at a little -old restaurant in Whitehall which provided a good dinner for a few -shillings, and in an “atmosphere” of old-fashioned respectability which -appealed to the little American.</p> - -<p>Eileen knocked Brand edgewise at the beginning of his dinner by -remarking about his German marriage.</p> - -<p>“The news came to me as a shock,” she said, and when Wickham raised his -eyebrows and looked both surprised and dismayed (he had counted on her -sympathy and help), she patted his hand as it played a devil’s tattoo -on the table-cloth, and launched into a series of indiscretions that -fairly made my hair curl.</p> - -<p>“Theoretically,” she said, “I hadn’t the least objection to your -marrying a German girl. I have always believed that love is an instinct -which is beyond the control of diplomats who arrange frontiers and -Generals who direct wars. I saw a lot of it in Lille—and there was -Franz von Kreuzenach, who fell in love with me, poor child. What really -hurt me for a while was green-eyed jealousy.”</p> - -<p>“Daddy Small laughed hilariously, and filled up Eileen’s glass with -Moselle wine.”</p> - -<p>Brand looked blank.</p> - -<p>“Jealousy?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” said Eileen. “Imagine me, an Irish girl, all soppy with -emotion at the first sight of English khaki (that’s a fantastic -situation anyhow!), after four years with the grey men, and then -finding that the first khaki tunic she meets holds the body of a man -she knew as a boy, when she used to pull his hair! And such a grave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> -heroic-looking man, Wicky! Why, I felt like one of Tennyson’s ladies -released from her dark tower by a Knight of the Round Table. Then you -went away and married a German Gretchen! And all my doing, because if I -hadn’t given you a letter to Franz you wouldn’t have met Elsa. So when -I heard the news, I thought, ‘There goes my romance!’”</p> - -<p>Daddy Small laughed again, joyously.</p> - -<p>“Say, my dear,” he said, “you’re making poor old Wickham blush like an -Englishman asked to tell the story of his V.C. in public.”</p> - -<p>Brand laughed, too, in his harsh, deep voice.</p> - -<p>“Why, Eileen, you ought to have told me before I moved out of Lille.”</p> - -<p>“And where would maiden modesty have been?” asked Eileen, in her -humourous way.</p> - -<p>“Where is it now?” asked the little doctor.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” said Brand, “I had that letter to Franz von Kreuzenach in my -pocket. I don’t mind telling you I detested the fellow for his infernal -impudence in making love to you.”</p> - -<p>“Sure now, it was a one-sided affair, entirely,” said Eileen, -exaggerating her Irish accent, “but one has to be polite to a gentleman -that saves one’s life on account of a romantic passion. Oh, Wickham, -it’s very English you are!”</p> - -<p>Brand could find nothing to say for himself, and it was I who came to -the rescue of his embarrassment by dragging a red herring across the -thread of Eileen’s discourse. She had a wonderful way of saying things -that on most girls’ lips would have seemed audacious, or improper, or -high-falutin, but on hers were natural with a simplicity which shone -through her.</p> - -<p>Her sense of humour played like a light about her words, yet beneath -her wit was a tenderness and a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>knowledge of tragic things. I remember -some of her sayings that night at dinner, and they seemed to me very -good then, though when put down they lose the deep melody of her voice -and the smile or sadness of her dark eyes.</p> - -<p>“England,” she said, “fought the war for Liberty and the rights of -small nations, but said to Ireland, ‘Hush, keep quiet there, damn you, -or you’ll make us look ridiculous.’”</p> - -<p>“Irish soldiers,” she said, “helped England to win all her wars but -mostly in Scottish regiments. When the poor boys wanted to carry an -Irish flag, Kitchener said, ‘Go to Hell,’ and some of them went to -Flanders ... and recruiting stopped with a snap.”</p> - -<p>“Now, how do you know these things?” asked Daddy Small. “Did Kitchener -go to Lille to tell you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Eileen, “but I found some of the Dublin boys in the prison -at Lille, and they told the truth before they died, and perhaps it was -that which killed them. That, and starvation, and German brutality.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you’re a Sinn Feiner,” said Dr. Small. “Why don’t you go to -Ireland and show your true colours, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“I’m Sinn Fein all right,” said Eileen, “but I hated the look of a -white wall in Lille, and there are so many white walls in the little -green isle. So I’m stopping in Kensington and trying to hate the -English, but can’t because I love them.”</p> - -<p>She turned to Wickham and said:</p> - -<p>“Will you take me for a row in Kensington Gardens the very next day the -sun shines?”</p> - -<p>“Rather!” said Wickham, “on one condition!”</p> - -<p>“And that?”</p> - -<p>“That you’ll be kind to my little Elsa when she comes.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be a mother to her,” said Eileen, “but she must come quick or -I’ll be gone.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Gone?”</p> - -<p>Wickham spoke with dismay in his voice. I think he had counted on -Eileen as his stand-by when Elsa would need a friend in England.</p> - -<p>“Hush now!” said Daddy Small. “It’s my secret, you wicked lady with -black eyes and a mystical manner.”</p> - -<p>“Doctor,” said Eileen, “your own President rebukes you. ‘Open covenants -openly arrived at’—weren’t those his words for the new diplomacy?”</p> - -<p>“Would to God he had kept to them,” said the little doctor, bitterly, -launching into a denunciation of the Peace Conference until I cut him -short with a question.</p> - -<p>“What’s this secret, Doctor?”</p> - -<p>He pulled out his pocket-book with an air of mystery.</p> - -<p>“We’re getting on with the International League of Good-will,” he said. -“It’s making more progress than the League of Nations. There are names -here that are worth their weight in gold. There are golden promises -which by the grace of God”—Daddy Small spoke solemnly—“will be -fulfilled by golden deeds. Anyhow, we’re going to get a move on—away -from hatred towards charity, not for the making of wounds but for the -healing, not punishing the innocent for the sins of the guilty, but -saving the innocent—the Holy Innocents—for the glory of life. Miss -Eileen and others are going to be the instruments of the machinery of -mercy—rather, I should say, the spirit of humanity.”</p> - -<p>“With you as our gallant leader,” said Eileen, patting his hand.</p> - -<p>“It sounds good,” said Brand. “Let’s hear some more.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small told us more in glowing language, and in Biblical utterance -mixed with American slang like Billy Sunday’s Bible. He was profoundly -moved. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> filled with hope and gladness, and with a humble pride -because his efforts had borne fruit.</p> - -<p>The scheme was simple. From his friends in the United States he had -promises, as good as gold, of many millions of American dollars. From -English friends he had also considerable sums. With this treasure he -was going to Central Europe to organise relief on a big scale for the -children who were starving to death. Eileen O’Connor was to be his -private secretary and assistant-organiser. She would have heaps of -work to do, and she had graduated in the prisons and slums of Lille. -They were starting in a week’s time for Warsaw, Prague, Buda-Pesth and -Vienna.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Brand, “Elsa will lose a friend.”</p> - -<p>“Bring her too,” said Eileen. “There’s work for all.”</p> - -<p>Brand was startled by this, and a sudden light leapt into his eyes.</p> - -<p>“By Jove!... But I’m afraid not. That’s impossible.”</p> - -<p>So it was only a week we had with Eileen, but in that time we had some -good meetings and merry adventures. Brand and I rowed her on the lake -in Kensington Gardens, and she told us Irish fairy-tales as she sat in -the stern, with her hat in her lap, and the wind playing in her brown -hair. We took her to the Russian Ballet and she wept a little at the -beauty of it.</p> - -<p>“After four years of war,” she said, “beauty is like water to a parched -soul. It is so exquisite it hurts.”</p> - -<p>She took us one day into the Carmelite church at Kensington, and Brand -and I knelt each side of her, feeling sinners with a saint between us. -And then, less like a saint, she sang ribald little songs on the way to -her mother’s house in Holland Street, and said, “Drat the thing!” when -she couldn’t find her key to unlock the door.</p> - -<p>“Sorry, Biddy my dear,” she said to the little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>maidservant who opened -the door. “I shall forget my head one day.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, Miss Eileen,” said the girl, “but never the dear heart of you, -at all, at all.”</p> - -<p>Eileen’s mother was a buxom, cheery, smiling Irishwoman who did not -worry, I fancy, about anything in the world, and was sure of Heaven. -Her drawing-room was littered with papers and novels, some of which she -swept off the sofa with a careless hand.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you take a seat then?”</p> - -<p>I asked her whether she had not been anxious about her daughter when -Eileen was all those years under German rule.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” said the lady. “I knew our dear Lord was as near to Lille -as to London.”</p> - -<p>Two of her boys had been killed in the war, “fighting,” she said, “for -an ungrateful country which keeps its heel on the neck of Ireland,” and -two were in the United States, working for the honour of Ireland on -American newspapers. Eileen’s two sisters had married during the war -and between them had given birth to four Sinn Feiners. Eileen’s father -had died a year ago, and almost his last word had been her name.</p> - -<p>“The dear man thought all the world of Eileen,” said Mrs. O’Connor. “I -was out of it entirely when he had her by his side.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be lonely,” said Brand, “when your daughter goes abroad again.”</p> - -<p>Eileen answered him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you can’t keep me back by insidious remarks like that! Mother -spends most of her days in church, and the rest of them reading naughty -novels which keep her from ascending straight to Heaven without the -necessity of dying first. She is never lonely because her spirit is in -touch with those she loves, in this world or the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> And isn’t that -the truth I’m after talking, Mother o’ mine?”</p> - -<p>“I never knew more than one O’Connor who told the truth yet,” said the -lady, “and that’s yourself, my dear. And it’s a frightening way you -have with it that would scare the devil out of his skin.”</p> - -<p>They were pleasant hours with Eileen, and when she went away from -Charing Cross one morning with Dr. Small, five hospital nurses and two -Americans of the Red Cross, I wished with all my heart that Wickham -Brand had asked her, and not Elsa von Kreuzenach, to be his wife. That -was an idle wish, for the next morning Brand and I crossed over to -France, and on the way to Paris my friend told me that the thought of -meeting Elsa after those months of separation excited him so that each -minute seemed an hour. And as he told me that he lit a cigarette, and I -saw that his hand was trembling, because of this nervous strain.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VI</h2> - -<p>We met Elsa at the <i>Gare de l’Est</i> in Paris the evening after our -arrival. Brand’s nervous anxiety had increased as the hour drew near, -and he smoked cigarette after cigarette, while he paced up and down the -<i>salle d’attente</i> as far as he could for the crowds which surged there.</p> - -<p>Once he spoke to me about his apprehensions.</p> - -<p>“I hope to God this will work out all right.... I’m only thinking of -her happiness.”</p> - -<p>Another time he said:</p> - -<p>“This French crowd would tear her to pieces if they knew she was -German.”</p> - -<p>While we were waiting we met a friend of old times. I was first to -recognise Pierre Nesle, who had been attached to us as interpreter and -<i>liaison</i> officer. He was in civil clothes and was wearing a bowler -hat and a light overcoat, so that his transformation was astonishing. -I touched him on the arm as he made his way quickly through the crowd, -and he turned sharply and stared at me as though he could not place me -at all. Then a look of recognition leapt into his eyes and he grasped -both my hands, delightedly. He was still thin and pale, but some of his -old melancholy had gone out of his eyes and in its place there was an -eager, purposeful look.</p> - -<p>“Here’s Brand,” I said. “He’ll be glad to see you again.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Quelle chance!</i>” exclaimed Pierre, and he made a dash for his friend -and before Brand could remonstrate kissed him on both cheeks. They -had been good <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>comrades, and after the rescue of Marthe from the mob -in Lille it was to Brand that Pierre Nesle had opened his heart and -revealed his agony. He could not stay long with us in the station as he -was going to some political meeting, and perhaps it was well, because -Brand was naturally anxious to escape from him before Elsa came.</p> - -<p>“I am working hard—speaking, writing, organising—on behalf of -the <i>Ligue des Tranchées</i>,” said Pierre. “You must come and see me -at my office. It’s the headquarters of the new movement in France. -Anti-militarist, to fulfil the ideals of the men who fought to end war.”</p> - -<p>“You’re going to fight against heavy odds,” said Brand. “Clémenceau -won’t love you, nor those who like his Peace.”</p> - -<p>Pierre laughed and used an old watchword of the war.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nous les aurons!</i> Those old dead-heads belong to the past. Peace has -still to be made by the men who fought for a new world.”</p> - -<p>He gave us his address, pledged us to call on him, and slipped into the -vortex of the crowd.</p> - -<p>Brand and I waited another twenty minutes, and then in a tide of new -arrivals we saw Elsa. She was in the company of Major Quin, Brand’s -friend who had brought her from Cologne, a tall Irishman who stooped a -little as he gave his arm to the girl. She was dressed in a blue coat -and skirt, very neatly, and it was the glitter of her spun-gold hair -that made me catch sight of her quickly in the crowd. Her eyes had a -frightened look as she came forward, and she was white to the lips. -Thinner, too, than when I had seen her last, so that she looked older -and not, perhaps, quite so wonderfully pretty. But her face lighted up -with intense gladness when Brand stood in front of her, and then, under -an electric lamp, with a crowd surging around him, took her in his -arms. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> - -<p>Major Quin and I stood aloof, chatting together.</p> - -<p>“Good journey?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Excellent, but I’m glad it’s over. That little lady is too -unmistakably German. Everybody spotted her and looked unutterable -things. She was frightened, and I don’t wonder. Most of them thought -the worst of me. I had to threaten one fellow with a damned good hiding -for an impertinent remark I overheard.”</p> - -<p>Brand thanked him for looking after his wife, and Elsa gave him her -hand and said, “<i>Danke schön</i>.”</p> - -<p>Major Quin raised his finger and said, “Hush. Don’t forget you’re in -Paris now.”</p> - -<p>Then he saluted with a click of spurs, and took his leave. I put Brand -and his wife in a taxi and drove outside, by the driver, to a quiet old -hotel in the Rue St. Honoré, where we had booked rooms.</p> - -<p>When we registered, the manager at the desk stared at Elsa curiously. -She spoke English, but with an unmistakable accent. The man’s -courtesy to Brand, which had been perfect, fell from him abruptly -and he spoke with icy insolence when he summoned one of the boys to -take up the baggage. In the dining-room that night all eyes turned -to Elsa and Brand, with inquisitive, hostile looks. I suppose her -frock, simple and ordinary as it seemed to me, proclaimed its German -fashion. Or perhaps her face and hair were not so English as I had -imagined. It was a little while before the girl herself was aware of -those unpleasant glances about her. She was very happy sitting next -to Brand, whose hand she caressed once or twice and into whose face -she looked with adoration. She was still very pale, and I could see -that she was immensely tired after her journey, but her eyes shone -wonderfully. Sometimes she looked about her and encountered the stares -of people—elderly French <i>bourgeois</i> and some English nurses and a -few French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> officers—dining at other tables in the great room with -gilt mirrors and painted ceiling. She spoke to Brand presently in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid. These people stare at me so much. They guess what I am.”</p> - -<p>“It’s only your fancy,” said Brand. “Besides, they would be fools not -to stare at a face like yours.”</p> - -<p>She smiled and coloured up at that sweet flattery.</p> - -<p>“I know when people like one’s looks. It is not for that reason they -stare.”</p> - -<p>“Ignore them,” said Brand. “Tell me about Franz, and Frau von Detmold.”</p> - -<p>It was unwise of him to sprinkle his conversation with German names. -The waiter at our tables was listening attentively. Presently I saw him -whispering behind the screen to one of his comrades and looking our -way sullenly. He kept us waiting an unconscionable time for coffee, -and when at last Brand gave his arm to Elsa and led her from the room, -he gave a harsh laugh as they passed, and I heard the words, “<i>Sale -Boche!</i>” spoken in a low tone of voice yet loud enough for all the room -to hear. From all the little tables there came titters of laughter and -those words “<i>Sale Boche!</i>” were repeated by several voices. I hoped -that Elsa and Brand had not heard, but I saw Elsa sway a little on her -husband’s arm as though struck by an invisible blow, and Brand turned -with a look of passion, as though he would hit the waiter or challenge -the whole room to warfare. But Elsa whispered to him, and he went with -her up the staircase to their rooms.</p> - -<p>The next morning when I met them at breakfast Elsa still looked -desperately tired, though very happy, and Brand had lost a little -of his haggard look, and his nerve was steadier. But it was an -uncomfortable moment for all of us when the manager came to the -table and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>regretted with icy courtesy that their rooms would not be -available another night, owing to a previous arrangement which he had -unfortunately overlooked.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” said Brand shortly. “I have taken these rooms for three -nights, and I intend to stay in them.”</p> - -<p>“It is impossible,” said the manager. “I must ask you to have your -baggage packed by twelve o’clock.”</p> - -<p>Brand dealt with him firmly.</p> - -<p>“I am an English officer. If I hear another word from you I will call -on the Provost Marshal and get him to deal with you.”</p> - -<p>The manager bowed. This threat cowed him, and he said no more about -a change of rooms. But Brand and his wife, and I as their friend, -suffered from a policy of passive resistance to our presence. The -chambermaid did not answer their bell, having become strangely deaf. -The waiter was generally engaged at other tables whenever we wanted -him. The hall porter turned his back upon us. The page-boys made -grimaces behind our backs, as I saw very well in the gilt mirror, and -as Elsa saw.</p> - -<p>They took to having their meals out, Brand insisting always that I -should join them, and we drove out to the Bois and had tea there in -the <i>Châlet des Iles</i>. It was a beautiful afternoon in September, -and the leaves were just turning to crinkled gold and the lake was -as blue as the cloudless sky above. Across the ferry came boatloads -of young Frenchmen with their girls, singing, laughing, on this day -of peace. Some of the men limped as they came up the steps from the -landing-stage. One walked on crutches. Another had an empty sleeve. -Under the trees they made love to their girls and fed them with -rose-tinted ices.</p> - -<p>“These people are happy,” said Elsa. “They have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>forgotten already the -agony of war. Victory is healing. In Germany there is only misery.”</p> - -<p>A little later she talked about the Peace.</p> - -<p>“If only the <i>Entente</i> had been more generous in victory our despair -would not be so great. Many of us, great multitudes, believed that the -price of defeat would be worth paying because Germany would take a -place among free nations and share in the creation of a nobler world. -Now we are crushed by the militarism of nations who have used our -downfall to increase their own power. The light of a new ideal which -rose above the darkness has gone out.”</p> - -<p>Brand took his wife’s hand and stroked it in his big paw.</p> - -<p>“All this is temporary and the work of the Old Men steeped in the old -traditions which led to war. We must wait for them to die. Then out of -the agony of the world’s boyhood will come the new revelation.”</p> - -<p>Elsa clasped her hands and leaned forward, looking across the lake in -the Bois de Boulogne.</p> - -<p>“I would like to live long enough to be sure of that,” she said, -eagerly. “If we have children, my husband, perhaps they will listen to -our tales of the war as Franz and I read about wolves and goblins in -our fairy-tales. The fearfulness of them was not frightening, for we -knew we were safe.”</p> - -<p>“God grant that,” said Brand, gravely.</p> - -<p>“But I am afraid!” said Elsa. She looked again across the lake, so blue -under the sky, so golden in sunlight; and shivered a little.</p> - -<p>“You are cold!” said Brand.</p> - -<p>He put his arms about her as they sat side by side, and her head -drooped upon his shoulder and she closed her eyes, like a tired child.</p> - -<p>They went to the opera that night and I refused their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> invitation to -join them, protesting that they would never learn to know each other -if a third person were always present. I slipped away to see Pierre -Nesle, and found him at an office in a street somewhere off the Rue du -Louvre, which was filled with young men, whose faces I seemed to have -seen before under blue shrapnel helmets above blue tunics. They were -typewriting as though serving machine-guns, and folding up papers while -they whistled the tune of “Madelon.” Pierre was in his shirt-sleeves, -dictating letters to a <i>poilu</i> in civil clothes.</p> - -<p>“Considerable activity on the Western front, eh?” he said when he saw -me.</p> - -<p>“Tell me all about it, Pierre.”</p> - -<p>He told me something about it in a restaurant where we dined in the -Rue du Marché St. Honoré. He was one of the organising secretaries of -a society made up exclusively of young soldiers who had fought in the -trenches. There was a sprinkling of intellectuals among them—painters, -poets, novelists, journalists—but the main body were simple soldiers -animated by one idea—to prevent another war by substituting the -commonsense and brotherhood of peoples for the old diplomacy of secret -alliances and the old tradition of powerful armies.</p> - -<p>“How about the Peace Treaty and the League of Nations?” I asked.</p> - -<p>Pierre Nesle shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.</p> - -<p>“The Peace Treaty belongs to the Napoleonic tradition. We’ve got beyond -that now. It is the programme that has carefully arranged another and -inevitable war. Look at the world now! Look at France, Italy, Germany, -Austria! We are all ruined together, and those most ruined will, by -their disease and death, drag down Europe into general misery. <i>Mon -vieux</i>, what has victory given to France? A great belt of devastated -country, cemeteries crowded with dead youth, bankruptcy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> and -everything five times the cost of pre-war rates. Another such victory -will wipe us off the map. We have smashed Germany, it is true, for a -time. We have punished her women and children for the crimes of their -War Lords, but can we keep her crushed? Are our frontiers impregnable -against the time when her people come back for revenge, smashing the -fetters we have placed on them, and rising again in strength? For ten -years, for twenty years, for thirty years, perhaps, we shall be safe. -And after that, if the heart of Europe does not change, if we do not -learn wisdom from the horror that has passed, France will be ravaged -again, and all that we have seen our children will see, and their -suffering will be greater than ours, and they will not have the hope we -had.”</p> - -<p>He stared back into the past, not a very distant past, and I fancy that -among the figures he saw was Marthe, his sister.</p> - -<p>“What’s the remedy?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“A Union of Democracy across the frontiers of hate,” he answered, and I -think it was a phrase that he had written and learnt by heart.</p> - -<p>“A fine phrase!” I said, laughing a little.</p> - -<p>He flared up at me.</p> - -<p>“It’s more than a phrase. It’s the heart-beat of millions in Europe.”</p> - -<p>“In France?” I asked pointedly. “In the France of Clémenceau?”</p> - -<p>“More than you imagine,” he answered, boldly. “Beneath our present -chauvinism, our natural exultation in victory, our inevitable hatred of -the enemy, commonsense is at work, and an idealism higher than that. -At present its voice is not heard. The old men are having their day. -Presently the new men will arrive with the new ideas. They are here, -but do not speak yet.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The Old Men again!” I said. “It is strange. In Germany, in France, in -England, even in America, people are talking strangely about the Old -Men as though they were guilty of all this agony. That is remarkable.”</p> - -<p>“They were guilty,” said Pierre Nesle. “It is against the Old Men in -all countries of Europe that Youth will declare war. For it was their -ideas which brought us to our ruin.”</p> - -<p>He spoke so loudly that people in the restaurant turned to look at him. -He paid his bill and spoke in a lower voice.</p> - -<p>“It is dangerous to talk like this in public. Let us walk up the Champs -Élysées, where I am visiting some friends.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly a remembrance came back to him.</p> - -<p>“Your friends, too,” he said.</p> - -<p>“My friends?”</p> - -<p>“But yes; Madame Chéri and Hélène. After Edouard’s death they could not -bear to live in Lille.”</p> - -<p>“Edouard, that poor boy who came back? He is dead?”</p> - -<p>“He was broken by the prison life,” said Pierre. “He died within a -month of Armistice, and Hélène wept her heart out.”</p> - -<p>He confided a secret to me. Hélène and he had come to love each other, -and would marry when they could get her mother’s consent—or, one day, -if not.</p> - -<p>“What’s her objection?” I asked. “Why, it’s splendid to think that -Hélène and you will be man and wife. The thought of it makes me feel -good.”</p> - -<p>He pressed my arm and said, “<i>Merci, mille fois, mon cher</i>.”</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri objected to his political opinions. She regarded them as -poisonous treachery.</p> - -<p>“And Hélène?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> - -<p>I remembered that outburst, months back, when Hélène had desired the -death of many German babies.</p> - -<p>“Hélène loves me,” said Pierre simply. “We do not talk politics.”</p> - -<p>On our way to the Avenue Victor Hugo I ventured to ask him a question -which had been a long time in my mind.</p> - -<p>“Your sister, Marthe? She is well?”</p> - -<p>Even in the pearly twilight of the Champs Élysées I was aware of -Pierre’s sudden change of colour. I had touched a nerve that still -jumped.</p> - -<p>“She is well and happy,” he answered gravely. “She is now a -<i>religieuse</i>, a nun, in the convent at Lille. They tell me she is a -saint. Her name in religion is Soeur Angélique.”</p> - -<p>I called on Madame Chéri and her daughter with Pierre Nesle. They -seemed delighted to see me, and Hélène greeted me like an old and -trusted friend, giving me the privilege of kissing her cheek. She had -grown taller, and beautiful, and there was a softness in her eyes when -she looked at Pierre which made me sure of his splendid luck.</p> - -<p>Madame Chéri had aged, and some of her fire had burnt out. I guessed -that it was due to Edouard’s death. She spoke of that, and wept a -little, and deplored the mildness of the Peace Treaty which had not -punished the evil race who had killed her husband and her boy and the -flower of France.</p> - -<p>“There are many German dead,” said Pierre. “They have been punished.”</p> - -<p>“Not enough!” cried Madame Chéri. “They should all be dead.”</p> - -<p>Hélène kissed her hand and snuggled down to her as once I had seen in -Lille. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Petite maman</i>,” she said, “let us talk of happy things to-night. -Pierre has brought us a good friend.”</p> - -<p>Later in the evening, when Pierre and Hélène had gone into another room -to find some biscuits for our wine, Madame Chéri spoke to me about -their betrothal.</p> - -<p>“Pierre is full of strange and terrible ideas,” she said. “They are -shared by other young men who fought bravely for France. To me they -seem wicked, and the talk of cowards, except that their medals tell of -courage. But the light in Hélène’s eyes weakens me. I’m too much of a -Frenchwoman to be stern with love.”</p> - -<p>By those words of hers I was able to give Pierre a message of -good-cheer when he walked back with me that night, and he went away -with gladness.</p> - -<p>With gladness also did Elsa Brand set out next day for England where, -as a girl, she had known happy days, and where now her dream lived with -the man who stood beside her. Together we watched for the white cliffs, -and when suddenly the sun glinted on them she gave a little cry, and -putting her hand through Brand’s arm, said, “Our home!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VII</h2> - -<p>I saw very little of Brand in London after Elsa’s arrival in his -parents’ house at Chelsea. I was busy, as usual, watching the way of -the world, and putting my nose down to bits of blank paper which I -proceeded to spoil with futile words. Brand was doing the same thing -in his study on the top floor of the house in Cheyne Walk, while Elsa, -in true German style, was working embroidery, or reading English -literature to improve her mind and her knowledge of the language.</p> - -<p>Brand was endeavouring strenuously to earn money enough to make him -free of his father’s house. He failed, on the whole, rather miserably. -He began a novel on the war, became excited with it for the first six -chapters, then stuck hopelessly, and abandoned it.</p> - -<p>“I find it impossible,” he wrote to me, “to get the real thing into -my narrative. It is all wooden, unnatural, and wrong. I can’t get the -right perspective on paper, although I think I see it clear enough -when I’m not writing. The thing is too enormous, the psychology too -complicated, for my power of expression. A thousand characters, four -years of experience, come crowding into my mind, and I can’t eliminate -the unessential and stick the point of my pen into the heart of truth. -Besides, the present state of the world, to say nothing of domestic -trouble, prevents anything like concentration.... And my nerves have -gone to hell.”</p> - -<p>After the abandonment of his novel he took to writing articles for -magazines and newspapers, some of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> appeared, thereby producing -some useful guineas. I read them and liked their strength of style and -intensity of emotion. But they were profoundly pessimistic and “the -gloomy Dean,” who was prophesying woe, had an able seconder in Wickham -Brand, who foresaw the ruin of civilisation and the downfall of the -British Empire because of the stupidity of the world’s leaders and the -careless ignorance of the multitudes. He harped too much on the same -string, and I fancied that editors would soon begin to tire of his -melancholy tune. I was right.</p> - -<p>“I have had six articles rejected in three weeks,” wrote Brand. “People -don’t want the truth. They want cheery insincerity. Well, they won’t -get it from me, though I starve to death.... But it’s hard on Elsa. -She’s having a horrible time, and her nerve is breaking. I wish to God -I could afford to take her down to the country somewhere, away from -spiteful females and their cunning cruelty. Have you seen any Christian -charity about in this most Christian country? If so, send me word, and -I’ll walk to it, on my knees, from Chelsea.”</p> - -<p>It was in a postscript to a letter about a short story he was writing -that he wrote an alarming sentence.</p> - -<p>“I think Elsa is dying. She gets weaker every day.”</p> - -<p>Those words sent me to Chelsea in a hurry. I had been too careless of -Brand’s troubles, owing to my own pressure of work, and my own fight -with a nervous depression which was a general malady, I found, with -most men back from the war.</p> - -<p>When I rapped the brass knocker on the house in Cheyne Walk the door -was opened by a different maid from the one I had seen on my first -visit there. The other one, as Brand told me afterwards, had given -notice because “she couldn’t abide them Huns” (meaning Elsa), and -before her had gone the cook, who had been with Wickham’s mother for -twenty years. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - -<p>Brand was writing in his study upstairs when the new maid showed me in. -Or, rather, he was leaning over a writing-block, with his elbows dug -into the table, and his face in his hands, while an unlighted pipe—his -old trench pipe—lay across the inkpot.</p> - -<p>“Thinking out a new plot, old man?” I asked cheerily.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t come,” he said. “My own plot cuts across my line of -thought.”</p> - -<p>“How’s Elsa?”</p> - -<p>He pointed with the stem of his pipe to the door leading from his room.</p> - -<p>“Sleeping, I hope.... Sit down, and let’s have a yarn.”</p> - -<p>We talked about things in general for a time. They were not very -cheerful, anyhow. Brand and I were both gloomy souls just then, and -knew each other too well to camouflage our views about the state of -Europe and the “unrest” (as it was called) in England.</p> - -<p>Then he told me about Elsa, and it was a tragic tale. From the very -first his people had treated her with a studied unkindness which had -broken her nerve and spirit. She had come to England with a joyous hope -of finding happiness and friendship with her husband’s family, and glad -to escape from the sadness of Germany and the solemn disapproval of her -own people, apart from Franz, who was devoted to her.</p> - -<p>Her first dismay came when she kissed the hand of her mother-in-law, -who drew it away as though she had been stung by a wasp, and when her -movement to kiss her husband’s sister Ethel was repulsed by a girl who -drew back icily and said, “How do you do?”</p> - -<p>Even then she comforted herself a little with the thought that this -coldness was due to English reserve, and that in a little while English -kindness would be revealed. But the days passed with only unkindness. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> - -<p>At first Lady Brand and her daughter maintained a chilly silence -towards Elsa, at breakfast, luncheon, and other meals, talking to each -other brightly, as though she did not exist, and referring constantly -to Wickham as “poor Wicky.” Ethel had a habit of reading out morsels -from the penny illustrated papers, and often they referred to “another -trick of the Huns” or “fresh revelations of Hun treachery.” At these -times Sir Amyas Brand said “Ah!” in a portentous voice, but, privately, -with some consciousness of decency, begged Ethel to desist from -“controversial topics.” She “desisted” in the presence of her brother, -whose violence of speech scared her into silence.</p> - -<p>A later phase of Ethel’s hostility to Elsa was in the style of amiable -enquiry. In a simple, child-like way, as though eager for knowledge, -she would ask Elsa such questions as “Why the Germans boiled down their -dead?” “Why they crucified Canadian prisoners?” “Was it true that -German school-children sang the Hymn of Hate before morning lessons?” -“Was it by order of the Kaiser that English prisoners were starved to -death?”</p> - -<p>Elsa answered all these questions by passionate denials. It was a -terrible falsehood, she said, that the Germans had boiled down bodies -for fats. On the contrary, they paid the greatest reverence to their -dead, as her brother had seen in many cemeteries on the Western front. -The story of the “crucified Canadians” had been disproved by the -English Intelligence officers after a special enquiry, as Wickham had -told her. She had never heard the Hymn of Hate. Some of the English -prisoners had been harshly treated—there were brutal commandants—but -not deliberately starved. Not starved more than German soldiers, who -had very little food during the last years of the war.</p> - -<p>“But surely,” said Lady Brand, “you must admit, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> dear, that Germany -conducted this war with the greatest possible barbarity? Otherwise why -should the world call them Huns?”</p> - -<p>Elsa said it was only the English who called the Germans Huns, and that -was for a propaganda of hatred which was very wicked.</p> - -<p>“Do <i>I</i> look like a Hun?” she asked, and then burst into tears.</p> - -<p>Lady Brand was disconcerted by that sign of weakness.</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t think us unkind, Elsa, but of course we have to uphold the -truth.”</p> - -<p>Ethel was utterly unmoved by Elsa’s tears, and, indeed, found a holy -satisfaction in them.</p> - -<p>“When the German people confess their guilt with weeping and -lamentation, the English will be first to forgive. Never till then.”</p> - -<p>The presence of a German girl in the house seemed to act as a blight -upon all domestic happiness. It was the cook who first “gave notice.” -Elsa had never so much as set eyes upon that cross-eyed woman -below-stairs who had prepared the family food since Wickham had sat -in a high chair, with a bib round his neck. But Mary, in a private -interview with Lady Brand, stormy in its character, as Elsa could hear -through the folding-doors, vowed that she would not live in the same -house with “one of those damned Germings.”</p> - -<p>Lady Brand’s tearful protestations that Elsa was no longer German, -being “Mr. Wickham’s wife,” and that she had repented sincerely of -all the wrong done by the country in which she had unfortunately been -born, did not weaken the resolution of Mary Grubb, whose patriotism -had always been “above suspicion,” “which,” as she said, “I hope to -remain so.” She went next morning, after a great noise of breathing -and the descent of tin boxes, while Lady Brand and Ethel looked with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>reproachful eyes at Elsa as the cause of this irreparable blow.</p> - -<p>The parlour-maid followed in a week’s time, on the advice of her young -man, who had worked in a canteen of the Y. M. C. A. at Boulogne and -knew all about German spies.</p> - -<p>It was very awkward for Lady Brand, who assumed an expression of -Christian martyrdom, and told Wickham that his rash act was bearing sad -fruit, a mixed metaphor which increased his anger, as he told me, to a -ridiculous degree.</p> - -<p>He could see that Elsa was very miserable. Many times she wept when -alone with him, and begged him to take her away to a little home of -their own, even if it were only one room in the poorest neighbourhood. -But Wickham was almost penniless, and begged her to be patient a -little longer, until he had saved enough to fulfil their hope. There -I think he was unwise. It would have been better for him to borrow -money—he had good friends—rather than keep his wife in such a hostile -atmosphere. She was weak and ill. He was alarmed at her increasing -weakness. Once she fainted in his arms, and even to go upstairs to -their rooms at the top of the house tired her so much that afterwards -she would lie back in a chair, with her eyes closed, looking very -white and worn. She tried to hide her ill-health from her husband, and -when they were alone together she seemed gay and happy, and would have -deceived him but for those fits of weeping at the unkindness of his -mother and sister, and those sudden attacks of “tiredness” when all -physical strength departed from her.</p> - -<p>Her love for him seemed to grow with the weakness of her body. She -could not bear him to leave her alone for any length of time, and while -he was writing, sat near him, so that she might have her head against -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> shoulder, or touch his hand, or kiss it. It was not conducive to -easy writing, or the invention of plots.</p> - -<p>Something like a crisis happened, after a painful scene in the -drawing-room downstairs, on a day when Brand had gone out to walk off a -sense of deadly depression which prevented all literary effort.</p> - -<p>Several ladies had come to tea with Lady Brand and Ethel, and they -gazed at Elsa as though she were a strange and dangerous animal.</p> - -<p>One of them, a thin and elderly schoolmistress, cross-questioned Elsa -as to her nationality.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you are Swedish, my dear?” she said, sweetly.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Elsa.</p> - -<p>“Danish, then, no doubt?” continued Miss Clutter.</p> - -<p>“I am German,” said Elsa.</p> - -<p>That announcement had caused consternation among Lady Brand’s guests. -Two of the ladies departed almost immediately. The others stayed to see -how Miss Clutter would deal with this amazing situation.</p> - -<p>She dealt with it firmly, and with the cold intelligence of a High -School mistress.</p> - -<p>“How <i>very</i> interesting!” she said, turning to Lady Brand. “Perhaps -your daughter-in-law will enlighten us a little about German -psychology, which we have found so puzzling. I should be so glad if -she could explain to us how the German people reconcile the sinking -of merchant ships, the unspeakable crime of the <i>Lusitania</i> with any -belief in God, or even with the principles of our common humanity. It -is a mystery to me how the drowning of babies could be regarded as -legitimate warfare by a people proud of their civilisation.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it would be better to avoid controversy, dear Miss Clutter,” -said Lady Brand, alarmed at the prospect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> of an “unpleasant” scene -which would be described in other drawing-rooms next day.</p> - -<p>But Miss Clutter had adopted Ethel’s method of enquiry. She so much -wanted to know the German point of view. Certainly they must have a -point of view.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it would be so interesting to know!” said another lady.</p> - -<p>“Especially if we could believe it,” said another.</p> - -<p>Elsa had been twisting and re-twisting a little lace handkerchief in -her lap. She was very pale, and tried to conceal a painful agitation -from all these hostile and enquiring ladies.</p> - -<p>Then she spoke to them in a low, strained voice.</p> - -<p>“You will never understand,” she said. “You look out from England with -eyes of hate, and without pity in your hearts. The submarine warfare -was shameful. There were little children drowned on the <i>Lusitania</i>, -and women. I wept for them, and prayed the dear God to stop the war. -Did you weep for our little children, and our women? They too were -killed by sea warfare, not only a few, as on the <i>Lusitania</i>, but -thousands and tens of thousands. Your blockade closed us in with an -iron ring. No ship could bring us food. For two years we starved on -short rations and chemical foods. We were without fats and milk. -Our mothers watched their children weaken, and wither, and die, -because of the English blockade. Their own milk dried up within their -breasts. Little coffins were carried down our streets day after day, -week after week. Fathers and mothers were mad at the loss of their -little ones. ‘We must smash our way through the English blockade!’ -they said. The U-boat warfare gladdened them. It seemed a chance of -rescue for the children of Germany. It was wicked. But all the war -was wickedness. It was wicked of you English to keep up your blockade -so long after Armistice, so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> more children died, and more women -were consumptive, and men fainted at their work. Do you reconcile that -with God’s good love? Oh, I find more hatred here in England than I -knew even in Germany. It is cruel, unforgiving, unfair! You are proud -of your own virtue, and hypocritical. God will be kinder to my people -than to you, because now we cry out for His mercy, and you are still -arrogant, with the name of God on your lips but a devil of pride in -your hearts. I came here with my dear husband believing that many -English would be like him, forgiving, hating cruelty, eager to heal the -world’s broken heart. You are not like him. You are cruel and lovers -of cruelty, even to one poor German girl who came to you for shelter -with her English man. I am sorry for you. I pity you because of your -narrowness. I do not want to know you.”</p> - -<p>She stood up, swaying a little, with one hand on the mantelpiece, as -afterwards she told her husband. She did not believe that she could -cross the floor without falling. There was a strange dizziness in her -head, and a mist before her eyes. But she held her head high and walked -out of the drawing-room, and then upstairs. When Wickham Brand came -back, she was lying on her bed, very ill. He sent for a doctor, who was -with her for half-an-hour.</p> - -<p>“She is very weak,” he said. “No pulse to speak of. You will have to be -careful of her. Deuced careful.”</p> - -<p>He gave no name to her illness. “Just weakness,” he said. “Run down -like a worn-out clock. Nerves all wrong, and no vitality.”</p> - -<p>He sent round a tonic, which Elsa took like a child, and for a little -while it seemed to do her good. But Brand was frightened because her -weakness had come back.</p> - -<p>I am glad now that I had an idea which helped Brand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> in this time of -trouble and gave Elsa some weeks of happiness and peace. It occurred -to me that young Harding was living alone in his big old country -house near Weybridge, and would be glad and grateful, because of -his loneliness, to give house-room to Brand and his wife. He had a -great liking for Brand, as most of us had, and his hatred of Germany -had not been so violent since his days in Cologne. His good-nature, -anyhow, and the fine courtesy which was the essential quality of his -character, would make him kind to Elsa, so ill and so desperately in -need of kindness. I was not disappointed. When I spoke to him over the -telephone, he said, “It will be splendid for me. This lonely house is -getting on my nerves badly. Bring them down.”</p> - -<p>I took them down in a car two days later. It was a fine autumn day, -with a sparkle in the air and a touch of frost on the hedgerows. Elsa, -wrapped up in heavy rugs, lay back next to Brand, and a little colour -crept back into her cheeks and brought back her beauty. I think a -shadow lifted from her as she drove away from that house in Chelsea -where she had dwelt with enmity among her husband’s people.</p> - -<p>Harding’s house in Surrey was at the end of a fine avenue of beeches, -glorious in their autumn foliage of crinkled gold. A rabbit scuttled -across the drive as we came, and bobbed beneath the red bracken of the -undergrowth.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Elsa, like a child, “there is Peterkin! What a rogue he -looks!”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were bright when she caught sight of Harding’s house in the -Elizabethan style of post-and-plaster splashed with scarlet where the -Virginia creeper straggled on its walls.</p> - -<p>“It is wonderfully English,” she said. “How Franz would love this -place!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> - -<p>Harding came down from the steps to greet us, and I thought it noble -of him that he should kiss the girl’s hand when Brand said, “This is -Elsa.” For Harding had been a Hun-hater—you remember his much-repeated -phrase, “No good German but a dead German!”—and that little act was -real chivalry to a woman of the enemy.</p> - -<p>There was a great fire of logs burning in the open hearth in the hall, -flinging a ruddy glare on the panelled walls and glinting on bits -of armour and hunting trophies. Upstairs also, Brand told me, there -was a splendid fire in Elsa’s room, which had once been the room of -Harding’s wife. It warmed Elsa not only in body but in soul. Here was -an English welcome, and kindness of thought. On her dressing-table -there were flowers from Harding’s hot-houses, and she gave a little -cry of pleasure at the sight of them, for there had been no flowers in -Cheyne Walk, Chelsea. That night she was strong enough to come down to -dinner, and looked very charming there at the polished board, lit only -by candlelight whose soft rays touched the gold of her hair.</p> - -<p>“It is a true English home,” she said, glancing up at the panelled -walls and at portraits of Harding’s people in old-fashioned costumes -which hung there.</p> - -<p>“A lonely one when no friends are here,” said Harding, and that was the -only time he referred in any way to the wife who had left him.</p> - -<p>That dinner was the last one which Elsa had sitting at table with us. -She became very tired again. So tired that Brand had to carry her -upstairs and downstairs, which he did as though she weighed no more -than a child. During the day she lay on a sofa in the drawing-room, and -Brand did no writing now, nor any kind of work, but stayed always with -his wife. For hours together he sat by her side, and she held his hand -and touched his face and hair, and was happy in her love. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> - -<p>A good friend came to stay with them, and brought unfailing -cheerfulness. It was Charles Fortune, who had come down at Harding’s -invitation. He was as comical as ever, and made Elsa laugh with ripples -of merriment while he satirised the world as he knew it, with shrewd -and penetrating wit. He played the jester industriously to get that -laughter from her, though sometimes she had to beg of him not to make -her laugh so much because it hurt her. Then he played the piano late -into the afternoon, until the twilight in the room faded into darkness -except for the ruddy glow of the log fire, or after dinner in the -evenings until Brand carried his wife to bed. He played Chopin best, -with a magic touch, but Elsa liked him to play Bach and Schumann, and -sometimes Mozart, because that brought back her girlhood in the days -before the war.</p> - -<p>So it was one evening when Brand sat on a low stool by the sofa on -which Elsa lay, with her fingers playing in his hair, or resting on his -shoulder, while Fortune filled the room with melody.</p> - -<p>Once or twice Elsa spoke to Brand in a low voice. I heard some of her -words as I lay on a bearskin by the fire.</p> - -<p>“I am wonderfully happy, my dear,” she said once, and Brand pulled her -hand down and kissed it.</p> - -<p>A little later she spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Love is so much better than hate. Then why should people go to war?”</p> - -<p>“God knows, my dear,” said Brand.</p> - -<p>It was some time after that, when Fortune was playing softly, that I -heard Elsa give a big, tired sigh, and say the word “Peace!”</p> - -<p>Charles Fortune played something of Beethoven’s now, with grand -crashing chords which throbbed through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> room as the last glow of -the sunset flushed through the windows.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Brand stirred on his stool, made an abrupt movement, then -rose, and gave a loud, agonising cry. Fortune stopped playing, with a -slur of notes. Harding leapt up from his chair in a dark corner and -said, “Brand! ... what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>Brand had dropped to his knees, and was weeping, with his arms about -his dead wife.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<h2>VIII</h2> - -<p>I was again a wanderer in the land, and going from country to country -in Europe saw the disillusionment that had followed victory, and the -despair that had followed defeat, and the ravages that were bequeathed -by war to peace, not only in devastated earth and stricken towns, but -in the souls of men and women.</p> - -<p>The victors had made great promises to their people, but for the most -part they were still unredeemed. They had promised them rich fruits -of victory to be paid out of the ruin of their enemies. But little -fruit of gold or treasure could be gathered from the utter bankruptcy -of Germany and Austria, whose factories stayed idle for lack of -raw material and whose money was waste paper in value of exchange. -“Reconstruction” was the watchword of statesmen, uttered as a kind of -magic spell, but when I went over the old battlefields in France I -found no sign of reconstruction, but only the vast belt of desolation -which in war I had seen swept by fire. No spell-word had built up -those towns and villages which had been blown into dust and ashes, -nor had given life to riven trees and earth choked and deadened by -high-explosives. Here and there poor families had crept back to the -place where their old homes had stood, grubbing in the ruins for some -relic of their former habitations and building wooden shanties in the -desert as frail shelters against the wind and the rain. In Ypres—the -City of Great Death—there were wooden <i>estaminets</i> for the refreshment -of tourists who came from Paris to see the graveyard of youth, and -girls sold picture-postcards where boys of ours had gone marching up -the Menin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> Road under storms of shell-fire which took daily toll of -them. No French statesman by optimistic words could resurrect in a -little while the beauty that had been in Artois and Picardy and the -fields of Champagne.</p> - -<p>On days of national thanksgiving the spirit of France was exalted by -the joy of victory. In Paris it was a feverish joy, wild-eyed, with -laughing ecstasy, with troops of dancing girls, and a carnival that -broke all bounds between Montmartre and Montparnasse. France had saved -herself from death. She had revenged herself for 1870 and the years -just passed. She had crushed the Enemy that had always been a brutal -menace across the frontier. She had her sword deep in the heart of -Germany, which lay bleeding at her feet. I who love France with a -kind of passion, and had seen during the years of war the agony and -the heroism of her people, did not begrudge them their ecstasy, and -it touched my spirit with its fire so that in France I could see and -understand the French point of view, of ruthlessness towards the beaten -foe. But I saw also what many people of France saw slowly but with a -sense of fear, that the Treaty made by Clémenceau did not make them -safe, except for a little while. This had not been, after all, “the war -to end war.” There was no guarantee of world-peace. Their frontiers -were not made impregnable against the time when the Germans might -grow strong again and come back for vengeance. They could not stand -alone, but must make new alliances, new secret treaties, new armies, -new armaments, because Hate survived, and the League of Nations was a -farce, as it had come from the table at Versailles.</p> - -<p>They looked round and counted their cost—a million and a half dead. -A multitude of maimed, and blind, and nerve-shocked men. A birth-rate -that had sunk to zero. A staggering debt which they could not pay. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> -cost of living which mounted higher and ever higher. A sense of revolt -among the soldiers who had come back, because their reward for four -years of misery was no more than miserable.</p> - -<p>So it was in Italy, stricken by a more desperate poverty, disappointed -by a lack of spoil, angry with a sense of “betrayal,” afraid of -revolution, exultant when a mad poet seized the port of Fiume which had -been denied to her by President Wilson and his conscience.</p> - -<p>Across the glittering waters of the Adriatic I went to Trieste and -found it a dead port, with Italian officers in possession of its -deserted docks and abandoned warehouses, and Austrians dying of typhus -in the back streets, and starving to death in tenement houses.</p> - -<p>And then, across the new State of Jugo-Slavia cut out of the body of -the old Austrian Empire now lying dismembered, I came to Vienna, which -once I had known as the gayest capital of Europe, where charming people -played the pleasant game of life, with music, and love, and laughter.</p> - -<p>In Vienna there was music still, but it played a <i>danse macabre</i>, a -Dance of Death, which struck one with a sense of horror. The orchestras -still fiddled in the restaurants; at night the opera house was crowded. -In cafés bright with gilt and glass, in restaurants rich in marble -walls, crowds of people listened to the waltzes of Strauss, ate -smuggled food at monstrous prices, laughed, flirted, and drank. They -were the profiteers of war, spending paper money with the knowledge -that it had no value outside Vienna, no value here except in stacks, to -buy warmth for their stomachs, a little warmth for their souls, while -their stock of Kronen lasted. They were the vultures from Jugo-Slavia -and Czecho-Slovakia come to feed on the corpse of Austria while it -still had flesh on its bones, and while Austrian Kronen still had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> -some kind of purchase power.... And outside, two million people were -starving slowly but very surely to death.</p> - -<p>The children were starving quickly to death. Their coffins passed -me in the streets. Ten—twelve—fifteen—in one-half-hour between -San Stefan’s Church and the Favoritenstrasse. Small living skeletons -padded after one with naked feet, thrusting out little claw-like hands, -begging for charity. In the great hospital of Vienna children lay in -crowded wards, with twisted limbs and bulbous heads, diseased from -birth, because of their mother’s hunger, and a life without milk, and -any kind of fat.</p> - -<p>Vienna, the capital of a great Empire, had been sentenced to death by -the Treaty of Peace which had so carved up her former territory that -she was cut off from all her natural resources and from all means of -industry, commerce and life.</p> - -<p>It was Dr. Small, dear Daddy Small, who gave me an intimate knowledge -of what was happening in Vienna a year after Armistice, and it was -Eileen O’Connor who still further enlightened me by taking me into the -babies’ crèches, the <i>Kinderspital</i> and the working people’s homes, -where disease and death found their victims. She took me to these -places until I sickened and said, “I can bear no more.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Small had a small office in the <i>Kärtnerstrasse</i>, where Eileen -worked with him, and it was here that I found them both a day after -my arrival in Vienna. Eileen was on her knees, making a wood fire and -puffing it into a blaze for the purpose of boiling a tin kettle which -stood on a trivet, and after that, as I found, for making tea. Outside -there was a raw, horrible day, with a white mist in which those coffins -were going by, and with those barefoot children with pallid faces and -gaunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> cheeks padding by one’s side, so that I was glad to see the -flames in the hearth and to hear the cheerful clink of tea-cups which -the doctor was getting out. Better still was I glad to see these two -good friends, so sane, so vital, so purposeful, as I found them, in a -world of gloom and neurosis.</p> - -<p>The doctor told me of their work. It was life-saving, and increasing -in range of action. They had organised a number of feeding centres -in Vienna, and stores from which mothers could buy condensed milk -and cocoa, and margarine, at next to nothing, for their starving -babes. Austrian ladies were doing most of the actual work apart from -organisation at headquarters, and doing it devotedly. From America, and -from England, money was flowing in.</p> - -<p>“The tide of thought is turning,” said the doctor. “Every dollar we -get, and every shilling, is a proof that the call of humanity is being -heard above the old war-cries.”</p> - -<p>“And every dollar, and every shilling,” said Eileen, “is helping to -save the life of some poor woman or some little mite, who had no guilt -in the war, but suffered from its cruelty.”</p> - -<p>“This job,” said the doctor, “suits my peculiar philosophy. I am not -out so much to save these babies’ lives——”</p> - -<p>Here Eileen threatened to throw the teapot at his head.</p> - -<p>“Because,” he added, “some of them would be better dead, and anyhow you -can’t save a nation by charity. But what I am out to do is to educate -the heart of the world above the baseness of the passions that caused -the massacre in Europe. We’re helping to do it by saving the children, -and by appealing to the chivalry of men and women across the old -frontiers. We’re killers of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> cruelty, Miss Eileen and I. We’re rather -puffed up with ourselves, ain’t we, my dear?”</p> - -<p>He grinned at Eileen through his big spectacles, and I could see -that between this little American and that Irish girl there was an -understanding comradeship.</p> - -<p>So he told me when she left the room a minute to get another tea-cup, -or wash one up.</p> - -<p>“That girl!” he said. “Say, laddie, you couldn’t find a better head -in all Europe, including Hoover himself. She’s a Napoleon Bonaparte -without his blood-lust. She’s Horatio Nelson and Lord Northcliffe and -Nurse Cavell all rolled into one, to produce the organising genius -of Eileen O’Connor. Only, you would have to add a few saints like -Catherine of Sienna and Joan of Arc to allow for her spirituality. She -organises feeding-centres like you would write a column article. She -gets the confidence of Austrian women so that they would kiss her feet -if she’d allow it. She has a head for figures that fairly puts me to -shame, and as for her courage—well, I don’t mind telling you that I’ve -sworn to pack her back to England if she doesn’t keep clear of typhus -dens and other fever-stricken places. We can’t afford to lose her by -some dirty bug-bite.”</p> - -<p>Eileen came into the room again with another tea-cup and saucer. I -counted those on the table and saw three already.</p> - -<p>“Who is the other cup for?” I asked. “If you are expecting visitors -I’ll go, because I’m badly in need of a wash.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry,” said Eileen. “We haven’t time to wash in Vienna, and -anyhow there’s no soap, for love or money. This is for Wickham, who is -no visitor but one of the staff.”</p> - -<p>“Wickham?” I said. “Is Brand here?”</p> - -<p>“Rather!” said Daddy Small. “He has been here a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> week, and is doing -good work. Looks after the supplies, and puts his heart into the job.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke the door opened and Brand strode into the room, with rain -dripping from his waterproof coat which he took off and flung into a -corner before he turned to the table.</p> - -<p>“Lord! a cup of tea is what I want!”</p> - -<p>“And what you shall have, my dear,” said Eileen. “But don’t you know a -friend when you see him?”</p> - -<p>“By Jove!”</p> - -<p>He held my hand in a hard grip and patted me on the shoulder. Our -friendship was beyond the need of words.</p> - -<p>So there we three who had seen many strange and tragic things in those -years of history were together again, in the city of Vienna, the city -of death, where the innocent were paying for the guilty but where -also, as Daddy Small said, there was going out a call to charity which -was being heard by the heart of the world above the old war-cries of -cruelty.</p> - -<p>I stayed with them only a week. I had been long away from England and -had other work to do. But in that time I saw how these three friends, -and others in their service, were devoting themselves to the rescue -of human life. Partly, I think, for their own sake, though without -conscious selfishness, and with a passionate pity for those who -suffered. By this service they were healing their own souls, sorely -wounded in the war. That was so, certainly, with Wickham Brand, and a -little, I think, with Eileen O’Connor.</p> - -<p>Brand was rescued in the nick of time by the doctor’s call to him. -Elsa’s death had struck him a heavy blow when his nerves were already -in rags and tatters. Now by active service in this work of humanity and -healing he was getting back to normality, getting serene, and steady. -I saw the change in him, revealed by the light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> in his eyes and by his -quietude of speech, and the old sense of humour, which for a while he -had lost.</p> - -<p>“I see now,” he said one night, “that it’s no use fighting against the -injustice and brutality of life. I can’t remake the world, or change -the things that are written in history, or alter in any big way the -destiny of peoples. Stupidity, ignorance, barbarity, will continue -among the multitude. All that any of us can do is to tackle some good -job that lies at hand, and keep his own soul bright and fearless, if -there is any chance, and use his little intellect in his little circle -for kindness instead of cruelty. I find that chance here, and I am -grateful.”</p> - -<p>The doctor had larger and bigger hopes, though his philosophy of life -was not much different from that of Brand’s.</p> - -<p>“I want to fix up an intellectual company in this funny old universe,” -he said. “I want to establish an intellectual aristocracy on -international lines—the leaders of the New World. By intellectuals -I don’t mean highbrow fellows with letters after their names and -encyclopædias in their brain-pans. I mean men and women who by moral -character, kindness of heart, freedom from narrow hatreds, tolerance of -different creeds and races, and love of humanity, will unite in a free, -unfettered way, without a label or a league, to get a move on towards a -better system of human society. No Red Bolshevism, mind you, no heaven -by way of hell, but a striving for greater justice between classes and -nations, and for peace within the frontiers of Christendom, and beyond, -if possible. It’s getting back to the influence of the individual, the -leadership of multitudes by the power of the higher mind. I’m doing it -by penny postcards to all my friends. This work of ours in Vienna is a -good proof of their response. Let all the folk, with good hearts behind -their brains, start writing postcards to each other, with a plea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> for -brotherhood, charity, peace, and the New World would come.... You -laugh! Yes, I talk a little nonsense. It’s not so easy as that. But see -the idea? The leaders must keep in touch, and the herds will follow.”</p> - -<p>I turned to Eileen, who was listening with a smile about her lips while -she pasted labels on to packets of cocoa.</p> - -<p>“What’s your philosophy?” I asked.</p> - -<p>She laughed in that deep voice of hers.</p> - -<p>“I’ve none; only the old faith, and a little hope, and a heart that’s -bustin’ with love.”</p> - -<p>Brand was adding up figures in a book of accounts, and smiled across at -the girl whom he had known since boyhood, when she had pulled his hair.</p> - -<p>His wounds were healing.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOUNDED SOULS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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