war and the future-第2章
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cafes； by the roadside； in tents； in trenches； thoughtful。
I have seen Alpini sitting restfully and staring with speculative
eyes across the mountain gulfs towards unseen and unaccountable
enemies。 I have seen trainloads of wounded staring out of the
ambulance train windows as we passed。 I have seen these dim
intimations of questioning reflection in the strangest
juxtapositions； in Malagasy soldiers resting for a spell among
the big shells they were hoisting into trucks for the front； in a
couple of khaki…clad Maoris sitting upon the step of a horse…van
in Amiens station。 It is always the same expression one catches；
rather weary； rather sullen； inturned。 The shoulders droop。 The
very outline is a note of interrogation。 They look up as the
privileged tourist of the front； in the big automobile or the
reserved compartment； with his officer or so in charge； passes
importantly。 One meets a pair of eyes that seems to say：
〃Perhaps /you/ understand。。。。
〃In which case…。。。？〃
It is a part； I think； of this disposition to investigate what
makes everyone collect 〃specimens〃 of the war。 Everywhere the
souvenir forces itself upon the attention。 The homecoming
permissionaire brings with him invariably a considerable weight
of broken objects； bits of shell； cartridge clips； helmets； it is
a peripatetic museum。 It is as if he hoped for a clue。 It is
almost impossible； I have found； to escape these pieces in
evidence。 I am the least collecting of men； but I have brought
home Italian cartridges； Austrian cartridges； the fuse of an
Austrian shell； a broken Italian bayonet； and a note that is
worth half a franc within the confines of Amiens。 But a large
heavy piece of exploded shell that had been thrust very urgently
upon my attention upon the Carso I contrived to lose during the
temporary confusion of our party by the arrival and explosion of
another prospective souvenir in our close proximity。 And two
really very large and almost complete specimens of some species
of /Ammonites/ unknown to me； from the hills to the east of
the Adige； partially wrapped in a back number of the /Corriere
della Sera/； that were pressed upon me by a friendly officer；
were unfortunately lost on the line between Verona and Milan
through the gross negligence of a railway porter。 But I doubt if
they would have thrown any very conclusive light upon the war。
2
I avow myself an extreme Pacifist。 I am against the man who
first takes up the weapon。 I carry my pacifism far beyond the
ambiguous little group of British and foreign sentimentalists who
pretend so amusingly to be socialists in the /Labour
Leader/； whose conception of foreign policy is to give Germany
now a peace that would be no more than a breathing time for a
fresh outrage upon civilisation； and who would even make heroes
of the crazy young assassins of the Dublin crime。 I do not
understand those people。 I do not merely want to stop this war。
I want to nail down war in its coffin。 Modern war is an
intolerable thing。 It is not a thing to trifle with in this
Urban District Council way； it is a thing to end forever。 I have
always hated it； so far that is as my imagination enabled me to
realise it； and now that I have been seeing it； sometimes quite
closely for a full month； I hate it more than ever。 I never
imagined a quarter of its waste； its boredom； its futility； its
desolation。 It is merely a destructive and dispersive instead of
a constructive and accumulative industrialism。 It is a gigantic；
dusty； muddy； weedy； bloodstained silliness。 It is the plain
duty of every man to give his life and all that he has if by so
doing he may help to end it。 I hate Germany； which has thrust
this experience upon mankind； as I hate some horrible infectious
disease。 The new war； the war on the modern level； is her
invention and her crime。 I perceive that on our side and in its
broad outlines； this war is nothing more than a gigantic and
heroic effort in sanitary engineering； an effort to remove German
militarism from the life and regions it has invaded； and to bank
it in and discredit and enfeeble it so that never more will it
repeat its present preposterous and horrible efforts。 All human
affairs and all great affairs have their reservations and their
complications； but that is the broad outline of the business as
it has impressed itself on my mind and as I find it conceived in
the mind of the average man of the reading class among the allied
peoples； and as I find it understood in the judgment of honest
and intelligent neutral observers。
It is my unshakeable belief that essentially the Allies fight for
a permanent world peace； that primarily they do not make war but
resist war； that has reconciled me to this not very congenial
experience of touring as a spectator all agog to see； through the
war zones。 At any rate there was never any risk of my playing
Balaam and blessing the enemy。 This war is tragedy and sacrifice
for most of the world； for the Germans it is simply the
catastrophic outcome of fifty years of elaborate intellectual
foolery。 Militarism； Welt Politik； and here we are！ What else
/could/ have happened； with Michael and his infernal War
Machine in the very centre of Europe； but this tremendous
disaster？
It is a disaster。 It may be a necessary disaster； it may teach a
lesson that could be learnt in no other way； but for all that； I
insist； it remains waste； disorder； disaster。
There is a disposition； I know； in myself as well as in others；
to wriggle away from this verity； to find so much good in the
collapse that has come to the mad direction of Europe for the
past half…century as to make it on the whole almost a beneficial
thing。 But at most I can find it in no greater good than the
good of a nightmare that awakens the sleeper in a dangerous place
to a realisation of the extreme danger of his sleep。 Better had
he been awakeor never there。 In Venetia Captain Pirelli； whose
task it was to keep me out of mischief in the war zone； was
insistent upon the way in which all Venetia was being opened up
by the new military roads； there has been scarcely a new road
made in Venetia since Napoleon drove his straight； poplar…
bordered highways through the land。 M。 Joseph Reinach； who was
my companion upon the French front； was equally impressed by the
stirring up and exchange of ideas in the villages due to the
movement of the war。 Charles Lamb's story of the discovery of
roast pork comes into one's head with an effect of repartee。
More than ideas are exchanged in the war zone； and it is doubtful
how far the sanitary precautions of the military authorities
avails against a considerable propaganda of disease。 A more
serious argument for the good of war is that it evokes heroic
qualities that it has brought out almost incredible quantities of
courage； devotion； and individual romance that did not show in
the suffocating peace time that preceded the war。 The reckless
and beautiful zeal of the women in the British and French
munition factories； for example； the gaiety and fearlessness of
the common soldiers everywhere； these things have always been
therelike champagne sleeping in bottles in a cellar。 But was
there any need to throw a bomb into the cellar？
I am reminded of a story； or rather of the idea for a story that
I think I must have read in that curious collection of fantasies
and observations； Hawthorne's /Note Book。/ It was to be the
story of a man who found life dull and his circumstances
altogether mediocre。 He had loved his wife； but now after all
she seemed to be a very ordinary human being。 He had begun life
with high hopesand life was commonplace。 He was to grow
fretful and restless。 His discontent was to lead to some action；
some irrevocable action； but upon the nature of that action I do
not think the /Note Book/ was very clear。 It was to carry
him in such a manner that he was to forget his wife。 Then； when
it was too late； he was to see her at an upper window； stripped
and firelit； a glorious thing of light and loveliness and tragic
intensity。。。。
The elementary tales of the world are very few； and Hawthorne's
story and L
