The conversation had turned, as it always does in the smoking-rooms of
golf clubs, to the state of poor old England, and Porkins had summed the
matter up. He had marched round in ninety-seven that morning, followed
by a small child with an umbrella and an arsenal of weapons, and he felt
in form with himself.
"What England wants," he said, leaning back, and puffing at his
cigar,--"what England wants is a war. (Another whisky and soda, waiter.)
We're getting flabby. All this pampering of the poor is playing the very
deuce with the country. A bit of a scrap with a foreign power would do
us all the good in the world." He disposed of his whisky at a draught.
"We're flabby," he repeated. "The lower classes seem to have no sense of
discipline nowadays. We want a war to brace us up."
* * * * *
It is well understood in Olympus that Porkins must not be disappointed.
What will happen to him in the next world I do not know, but it will be
something extremely humorous; in this world, however, he is to have all
that he wants. Accordingly the gods got to work.
In the little village of Ospovat, which is in the south-eastern corner
of Ruritania, there lived a maiden called Maria Strultz, who was engaged
to marry Captain Tomsk.
"I fancy," said one of the gods, "that it might be rather funny if Maria
jilted the Captain. I have an idea that it would please Porkins."
"Whatever has Maria--" began a very young god, but he was immediately
suppressed.
"Really," said the other, "I should have thought it was sufficiently
obvious. You know what these mortals are." He looked round to them all.
"Is it agreed then?"
It was agreed.
So Maria Strultz jilted the Captain.
Now this, as you may imagine, annoyed Captain Tomsk. He commanded a
frontier fort on the boundary between Ruritania and Essenland, and his
chief amusement in a dull life was to play cards with the Essenland
captain, who commanded the fort on the other side of the river. When
Maria's letter came he felt that the only thing to do was to drown
himself; on second thoughts he decided to drown his sorrows first. He
did this so successfully that at the end of the evening he was convinced
that it was not Maria who had jilted him, but the Essenland captain who
had jilted Maria; whereupon he rowed across the river and poured his
revolver into the Essenland flag which was flying over the fort. Maria
thus revenged, he went home to bed, and woke next morning with a bad
headache.
(_"Now we're off," said the gods in Olympus._)
In Diedeldorf, the capital of Essenland, the leader-writers proceeded to
remove their coats.
"The blood of every true Essenlander," said the leader-writer of the
_Diedeldorf Patriot_, after sending out for another pot of beer, "will
boil when it hears of this fresh insult to our beloved flag, an insult
which can only be wiped out with blood." Then seeing that he had two
"bloods" in one sentence, he crossed the second one out, substituted
"the sword," and lit a fresh cigarette. "For years Essenland has writhed
under the provocations of Ruritania, but has preserved a dignified
silence; this last insult is more than flesh and blood can stand."
Another "blood" had got in, but it was a new sentence and he thought it
might be allowed to remain. "We shall not be accused of exaggeration if
we say that Essenland would lose, and rightly lose, her prestige in the
eyes of Europe if she let this affront pass unnoticed. In a day she
would sink from a first-rate to a fifth-rate power." But he didn't say
how.
The Chancellor of Essenland, in a speech gravely applauded by both sides
of the House, announced the steps he had taken. An ultimatum had been
sent to Ruritania demanding an apology, an indemnity of a hundred
thousand marks, and the public degradation of Captain Tomsk, whose
epaulettes were to be torn off by the Commander-in-Chief of the
Essenland Army in the presence of a full corps of cinematograph artists.
Failing this, war would be declared.
Ruritania offered the apology, the indemnity, and the public degradation
of Captain Tomsk, but urged that this last ceremony would be better
performed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Ruritanian Army; otherwise
Ruritania might as well cease to be a sovereign state, for she would
lose her prestige in the eyes of Europe.
There was only one possible reply to this, and Essenland made it. She
invaded Ruritania.
(_"Aren't they wonderful?" said the gods in Olympus to each other._
_"But haven't you made a mistake?" asked the very young god. "Porkins
lives in England, not Essenland."_
_"Wait a moment," said the others._)
* * * * *
In the capital of Borovia the leader-writer of the _Borovian Patriot_
got to work. "How does Borovia stand?" he asked. "If Essenland occupies
Ruritania, can any thinking man in Borovia feel safe with the enemy at
his gates?" (The Borovian peasant, earning five marks a week, would have
felt no less safe than usual, but then he could hardly be described as a
thinking man.) "It is vital to the prestige of Borovia that the
integrity of Ruritania should be preserved. Otherwise we may resign
ourselves at once to the prospect of becoming a fifth-rate power in the
eyes of Europe." And in a speech, gravely applauded by all parties, the
Borovian Chancellor said the same thing. So the Imperial Army was
mobilized and, amidst a wonderful display of patriotic enthusiasm by
those who were remaining behind, the Borovian troops marched to the
front....
(_"And there you are," said the gods in Olympus._
_"But even now----" began the very young god doubtfully._
_"Silly, isn't Felicia the ally of Essenland; isn't Marksland the ally
of Borovia; isn't England the ally of the ally of the ally of the
Country which holds the balance of power between Marksland and
Felicia?"_
_"But if any of them thought the whole thing stupid or unjust or----"_
_"Their prestige," said the gods gravely, trying not to laugh._
_"Oh, I see," said the very young god._)
* * * * *
And when a year later the hundred-thousandth English mother woke up to
read that her boy had been shot, I am afraid she shed foolish tears and
thought that the world had come to an end.
Poor short-sighted creature! She didn't realise that Porkins, who had
marched round in ninety-six the day before, was now thoroughly braced
up.
(_"What babies they all are," said the very young god._)