"I think," said my friend, "that the war will end when the Germans know
they are beaten. No, that is not quite so banal a prophecy as it
seems. Wars do not always end with the knowledge of defeat. They only
end with the admission of defeat, which is quite another thing. The
Civil War dragged on for a year after the South knew that they were
beaten. All that bloodshed in the Wilderness was suffered in the teeth
of the incontrovertible fact that it was in vain. But the man or the
nation which adopts the philosophy of the bully does not fight when the
certainty of victory has changed into the certainty of defeat. I have
never known a bully who was not a coward when his back was to the wall.
The French are at their best in the hour of defeat. There was nothing
so wonderful in the story of Napoleon as that astonishing campaign of
1814, and even in 1870-1 it was the courage of France when all was lost
that was the most heroic phase of the war. But the bully collapses
when the stimulus of victory has deserted him.
"Let me tell you a story. In 1883, having graduated at Dublin, I went
to Heidelberg--_alt Heidelberg du feine_. You know that jolly city,
and the students who swagger along the street, their faces seamed with
the scars of old sword cuts. I was one of a group of young fellows
from different countries who were studying at the University, and who
fraternised in a strange land.
"It was about the time when the safety bicycle was introduced in
England, and one of our group, a young Polish nobleman who had a great
passion for English things, got a machine sent over to him from London.
If not the first, it was certainly one of the first machines of the
kind that had appeared in Heidelberg. You may remember how strange it
seemed even to the English public when it first came out. We had got
accustomed to the old high bicycle, and the 'Safety' looked ridiculous
and babyish by comparison.
"Well, in Heidelberg the appearance of the young Pole on his 'Safety'
created something like a sensation. The sports of the 'Englander' were
held in contempt by the students, and this absurd toy was the last
straw. It was the very symbol of the childishness of a nation given
over to the sport of babes.
"One day the Pole was riding out on his bicycle when he passed a couple
of students, who shouted opprobrious epithets at the 'Englander' and
his preposterous vehicle. The Pole turned round, flung some verbal
change back at them, and rode on his way.
"That evening as he sat in his room he heard steps ascending the
stairs, and there entered two students clothed in all the formality of
grave business. They had brought the Pole a challenge to a duel from
each of the two young fellows with whom he had exchanged words on the
road. The challenges were couched in the most ruthless terms. This
was to be no mere nominal satisfaction of honour. It was to be a duel
without guards or any of those restrictions that are common in such
affairs. The weapon was the sword, and the time-limit eight days.
"The seconds having fulfilled their errand went away, leaving the Pole
in no cheerful frame of mind. He was only a very indifferent
swordsman, and had never cultivated the sport of duelling. Now
suddenly he was faced with the necessity of fighting a duel in which he
would certainly be beaten, and might be killed, for he understood the
intentions of the challengers. It was clearly not possible for him to
acquire in a week such expertness with the sword as would give him a
chance of victory.
"In this emergency he came along to the little group of which I have
spoken. We were playing cards when he entered, but stopped when we saw
that something unusual had happened. He told us the story of the
bicycle ride and the sequel. What was he to do? He must fight, of
course, but how was he to get a dog's chance?
"Now the oldest of our group, and by far the most worldly wise, was an
American. He listened to the Pole and agreed that there was no time
for him to become sufficiently expert with the sword. 'But can you
shoot?' he asked the Pole. Yes, he was not a bad shot. The American
took up an ace from a pack of cards and held it up. 'Could you,
standing where you are, hit that ace with a revolver?' 'I am not sure
that I could hit it,' answered the Pole, 'but I should come very near
it.' 'That's all right,' said the American. 'Now to business. These
fellows have forgotten something. They're so used to fighting with the
sword that they've forgotten there's such a thing as the revolver. And
they're trying to bluff you into their own terms. They've forgotten,
or don't choose to remember, that, as the challenged party, you have
choice of weapons. Now we'll draw up an answer to this letter,
accepting the challenge, claiming the choice of weapons, choosing the
revolver, and putting the conditions as stiff as we can make 'em.'
"So we sat around the American and composed the reply. And I can
assure you it had a very ugly look. The Pole signed it with great
delight, and the American and I as seconds delivered it.
"Then we waited. One day passed without an answer--two, three, four,
five, six. Still no answer. We were enjoying ourselves. On the
evening of the seventh day the seconds reappeared at the Pole's rooms.
They brought no acceptance of his challenge, but an impudent demand for
the original conditions. The Pole came along to us with the news.
'That's all right,' said the American. 'We've got them on the run.
Now to clinch the business.' And once more we sat round in great glee
to draft the reply. It was as hot as we knew how to make it. It
breathed death in every syllable, and it gave the Germans eight days to
prepare for the end at the muzzle of the revolver.
"Again we waited, and again the days passed without a sign. Then on
the eve of the eighth day the seconds once more appeared. I was
present with the Pole at the time. I have never seen a more forlorn
pair than those seconds made as they entered. Their principals, driven
into a corner, faced with the alternative of fighting with weapons
which did not assure them of victory or of accepting the humiliation of
running away, had decided to run away. They would not fight on the
conditions offered by the Pole, and the seconds were a spectacle of
humiliation. Their apologies to us struggled with their indignation at
their principals and they went away a chastened spectacle. That night
we had a gay gathering with the American in the chair, and I think the
incident must have got wind abroad, for thenceforward the Pole rode his
Safety in peace and in triumph....
"You may think that story is a trifle. Well, it is. But I think it
has some bearing on the end of the war."