GENERAL BRAMBLE'S RETURN
"The English have a mild aspect and a ringing, cheerful
voice."--Emerson.
"By Jove," said the Infant Dundas, "this Paris of yours _is_ a jolly
town."
Beltara the painter had invited Aurelle to spend an evening in his
studio to meet General Bramble, who was passing through Paris on his
way to Constantinople, accompanied by Dundas and Dr. O'Grady.
The general was sitting on a divan piled high with many-coloured
cushions, and gazing with emotion upon the sketch of a nude figure.
The Greek heads, Etruscan warriors and Egyptian scribes about him
had the rare and spiritual beauty of mutilated things. Aurelle gazed
at his old chief as he sat motionless among the statues, and
consecrated the brief moment of silence to the memory of his virtues.
"A fine woman," exclaimed the general, "a very fine woman indeed!
What a pity I can't show you a few Soudan negresses, Beltara!"
Beltara interrupted him to introduce one of his friends, Lieutenant
Vincent, a gunner with a frank, open face. The general, fixing his
clear gaze on Aurelle, tried to speak of France and England.
"I'm glad, Messiou, that we've come to an understanding at last. I'm
not very well up in all this business, but I can't stand all these
bickering politicians."
Aurelle was suddenly conscious of the general's real sincerity and
anxiety about the future. Lieutenant Vincent came up to them. He
had the rather wild, attractive grace of the present-day youth. As he
sat listening to General Bramble's words about English friendship,
his lips parted as though he was burning to break in.
"Will you allow me, sir," he suddenly interrupted, "to tell you how
we look at it. Frankly speaking, you English were marvellous during
the war, but since the Armistice you have been on the wrong tack
entirely. You are on the wrong tack because you don't know the
Germans. Now I've just come back from Germany, and it is absolutely
clear that as soon as those fellows have enough to eat they'll fall
on us again. _You_ want to get their forgiveness for your victory.
But why should they accept their defeat? Would you accept it in their
place?"
"The sense of shame after victory," said the doctor gently, "is a
sentiment quite natural to barbarous peoples. After employing the
utmost cruelty during the fight, they come and implore their
slaughtered enemies' pardon. 'Don't bear us a grudge for having cut
off your heads,' they say; 'if we had been less lucky you would have
cut off ours.' The English always go in for this kind of posthumous
politeness. They call it behaving like sportsmen. It's really a
survival of the 'enemy's taboo.'"
"It would be quite all right," put in Lieutenant Vincent
breathlessly, "if you waited to appease the shades of your enemies
till you were quite certain they were really dead. But the Germans
are very much alive. Please understand, sir, that I'm speaking
absolutely without hate. What I mean is that we must destroy
Carthage--that is German military power--so completely that the very
idea of revenge will appear absurd to any German with an ounce of
common sense. As long as there exists at any time the barest chance
of an enterprise, they will attempt it. I don't blame them in the
least for it; in fact I admire them for not despairing of their
country; but our duty--and yours too--is to make such an enterprise
impossible."
"Yes," said the general in rather feeble French; "but you can't hit a
man when he's down, can you?"
"It's not a question of being down, sir. Do you know that the three
big gunpowder factories in Germany pay a dividend of fifteen per
cent.? Do you know that Krupp is building a factory in Finland in
order to escape our supervision? Do you realize that in ten years, if
we don't keep an eye on their chemical factories, the Germans will be
able to wage a frightful war against us, and use methods of which we
haven't the slightest inkling? Now why should we run this risk when
we are clearly in a position to take all precautions for some years
to come? Carthage _must_ be destroyed, sir. Why, just look at
Silesia...."
"Every one's talking about Silesia," said the Infant Dundas. "What
_is_ it, really?"
Vincent, waving his arms despairingly, went to the piano and played a
long, sad phrase of Borodin, the one which is sung by the recumbent
woman just before Prince Igor's dances. Before Aurelle's eyes floated
Northern landscapes, muddy fields and bleeding faces, mingling with
the women's bare shoulders and the silk embroideries in the studio.
He was suddenly seized by a healthy emotion, like a breath of fresh
air, which made him want to ride across the wide world beside General
Bramble.
"Doctor, can't we remain 'musketeers'?" he said.
"Can't be done," said the doctor sarcastically, "till this damned
peace ends."
"You hateful person!" said Beltara. "Will you have a whisky and
soda?"
"What!" exclaimed the general joyfully, "you've got whisky in the
house, here, in France?"
"It is pleasant to notice," said the doctor, "that the war has been
of some use after all. Your whisky, Beltara, quite reassures me about
the League of Nations. As the Entente is necessary to the safety of
our two countries, the responsibility of preserving good relations
ought to be given to doctors and psychologists. Such experts would
make it their business to cultivate those sentiments which tend to
unite two countries into one. They would remind people, by means of
noise and military ceremonies, of the great things they had achieved
together. England would be represented at these functions, as she is
in the minds of most Frenchmen, by Scotchmen and Australians.
Bagpipes, kilts, bugles and tam-o'-shanters are far better
diplomatists than ambassadors are. Pageants, dances, a few
sentimental anecdotes, exchanges of song, common sports, common
drinks--these are the essence of a good international policy. The
Church, which is always so wise and so human, attaches as much
importance to works as to faith. The outward signs of friendship are
much more important than friendship itself, because they are
sufficient to support it."
"Beltara," said the general, "will you ask your friend to play the
'Destiny Waltz' for Messiou?"
Once more the familiar strains rang out, and brought to mind the
years of stress and happy comradeship.
"Aurelle, do you remember Marguerite at Amiens--oh, and those two
little singers at Poperinghe whom I used to call Vaseline and
Glycerine? They sang English songs without understanding a word, with
the funniest accent in the world."
"And the Outersteene innkeeper's pretty daughters, Aurelle? Did you
ever see them again?"
"Goodness knows where they've got to, sir; Outersteene isn't rebuilt
yet."
"You never got to Salonica, did you? We had Mirka there; a fine pair
of legs she had too!"
Meanwhile the Infant Dundas had discovered that Lieutenant Vincent
played tennis, and had struck up a firm friendship. Taking hold of a
palette, he began to explain a few strokes. "Look here, old man, if
you cut your service towards the right, your ball will spin from
right to left, won't it?"
Vincent, who had been somewhat reserved at first, was melting, like
so many others, before the youthful charm of the Happy Nation.
Soon echoes of the hunt were heard in the studio, and Aurelle
received full upon his person an orange that spun from right to left.
General Bramble took out his watch and reminded Aurelle he was taking
the Orient Express. Beltara escorted him to the door, and Aurelle,
Vincent and the Infant followed behind.
"I like the Vincent boy," said the general to his host. "He's a
splendid fellow, really splendid! When he came in, I thought he was
English."
Aurelle wished them a pleasant journey.
"Well, good-bye, Dundas. It was nice seeing you again. I suppose
you're jolly glad you're going to Constantinople? I rather envy you."
"Yes," said the Infant, "I'm quite bucked about it, because the
general who was there before us is leaving us a house that's got up
in absolutely British style; there's a bathroom and a tennis-court.
So I'll be able to go on practising my overhead service. Splendid,
isn't it?"
They exchanged greetings and good wishes. The stars were shining in a
moonless sky. On the pavement in the avenue they heard the
aide-de-camp changing his step to fit his general's. The door closed
upon them.
In the gallery, in front of the green bronze warriors with their
large, staring eyes, the three Frenchmen looked at one another, and
the corners of their mouths twitched with the same friendly smile.
Transcriber's Notes
Minor typographical errors in the original have been silently
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