all roads lead to calvary-第53部分

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g　them　away。　　'They　shan't　pass；'　'They　shan't　pass！'that's　all　they　kept　saying。〃　　His　voice　had　sunk　to　a　thin　whisper。

A　young　officer　was　lying　in　a　corner　behind　a　screen。　　He　leant　forward　and　pushed　it　aside。

〃Oh；　give　the　devil　his　due；　you　fellows；〃　he　said。　　〃War　isn't　a　pretty　game；　but　it　does　make　for　courage。　　We　all　know　that。　　And　things　even　finer　than　mere　fighting　pluck。　　There　was　a　man　in　my　company；　a　Jacques　Decrusy。　　He　was　just　a　stupid　peasant　lad。　　We　were　crowded　into　one　end　of　the　trench；　about　a　score　of　us。　　The　rest　of　it　had　fallen　in；　and　we　couldn't　move。　　And　a　bomb　dropped　into　the　middle　of　us；　and　the　same　instant　that　it　touched　the　ground　Decrusy　threw　himself　flat　down　upon　it　and　took　the　whole　of　it　into　his　body。　　There　was　nothing　left　of　him　but　scraps。　But　the　rest　of　us　got　off。　　Nobody　had　drugged　him　to　do　that。　There　isn't　one　of　us　who　was　in　that　trench　that　will　not　be　a　better　man　to　the　end　of　his　days；　remembering　how　Jacques　Decrusy　gave　his　life　for　ours。〃

〃I'll　grant　you　all　that；　sir；〃　answered　the　young　soldier　who　had　first　spoken。　　He　had　long；　delicate　hands　and　eager；　restless　eyes。　　〃War　does　bring　out　heroism。　　So　does　pestilence　and　famine。　Read　Defoe's　account　of　the　Plague　of　London。　　How　men　and　women　left　their　safe　homes；　to　serve　in　the　pest…houses；　knowing　that　sooner　or　later　they　were　doomed。　　Read　of　the　mothers　in　India　who　die　of　slow　starvation；　never　allowing　a　morsel　of　food　to　pass　their　lips　so　that　they　may　save　up　their　own　small　daily　portion　to　add　it　to　their　children's。　　Why　don't　we　pray　to　God　not　to　withhold　from　us　His　precious　medicine　of　pestilence　and　famine？　So　is　shipwreck　a　fine　school　for　courage。　　Look　at　the　chance　it　gives　the　captain　to　set　a　fine　example。　　And　the　engineers　who　stick　to　their　post　with　the　water　pouring　in　upon　them。　　We　don't　reconcile　ourselves　to　shipwrecks　as　a　necessary　school　for　sailors。　　We　do　our　best　to　lessen　them。　　So　did　persecution　bring　out　heroism。　　It　made　saints　and　martyrs。　　Why　have　we　done　away　with　it？　　If　this　game　of　killing　and　being　killed　is　the　fine　school　for　virtue　it　is　made　out　to　be；　then　all　our　efforts　towards　law　and　order　have　been　a　mistake。　　We　never　ought　to　have　emerged　from　the　jungle。〃

He　took　a　note…book　from　under　his　pillow　and　commenced　to　scribble。

An　old…looking　man　spoke。　　He　lay　with　his　arms　folded　across　his　breast；　addressing　apparently　the　smoky　rafters。　　He　was　a　Russian；　a　teacher　of　languages　in　Paris　at　the　outbreak　of　the　war；　and　had　joined　the　French　Army。

〃It　is　not　only　courage；〃　he　said；　〃that　War　brings　out。　　It　brings　out　vile　things　too。　　Oh；　I'm　not　thinking　merely　of　the　Boches。　That's　the　cant　of　every　nation：　　that　all　the　heroism　is　on　one　side　and　all　the　brutality　on　the　other。　　Take　men　from　anywhere　and　some　of　them　will　be　devils。　　War　gives　them　their　opportunity；　brings　out　the　beast。　　Can　you　wonder　at　it？　　You　teach　a　man　to　plunge　a　bayonet　into　the　writhing　flesh　of　a　fellow　human　being；　and　twist　it　round　and　round　and　jamb　it　further　in；　while　the　blood　is　spurting　from　him　like　a　fountain。　　What　are　you　making　of　him　but　a　beast？　　A　man's　got　to　be　a　beast　before　he　can　bring　himself　to　do　it。　　I　have　seen　things　done　by　our　own　men　in　cold　blood；　the　horror　of　which　will　haunt　my　memory　until　I　die。　　But　of　course；　we　hush　it　up　when　it　happens　to　be　our　own　people。〃

He　ceased　speaking。　　No　one　seemed　inclined　to　break　the　silence。

They　remained　confused　in　her　memory；　these　talks　among　the　wounded　men　in　the　low；　dimly　lighted　hut　that　had　become　her　world。　　At　times　it　was　but　two　men　speaking　to　one　another　in　whispers；　at　others　every　creaking　bed　would　be　drawn　into　the　argument。

One　topic　that　never　lost　its　interest　was：　　Who　made　wars？　　Who　hounded　the　people　into　them；　and　kept　them　there；　tearing　at　one　another's　throats？　　They　never　settled　it。

〃God　knows　I　didn't　want　it；　speaking　personally；〃　said　a　German　prisoner　one　day；　with　a　laugh。　　〃I　had　been　working　at　a　printing　business　sixteen　hours　a　day　for　seven　years。　　It　was　just　beginning　to　pay　me；　and　now　my　wife　writes　me　that　she　has　had　to　shut　the　place　up　and　sell　the　machinery　to　keep　them　all　from　starving。〃

〃But　couldn't　you　have　done　anything　to　stop　it？〃　demanded　a　Frenchman；　lying　next　to　him。　　〃All　your　millions　of　Socialists；　what　were　they　up　to？　　What　went　wrong　with　the　Internationale；　the　Universal　Brotherhood　of　Labour；　and　all　that　Tra…la…la？〃

The　German　laughed　again。　　〃Oh；　they　know　their　business；〃　he　answered。　　〃You　have　your　glass　of　beer　and　go　to　bed；　and　when　you　wake　up　in　the　morning　you　find　that　war　has　been　declared；　and　you　keep　your　mouth　shutunless　you　want　to　be　shot　for　a　traitor。　Not　that　it　would　have　made　much　difference；〃　he　added。　　〃I　admit　that。　　The　ground　had　been　too　well　prepared。　　England　was　envious　of　our　trade。　　King　Edward　had　been　plotting　our　destruction。　　Our　papers　were　full　of　translations　from　yours；　talking　about　'La　Revanche！'　　We　were　told　that　you　had　been　lending　money　to　Russia　to　enable　her　to　build　railways；　and　that　when　they　were　complete　France　and　Russia　would　fall　upon　us　suddenly。　　'The　Fatherland　in　danger！'　　It　may　be　lies　or　it　may　not；　what　is　one　to　do？　　What　would　you　have　doneeven　if　you　could　have　done　anything？〃

〃He's　right；〃　said　a　dreamy…eyed　looking　man；　laying　down　the　book　he　had　been　reading。　　〃We　should　have　done　just　the　same。　　'My　country；　right　or　wrong。'　　After　all；　it　is　an　ideal。〃

A　dark；　black…bearded　man　raised　himself　painfully　upon　his　elbow。　He　was　a　tailor　in　the　Rue　Parnesse；　and　prided　himself　on　a　decided　resemblance　to　Victor　Hugo。

〃It's　a　noble　ideal；〃　he　said。　　〃La　Patrie！　　The　great　Mother。　Right　or　wrong；　who　shall　dare　to　harm　her？　　Yes；　if　it　was　she　who　rose　up　in　her　majesty　and　called　to　us。〃　　He　laughed。　　〃What　does　it　mean　in　reality：　　Germania；　Italia；　La　France；　Britannia？　　Half　a　score　of　pompous　old　muddlers　with　their　fat　wives　egging　them　on：　　sons　of　the　fools　before　them；　talkers　who　have　wormed　themselves　into　power　by　making　frothy　speeches　and　fine　promises。　My　Country！〃　he　laughed　again。　　〃Look　at　them。　　Can't　you　see　their　swelling　paunches　and　their　flabby　faces？　　Half　a　score　of　ambitious　politicians；　gouty　old　financiers；　bald…headed　old　toffs；　with　their　waxed　moustaches　and　false　teeth。　　That's　what　we　mean　when　we　talk　about　'My　Country'：　　a　pack　of　selfish；　soulless；　muddle…headed　old　men。　　And　whether　they're　right　or　whether　they're　wrong；　our　duty　is　to　fight　at　their　biddingto　bleed　for　them；　to　die　for　them；　that　they　may　grow　more　sleek　and　prosperous。〃　　He　sank　back　on　his　pillow　with　another　laugh。

Sometimes　they　agreed　it　was　the　newspapers　that　made　warthat　fanned　every　trivial　difference　into　a　vital　question　of　national　honourthat；　whenever　there　was　any　fear　of　peace；　re…stoked　the　fires　of　hatred　with　their　never…failing　stories　of　atrocities。　　At　other　times　they　decided　it　was　the　capitalists；　the　traders；　scenting　profit　for　themselves。　　Some　held　it　was　the　politicians；　dreaming　of　going　down　to　history　as　Richelieus　or　as　Bismarcks。　　A　popular　theory　was　that　cause　for　war　was　always　discovered　by　the　ruling　classes　whenever　there　seemed　danger　that　the　workers　were　getting　out　of　hand。　　In　war；　you　put　the　common　people　back　in　their　place；　revived　in　them　the　habits　of　submission　and　obedience。　　Napoleon　the　Little；　it　was　argued；　had　started　the　war　of　1870　with　that　idea。　　Russia　had　welcomed　the　present　war　as　an　answer　to　the　Revolution　that　was　threatening　Czardom。　　Others　contended　it　was　the　great　munition　industries；　aided　by　the　military　party；　the　officers　impatient　for　opportunities　of　advancement；　the　strategists　eager　to　put　their　theories　to　the　test。　　A　few　of　the　more　philosophical　shrugged　their　shoulders。　It　was　the　thing　itself　that　sooner　or　later　was　bound　to　go　off　of　its　own　accord。　　Half　every　country's　energy；　half　every　country's　time　and　money　was　spent　in　piling　up　explosives。　　In　every　country　envy　and　hatred　of　every　other　country　was　preached　as　a　religion。　They　called　it　patriotism。　　Sooner　or　later　the　spark　fell。

A　wizened　little　man　had　been　listening　to　it　all　one　day。　　He　had　a　curiously　rat…like　face；　with　round；　red；　twinkling　eyes；　and　a　long；　pointed　nose　that　twitched　as　he　talked。

〃I'll　tell　you　who　makes　all　the　wars；〃　he　said。　　〃It's　you　and　me；　my　dears：　　we　make　the　wars。　　We　love　them。　　That's　why　we　open　our　mouths　and　swallow　all　the　twaddle　that　the　papers　give　us；　and　cheer　the　fine；　black…coated　gentlemen　when　they　tell　us　it's　our　sacred　duty　to　kill　Germans；　or　Italians；　or　Russians；　or　anybody　else。　　We　are　just　crazy　to　kill　something：　　it　doesn't　matter　what。　　If　it's　to　be　Germans；　we　shout　'A　Berlin！'；　and　if　it's　to　be　Russians　we　cheer　for　Liberty。　　I　was　in　Paris　at　the　time　of　the　Fashoda　trouble。　　How　we　hissed　the　English　in　the　cafes！　　And　how　they　glared　back　at　us！　　They　were　just　as　eager　to　kill　us。　Who　makes　a　dog　fight？　　Why；　the　dog。　　Anybody　can　do　it。　　Who　could　make　us　fight　each　other；　if　we　didn't　want　to？　　Not　all　the　king's　horses　and　all　the　King's　men。　　No；　my　dears；　it's　we