Told in a French Garden | Page 5

tell you one sure thing if you want a good circus
you've got to train your animals. The Kaiser has been a corking
ringmaster."
Of course this got a laugh, and though both Critic and Journalist tried to
strike fire again with words like "democracy" and "civilization," the

Doctor had cooled down, and nothing could stir him again that night.
Still the discord had been sown. I suppose the dinner-table talk was
only a sample of what was going on, in that month, all over the world.
It did not help matters that as the days went on we all realized that the
Doctor had been right--that France was to be invaded, not across her
own proper frontier, but across unprotected Belgium. This seemed so
atrocious to most of us that indignation could only express itself in
abuse. There was not a night that the dinner-table talk was not bitter.
You see the Doctor did not expect the world ever to be perfect--did not
know that he wanted it to be--believed in the struggle. On the other
hand the Critic, and in a certain sense the Journalist, in spite of their
experiences, were more or less Utopian, and the Sculptor and the
Violinist purely spectators.
No need to go into the details of the heated arguments. They were only
the echo of what all the world,--that had cradled itself into the belief
that a great war among the great nations had become, for economic as
well as humanitarian reasons, impossible,--were, I imagine, at this time
saying.
As nearly as I can remember it was on August 20th that the climax
came. Liège had fallen. The English Expedition had landed, and was
marching on Belgium. A victorious German army had goose-stepped
into defenseless Brussels, and was sweeping out toward the French
frontier. The French advance into Alsace had been a blunder.
The Doctor remarked that "the English had landed twelve days too
late," and the Journalist drew a graphic, and purely imaginary, picture
of the pathos of the Belgians straining their eyes in vain to the West for
the coming of the men in khaki, and unfortunately he let himself
expatiate a bit on German methods.
The spark touched the Doctor off.
"By Jove," he said, "all you sentimentalists read the History of the
World with your intellects in your breeches pockets. War is not a game
for babies. It is war--it is not sport. You chaps think war can be

prevented. All I ask you is--why hasn't it been prevented? In every
generation that we know anything about there have been some pretty
fine men who have been of your opinion--Erasmus for one, and how
many others? But since the generations have contented themselves with
talking, and not talked war out of the problem, why, I can't see, for my
part, that Germany's way is not as good as any. She is in to win, and so
are all the rest of them. Schools of War are like the Schools of Art you
chaps talk so much about--it does not make much difference what
school one belongs to--the only important thing is making good."
"One would think," said the Journalist, "that you liked such a war."
"Well, I don't even know that I can deny that. I would not deliberately
choose it. But I am willing to accept it, and I am not a bit sentimental
about it. I am not even sure that it was not needed. The world has let
the Kaiser sit twenty-five years on a throne announcing himself as
'God's anointed.' His pretensions have been treated seriously by all the
democracies of the world. What for? Purely for personal gain. We have
come to a pass where there is little a man won't do--for personal gain.
The business of the world, and its diplomacy, have all become so
complicated and corrupt that a large percentage of the brains of honest
mankind are little willing to touch either. We need shaking up--all of us.
If nothing can make man realize that he was not born to be merely
happy and get rich, or to have a fine old time, why, such a complete
upheaval as this seems to me to be necessary, and for me--if this war
can rip off, with its shrapnel, the selfishness with which prosperity has
encrusted the lucky: if it can explode our false values with its bombs: if
it can break down our absurd pretensions with its cannon,--all I can say
is that Germany will have done missionary work for the whole
world--herself included."
Before he had done, we were all on our feet shouting at him, all but the
Lawyer, who smiled into his coffee cup.
"Why," cried the Critic, in anger, "one would think you held a brief for
them!"
"I do