a miscellany of men-第15部分

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st　merchant　princes　and　pirates　have　eared　for　the　provinces　that　were　wasted　or　the　peoples　that　were　enslaved　just　before　their　ships　came　home。　　But　though　I　am　a　bit　of　a　revolutionist　myself；　I　cannot　quite　go　with　you　in　the　extreme　violence　you　suggest。　You　say〃

〃I　say；〃　he　cried；　bursting　through　my　speech　with　a　really　splendid　energy　like　that　of　some　noble　beast；　〃I　say　I'd　take　all　these　blasted　miners　and〃

I　had　risen　slowly　to　my　feet；　for　I　was　profoundly　moved；　and　I　stood　staring　at　that　mental　monster。

〃Oh；〃　I　said；　〃so　it　is　the　miners　who　are　all　to　be　sent　to　penal　servitude；　so　that　we　may　get　more　coal。　　It　is　the　miners　who　are　to　be　shot　dead；　every　man　Jack　of　them；　for　if　once　they　are　all　shot　dead　they　will　start　mining　again。。。You　must　forgive　me；　sir；　I　know　I　seem　somewhat　moved。。　　The　fact　is；　I　have　just　found　something。　　something　I　have　been　looking　for　for　years。〃

〃Well；〃　he　asked；　with　no　unfriendly　stare；　〃and　what　have　you　found？〃

〃No；〃　I　answered；　shaking　my　head　sadly；　〃I　do　not　think　it　would　be　quite　kind　to　tell　you　what　I　have　found。〃

He　had　a　hundred　virtues；　including　the　capital　virtue　of　good　humour；　and　we　had　no　difficulty　in　changing　the　subject　and　forgetting　the　disagreement。　　He　talked　about　society；　his　town　friends　and　his　country　sports；　and　I　discovered　in　the　course　of　it　that　he　was　a　county　magistrate；　a　Member　of　Parliament；　and　a　director　of　several　important　companies。　　He　was　also　that　other　thing；　which　I　did　not　tell　him。

The　moral　is　that　a　certain　sort　of　person　does　exist；　to　whose　glory　this　article　is　dedicated。　　He　is　not　the　ordinary　man。　　He　is　not　the　miner；　who　is　sharp　enough　to　ask　for　the　necessities　of　existence。　　He　is　not　the　mine…owner；　who　is　sharp　enough　to　get　a　great　deal　more；　by　selling　his　coal　at　the　best　possible　moment。　　He　is　not　the　aristocratic　politician；　who　has　a　cynical　but　a　fair　sympathy　with　both　economic　opportunities。　　But　he　is　the　man　who　appears　in　scores　of　public　places　open　to　the　upper　middle　class　or　（that　less　known　but　more　powerful　section）　the　lower　upper　class。　　Men　like　this　all　over　the　country　are　really　saying　whatever　comes　into　their　heads　in　their　capacities　of　justice　of　the　peace；　candidate　for　Parliament；　Colonel　of　the　Yeomanry；　old　family　doctor；　Poor　Law　guardian；　coroner；　or　above　all；　arbiter　in　trade　disputes。　　He　suffers；　in　the　literal　sense；　from　softening　of　the　brain；　he　has　softened　it　by　always　taking　the　view　of　everything　most　comfortable　for　his　country；　his　class；　and　his　private　personality。　　He　is　a　deadly　public　danger。　　But　as　I　have　given　him　his　name　at　the　beginning　of　this　article　there　is　no　need　for　me　to　repeat　it　at　the　end。




THE　CONSCRIPT　AND　THE　CRISIS


Very　few　of　us　ever　see　the　history　of　our　own　time　happening。　　And　I　think　the　best　service　a　modern　journalist　can　do　to　society　is　to　record　as　plainly　as　ever　he　can　exactly　what　impression　was　produced　on　his　mind　by　anything　he　has　actually　seen　and　heard　on　the　outskirts　of　any　modern　problem　or　campaign。　　Though　all　he　saw　of　a　railway　strike　was　a　flat　meadow　in　Essex　in　which　a　train　was　becalmed　for　an　hour　or　two；　he　will　probably　throw　more　light　on　the　strike　by　describing　this　which　he　has　seen　than　by　describing　the　steely　kings　of　commerce　and　the　bloody　leaders　of　the　mob　whom　he　has　never　seennor　any　one　else　either。　　If　he　comes　a　day　too　late　for　the　battle　of　Waterloo　（as　happened　to　a　friend　of　my　grandfather）　he　should　still　remember　that　a　true　account　of　the　day　after　Waterloo　would　be　a　most　valuable　thing　to　have。　　Though　he　was　on　the　wrong　side　of　the　door　when　Rizzio　was　being　murdered；　we　should　still　like　to　have　the　wrong　side　described　in　the　right　way。　Upon　this　principle　I；　who　know　nothing　of　diplomacy　or　military　arrangements；　and　have　only　held　my　breath　like　the　rest　of　the　world　while　France　and　Germany　were　bargaining；　will　tell　quite　truthfully　of　a　small　scene　I　saw；　one　of　the　thousand　scenes　that　were；　so　to　speak；　the　anterooms　of　that　inmost　chamber　of　debate。

In　the　course　of　a　certain　morning　I　came　into　one　of　the　quiet　squares　of　a　small　French　town　and　found　its　cathedral。　　It　was　one　of　those　gray　and　rainy　days　which　rather　suit　the　Gothic。　　The　clouds　were　leaden；　like　the　solid　blue…gray　lead　of　the　spires　and　the　jewelled　windows；　the　sloping　roofs　and　high…shouldered　arches　looked　like　cloaks　drooping　with　damp；　and　the　stiff　gargoyles　that　stood　out　round　the　walls　were　scoured　with　old　rains　and　new。　　I　went　into　the　round；　deep　porch　with　many　doors　and　found　two　grubby　children　playing　there　out　of　the　rain。　　I　also　found　a　notice　of　services；　etc。；　and　among　these　I　found　the　announcement　that　at　11。30　（that　is　about　half　an　hour　later）　there　would　be　a　special　service　for　the　Conscripts；　that　is　to　say；　the　draft　of　young　men　who　were　being　taken　from　their　homes　in　that　little　town　and　sent　to　serve　in　the　French　Army；　sent　（as　it　happened）　at　an　awful　moment；　when　the　French　Army　was　encamped　at　a　parting　of　the　ways。　There　were　already　a　great　many　people　there　when　I　entered；　not　only　of　all　kinds；　but　in　all　attitudes；　kneeling；　sitting；　or　standing　about。　　And　there　was　that　general　sense　that　strikes　every　man　from　a　Protestant　country；　whether　he　dislikes　the　Catholic　atmosphere　or　likes　it；　I　mean；　the　general　sense　that　the　thing　was　〃going　on　all　the　time〃；　that　it　was　not　an　occasion；　but　a　perpetual　process；　as　if　it　were　a　sort　of　mystical　inn。

Several　tricolours　were　hung　quite　near　to　the　altar；　and　the　young　men；　when　they　came　in；　filed　up　the　church　and　sat　right　at　the　front。　　They　were；　of　course；　of　every　imaginable　social　grade；　for　the　French　conscription　is　really　strict　and　universal。　　Some　looked　like　young　criminals；　some　like　young　priests；　some　like　both。　　Some　were　so　obviously　prosperous　and　polished　that　a　barrack…room　must　seem　to　them　like　hell；　others　（by　the　look　of　them）　had　hardly　ever　been　in　so　decent　a　place。　　But　it　was　not　so　much　the　mere　class　variety　that　most　sharply　caught　an　Englishman's　eye。　　It　was　the　presence　of　just　those　one　or　two　kinds　of　men　who　would　never　have　become　soldiers　in　any　other　way。

There　are　many　reasons　for　becoming　a　soldier。　　It　may　be　a　matter　of　hereditary　luck　or　abject　hunger　or　heroic　virtue　or　fugitive　vice；　it　may　be　an　interest　in　the　work　or　a　lack　of　interest　in　any　other　work。　But　there　would　always　be　two　or　three　kinds　of　people　who　would　never　tend　to　soldiering；　all　those　kinds　of　people　were　there。　　A　lad　with　red　hair；　large　ears；　and　very　careful　clothing；　somehow　conveyed　across　the　church　that　he　had　always　taken　care　of　his　health；　not　even　from　thinking　about　it；　but　simply　because　he　was　told；　and　that　he　was　one　of　those　who　pass　from　childhood　to　manhood　without　any　shock　of　being　a　man。　In　the　row　in　front　of　him　there　was　a　very　slight　and　vivid　little　Jew；　of　the　sort　that　is　a　tailor　and　a　Socialist。　　By　one　of　those　accidents　that　make　real　life　so　unlike　anything　else；　he　was　the　one　of　the　company　who　seemed　especially　devout。　　Behind　these　stiff　or　sensitive　boys　were　ranged　the　ranks　of　their　mothers　and　fathers；　with　knots　and　bunches　of　their　little　brothers　and　sisters。

The　children　kicked　their　little　legs；　wriggled　about　the　seats；　and　gaped　at　the　arched　roof　while　their　mothers　were　on　their　knees　praying　their　own　prayers；　and　here　and　there　crying。　　The　gray　clouds　of　rain　outside　gathered；　I　suppose；　more　and　more；　for　the　deep　church　continuously　darkened。　　The　lads　in　front　began　to　sing　a　military　hymn　in　odd；　rather　strained　voices；　I　could　not　disentangle　the　words；　but　only　one　perpetual　refrain；　so　that　it　sounded　like

　　Sacrarterumbrrar　pour　la　patrie；　　　Valdarkararump　pour　la　patrie。

Then　this　ceased；　and　silence　continued；　the　coloured　windows　growing　gloomier　and　gloomier　with　the　clouds。　　In　the　dead　stillness　a　child　started　crying　suddenly　and　incoherently。　　In　a　city　far　to　the　north　a　French　diplomatist　and　a　German　aristocrat　were　talking。

I　will　not　make　any　commentary　on　the　thing　that　could　blur　the　outline　of　its　almost　cruel　actuality。　　I　will　not　talk　nor　allow　any　one　else　to　talk　about　〃clericalism〃　and　〃militarism。〃　　Those　who　talk　like　that　are　made　of　the　same　mud　as　those　who　call　all　the　angers　of　the　unfortunate　〃Socialism。〃　　The　women　who　were　calling　in　the　gloom　around　me　on　God　and　the　Mother　of　God　were　not　〃clericalists　〃；　or；　if　they　were；　they　had　forgotten　it。　And　I　will　bet　my　boots　the　young　men　were　not　〃militarists〃quite　the　other　way　just　then。　　The　priest　made　a　short　speech；　he　did　not　utter　any　priestly　dogmas　（whatever　they　are）；　he　uttered　platitudes。　　In　such　circumstances　platitudes　are　the　only　possible　things　to　say；　because　they　are　true。　　He　began　by　saying　that　he　supposed　a　large　number　of　them　would　be　uncommonly　glad　not　to　go。　They　seemed　to　assent　to　this　particular　priestly　dogma　with　even　more　than　their　alleged　superstitious　credulity。　　He　said　that　war　was　hateful；　and　that　we　all　hated　it；　but　that　〃in　all　things　reasonable〃　the　law　of　one's　own　commonwealth　was　the　voice　of　God。　　He　spoke　about　Joan　of　Arc；　and　how　she　had　managed　to　be　a　bold　and　successful　soldier　while　still　preserving　her　virtue　and　practising　her　religion；　then　he　gave　them　each　a　little　paper　book。　　To　which　they　replied　（after　a　brief　interval　for　reflection）：

　　Pongprongperesklang　pour　la　patrie；　　　Tambraugtararronc　pour　la　patrie。

which　I　feel　sure　was　the　best　and　most　pointed　reply。

While　all　this　was　happening　feelings　quite　indescribable　crowded　about　my　own　darkening　brain；　as　the　clouds　crowded　above　the　darkening　church。　They　were　so　entirely　of　the　elements　and　the　passions　that　I　cannot　utter　them　in　an　idea；　but　only　in　an　image。　　It　seemed　to　me　that　we　were　barricaded　in　this　church；　but　we　could　not　tell　what　was　happening　outside　the　church。　The　monstrous　and　terrible　jewels　of　the　windows　darkened　or　glistened　under　moving　shadow　or　light；　but　the　nature　of　that　light　and　the　shapes　of　those　shadows　we　did　not　know　and　hardly　dared　to　guess。　　The　dream　began；　I　think；　with　a　dim　fancy　that　enemies　were　already　in　the　town；　and　that　t