war and the future-第9章

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of　flitting　white　sheets　among　the　little　tables。

〃To…night；〃　said　my　companion；　〃I　think　we　shall　declare　war　upon
Germany。　　The　decision　is　being　made。〃

I　asked　intelligently　why　this　had　not　been　done　before。　　I
forget　the　precise　explanation　he　gave。　　A　young　soldier　in
uniform；　who　had　been　dining　at　an　adjacent　table　and　whom　I　had
not　recognised　before　as　a　writer　I　had　met　some　years　previously
in　London；　suddenly　joined　in　our　conversation；　with　a　slightly
different　explanation。　　I　had　been　carrying　on　a　conversation　in
slightly　ungainly　French；　but　now　I　relapsed　into　English。

But　indeed　the　matter　of　that　declaration　of　war　is　as　plain　as
daylight；　the　Italian　national　consciousness　has　not　at　first
that　direct　sense　of　the　German　danger　that　exists　in　the　minds
of　the　three　northern　Allies。　　To　the　Italian　the　traditional
enemy　is　Austria；　and　this　war　is　not　primarily　a　war　for　any
other　end　than　the　emancipation　of　Italy。　　Moreover　we　have　to
remember　that　for　years　there　has　been　serious　commercial
friction　between　France　and　Italy；　and　considerable　mutual
elbowing　in　North　Africa。　　Both　Frenchmen　and　Italians　are
resolute　to　remedy　this　now；　but　the　restoration　of　really
friendly　and　trustful　relations　is　not　to　be　done　in　a　day。　　It
has　been　an　extraordinary　misfortune　for　Great　Britain　that
instead　of　boldly　taking　over　her　shipping　from　its　private
owners　and　using　it　all；　regardless　of　their　profit；　in　the
interests　of　herself　and　her　allies；　her　government　has　permitted
so　much　of　it　as　military　and　naval　needs　have　not　requisitioned
to　continue　to　ply　for　gain；　which　the　government　itself　has
shared　by　a　tax　on　war　profits。　　The　Anglophobe　elements　in
Italian　public　life　have　made　the　utmost　of　this　folly　or　laxity
in　relation　more　particularly　to　the　consequent　dearness　of　coal
in　Italy。　　They　have　carried　on　an　amazingly　effective　campaign
in　which　this　British　slackness　with　the　individual　profiteer；　is
represented　as　if　it　were　the　deliberate　greed　of　the　British
state。　　This　certainly　contributed　very　much　to　fortify　Italy's
disinclination　to　slam　the　door　on　the　German　connection。

I　did　my　best　to　make　it　clear　to　my　two　friends　that　so　far　from
England　exploiting　Italy；　I　myself　suffered　in　exactly　the　same
way　as　any　Italian；　through　the　extraordinary　liberties　of　our
shipping　interest。　　〃I　pay　as　well　as　you　do；〃　I　said；　〃the
shippers'　blockade　of　Great　Britain　is　more　effective　than　the
submarines'。　　My　food；　my　coal；　my　petrol　are　all　restricted　in
the　sacred　name　of　private　property。　　You　see；　capital　in　England
has　hitherto　been　not　an　exploitation　but　a　hold…up。　　We　are
learning　differently　now。。。。　　And　anyhow；　Mr。　Runciman　has　been
here　and　given　Italy　assurances。。。。〃

In　the　train　to　Modane　this　old　story　recurred　again。　　It　is
imperative　that　English　readers　should　understand　clearly　how
thoroughly　these　little　matters　have　been　/worked/　by　the
enemy。

Some　slight　civilities　led　to　a　conversation　that　revealed　the
Italian　lady　in　the　corner　as　an　Irishwoman　married　to　an
Italian；　and　also　brought　out　the　latent　English　of　a　very
charming　elderly　lady　opposite　to　her。　　She　had　heard　a　speech；　a
wonderful　speech　from　a　railway　train；　by　〃the　Lord　Runciman。〃　　He
had　said　the　most　beautiful　things　about　Italy。

I　did　my　best　to　echo　these　beautiful　things。

Then　the　Irishwoman　remarked　that　Mr。　Runciman　had　not　satisfied
everybody。　　She　and　her　husband　had　met　a　ministerI　found
afterwards　he　was　one　of　the　members　of　the　late　Giolotti
governmentwho　had　been　talking　very　loudly　and　scornfully　of
the　bargain　Italy　was　making　with　England。　　I　assured　her　that
the　desire　of　England　was　simply　to　give　Italy　all　that　she
needed。

〃But；〃　said　the　husband　casually；　〃Mr。　Runciman　is　a　shipowner。〃

I　explained　that　he　was　nothing　of　the　sort。　　It　was　true　that　he
came　of　a　shipowning　familyand　perhaps　inherited　a　slight
tendency　to　see　things　from　a　shipowning　point　of　viewbut　in
England　we　did　not　suspect　a　man　on　such　a　score　as　that。

〃In　Italy　I　think　we　should；〃　said　the　husband　of　the　Irish
lady。


4

This　incidental　discussion　is　a　necessary　part　of　my　impression
of　Italy　at　war。　　The　two　western　allies　and　Great　Britain　in
particular　have　to　remember　Italy's　economic　needs；　and　to
prepare　to　rescue　them　from　the　blind　exploitation　of　private
profit。　　They　have　to　remember　these　needs　too；　because；　if　they
are　left　out　of　the　picture；　then　it　becomes　impossible　to
understand　the　full　measure　of　the　risk　Italy　has　faced　in
undertaking　this　war　for　an　idea。　　With　a　Latin　lucidity　she　has
counted　every　risk；　and　with　a　Latin　idealism　she　has　taken　her
place　by　the　side　of　those　who　fight　for　a　liberal　civilisation
against　a　Byzantine　imperialism。

As　I　came　out　of　the　brightly　lit　Galleria　Vittorio　Emanuele　into
the　darkened　Piazza　del　Duomo　I　stopped　under　the　arcade　and
stood　looking　up　at　the　shadowy　darkness　of　that　great　pinnacled
barn；　that　marble　bride…cake；　which　is；　I　suppose；　the　last
southward　fortress　of　the　Franco…English　Gothic。

〃It　was　here；〃　said　my　host；　〃that　we　burnt　the　German　stuff。〃

〃What　German　stuff？〃

〃Pianos　and　all　sorts　of　things。　　From　the　shops。　　It　is
possible；　you　know；　to　buy　things　too　cheaplyand　to　give　too
much　for　the　cheapness。〃



THE　WESTERN　WAR　（SEPTEMBER；　1916）


I。　RUINS


1

If　I　had　to　present　some　particular　scene　as　typical　of　the
peculiar　vileness　and　mischief　wrought　by　this　modern　warfare
that　Germany　has　elaborated　and　thrust　upon　the　world；　I　do　not
think　I　should　choose　as　my　instance　any　of　those　great
architectural　wrecks　that　seem　most　to　impress　contemporary
writers。　　I　have　seen　the　injuries　and　ruins　of　the　cathedrals　at
Arras　and　Soissons　and　the　wreckage　of　the　great　church　at　Saint
Eloi；　I　have　visited　the　Hotel　de　Ville　at　Arras　and　seen
photographs　of　the　present　state　of　the　Cloth　Hall　at　Ypresa
building　I　knew　very　well　indeed　in　its　days　of　prideand　I　have
not　been　very　deeply　moved。　　I　suppose　that　one　is　a　little
accustomed　to　Gothic　ruins；　and　that　there　is　always　something
monumental　about　old　buildings；　it　is　only　a　question　of　degree
whether　they　are　more　or　less　tumble…down。　　I　was　far　more
desolated　by　the　obliteration　of　such　villages　as　Fricourt　and
Dompierre；　and　by　the　horrible　state　of　the　fields　and　gardens
round　about　them；　and　my　visit　to　Arras　railway　station　gave　me
all　the　sensations　of　coming　suddenly　on　a　newly　murdered　body。

Before　I　visited　the　recaptured　villages　in　the　zone　of　the
actual　fighting；　I　had　an　idea　that　their　evacuation　was　only
temporary；　that　as　soon　as　the　war　line　moved　towards　Germany　the
people　of　the　devastated　villages　would　return　to　build　their
houses　and　till　their　fields　again。　　But　I　see　now　that　not　only
are　homes　and　villages　destroyed　almost　beyond　recognition；　but
the　very　fields　are　destroyed。　　They　are　wildernesses　of　shell
craters；　the　old　worked　soil　is　buried　and　great　slabs　of　crude
earth　have　been　flung　up　over　it。　　No　ordinary　plough　will　travel
over　this　frozen　sea；　let　along　that　everywhere　chunks　of　timber；
horrible　tangles　of　rusting　wire；　jagged　fragments　of　big　shells；
and　a　great　number　of　unexploded　shells　are　entangled　in　the
mess。　　Often　this　chaos　is　stained　bright　yellow　by　high
explosives；　and　across　it　run　the　twisting　trenches　and
communication　trenches　eight；　ten；　or　twelve　feet　deep。　　These
will　become　water　pits　and　mud　pits　into　which　beasts　will　fall。
It　is　incredible　that　there　should　be　crops　from　any　of　this
region　of　the　push　for　many　years　to　come。　　There　is　no　shade
left；　the　roadside　trees　are　splintered　stumps　with　scarcely　the
spirit　to　put　forth　a　leaf；　a　few　stunted　thistles　and　weeds　are
the　sole　proofs　that　life　may　still　go　on。

The　villages　of　this　wide　battle　region　are　not　ruined；　they　are
obliterated。　　It　is　just　possible　to　trace　the　roads　in　them；
because　the　roads　have　been　cleared　and　repaired　for　the　passing
of　the　guns　and　ammunition。　　Fricourt　is　a　tangle　of　German　dug…
outs。　　One　dug…out　in　particular　there　promises　to　become　a　show
place。　　It　must　be　the　masterpiece　of　some　genius　for　dug…outs；
it　is　made　as　if　its　makers　enjoyed　the　job；　it　is　like　the　work
of　some　horrible　badger　among　the　vestiges　of　what　were　pleasant
human　homes。　　You　are　taken　down　a　timbered　staircase　into　its
warren　of　rooms　and　passages；　you　are　shown　the　places　under　the
craters　of　the　great　British　shells；　where　the　wood　splintered
but　did　not　come　in。　　（But　the　arrival　of　those　shells　must　have
been　a　stunning　moment。）　There　are　a　series　of　ingenious　bolting
shafts　set　with　iron　climbing　bars。　　In　this　place　German
officers　and　soldiers　have　lived　continually　for　nearly　two
years。　　This　war　is；　indeed；　a　troglodytic　propaganda。　　You　come
up　at　last　at　the　far　end　into　what　was　once　a　cellar　of　a　decent
Frechman's　home。

But　there　are　stranger　subterranean　refuges　than　that　at
Fricourt。　　At　Dompierre　the　German　trenches　skirted　the　cemetery；
and　they　turned　the　dead　out　of　their　vaults　and　made　lurking
places　of　the　tombs。　　I　walked　with　M。　Joseph　Reinach　about　this
place；　picking　our　way　carefully　amidst　the　mud　holes　and　the
wire；　and　watched　the　shells　bursting　away　over　the　receding
battle　line　to　the　west。　　The　wreckage　of　the　graves　was
Durereqsue。　　And　here　would　be　a　fragment　of　marble　angle　and
here　a　split　stone　with　an　inscription。　　Splinters　of　coffins；
rusty　iron　crosses　and　the　petals　of　tin　flowers　were　trampled
into　the　mud；　amidst　the　universal　barbed　wire。　　A　little
distance　down　the　slope　is　a　brand　new　cemetery；　with　new　metal
wreaths　and　even　a　few　flowers；　it　is　a　disciplined　array　of
uniform　wooden　crosses；　each　with　its　list　of　soldiers'　names。
Unless　I　am　wholly　mistaken　in　France　no　Germans　will　ever　get　a
chance　for　ever　more　to　desecrate　that　second　cemetery　as　they
have　done　its　predecessor。

We　walked　over　the　mud　heaps　and　litter　that　had　once　been　houses
towards　the　centre　of　Dompierre　village；　and　tried　to　picture　to
ourselves　what　the　place　had　been。　　Many　things　are　recognisable
in　Dompierre　that　have　altogether　vanished　at　Fricourt；　for
instance；　there　are　quire　large　triangular　pieces　of　the　church
wall　upstanding　at　Dompierre。　　And　a　mile　away　perhaps　down　the
hill　on　the　road　towards　Amiens；　the　ruins　of　the　sugar　refinery
are　very　distinct。　　A　sugar　refinery　is　an　affair　of　big　iron
receptacles　and　great　flues　and　pipes　and　so　forth；　and　iron　does
not　go　down　under　gun　fire　as　stone　or　brick　does。　　The　whole
fabric　wars　rust；　bent　and　twisted；　gaping　with　shell　holes；　that
raggedest　display　of　old　iron；　but　it　still　kept　its　general
shape；　as　a　smashed；　battered；　and　sunken　ironclad　might　do　at
the　bottom　of　the　sea。

There　wasn't　a　dog　left　of　the　former　life　of　Dompierre。　　There
was　not　even　much　war　traffic　that　morning　on　the　worn　and　muddy
road。　　The　guns　muttered　some　miles　away　to　the　west；　and　a　lark
sang。　　But　a　little　way　farther　on　up　the　road　was　an
intermediate　dressing　station；　rigged　up　with　wood　and
tarpaulins；　and　orderlies　were　packing　two　wounded　men　into　an
ambulance。　　The　men　on　the　s