But, I repeat, to me it was an ill-favored scene, and the fact that it
was a warm and peaceful day, with a radiant blue sky above, merely
added to the irony. Although later I visited the War Zone three times
and saw towns crowded with soldiers off duty, or as empty as old gray
shells, nothing induced in me the same vicious stab of hatred for war
as this scene. There is only one thing more abominable than war and
that is the pacificist doctrine of non-resistance when duty and honor
call. Every country, no doubt, has its putrescent spots caused by
premature senility, but no country so far has shown itself as wholly
crumbling in an age where the world is still young.


V


A few days later I went with Madame Balli and Mr. Holman-Black to the
military hospital, Chaptal, devoted to the men whose faces had been
mutilated. The first room was an immense apartment with an open space
beyond the beds filled to-day with men who crowded about Madame Balli,
as much to get that personal word and smile from her, which the French
soldier so pathetically places above all gifts, as to have the first
choice of a pipe or knife.

After I had distributed the usual little presents of cigarettes,
chocolate, soap, and post-cards among the few still in bed, I sat on
the outside of Madame Balli's mob and talked to one of the
infirmières. She was a Frenchwoman married to an Irishman who was
serving in the British navy, and her sons were in the trenches. She
made a remark to me that I was destined to hear very often: