Sitting in the shade of the old trees, over coffee and cigars,
comfortably watching these doings, one might easily be deluded into
thinking that the drama taking place at the front was nothing but a
jolly spectacular play. From this point of view the whole war showed up
like a life-giving stream that washes orchestras ashore, brings wealth
and gaiety to the people, is navigated by promenading officers, and
directed by portly, comfortable generals. No suggestion of its bloody
side, no roar of artillery reaching your ears, no wounded soldier
dragging in his personal wretchedness and so striking a false note in
the general jollification.

Of course, it had not always been like that. In the first days, when the
daily concert still had the charm of novelty, all the regular, emergency
and reserve hospitals in the neighborhood had poured their vast number
of convalescents and slightly wounded men into the square. But that
lasted only two days. Then His Excellency summoned the head army
physician to a short interview and in sharp terms made it clear to the
crushed culprit what an unfavorable influence such a sight would have
upon the public, and expressed the hope that men wearing bandages, or
maimed men, or any men who might have a depressing effect on the general
war enthusiasm, should henceforth remain in the hospitals.

He was not defrauded of his hope. No disagreeable sight ever again
marred his pleasure when, with his favorite Havana between his teeth, he
gazed past the long row of his subordinates out on the street. No one
ever went by without casting a shy, deferential side-glance at the
omnipotent director of battles, who sat there like any other ordinary
human being, sipping his coffee, although he was the celebrated General
X, unlimited master of hundreds of thousands of human lives, the man the