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intensity。。。。
The elementary tales of the world are very few； and Hawthorne's
story and Lamb's story are； after all； only variations upon the
same theme。 But can we poor human beings never realise our
quality without destruction？
3
One of the larger singularities of the great war is its failure
to produce great and imposing personalities； mighty leaders；
Napoleons； Caesars。 I would indeed make that the essential
thing in my reckoning of the war。 It is a drama without a hero；
without countless incidental heroes no doubt； but no star part。
Even the Germans； with a national predisposition for hero…cults
and living still in an atmosphere of Victorian humbug； can
produce nothing better than that timber image； Hindenburg。
It is not that the war has failed to produce heroes so much as
that it has produced heroism in a torrent。 The great man of this
war is the common man。 It becomes ridiculous to pick out
particular names。 There are too many true stories of splendid
acts in the past two years ever to be properly set down。 The
V。C。's and the palms do but indicate samples。 One would need an
encyclopaedia； a row of volumes； of the gloriousness of
human impulses。 The acts of the small men in this war dwarf all
the pretensions of the Great Man。 Imperatively these
multitudinous heroes forbid the setting up of effigies。 When I
was a young man I imitated Swift and posed for cynicism； I will
confess that now at fifty and greatly helped by this war； I have
fallen in love with mankind。
But if I had to pick out a single figure to stand for the finest
quality of the Allies' war； I should I think choose the figure of
General Joffre。 He is something new in history。 He is
leadership without vulgar ambition。 He is the extreme antithesis
to the Imperial boomster of Berlin。 He is as it were the
ordinary common sense of men； incarnate。 He is the antithesis of
the effigy。
By great good luck I was able to see him。 I was delayed in Paris
on my way to Italy； and my friend Captain Millet arranged for a
visit to the French front at Soissons and put me in charge of
Lieutenant de Tessin； whom ii had met in England studying British
social questions long before this war。 Afterwards Lieutenant de
Tessin took me to the great hotelit still proclaims
〃/Restaurant/〃 in big black letters on the garden wall
which shelters the General Headquarters of France； and here I was
able to see and talk to Generals Pelle and Castelnau as
well as to General Joffre。 They are three very remarkable and
very different men。 They have at least one thing in common； it
is clear that not one of them has spent ten minutes in all his
life in thinking of himself as a Personage or Great Man。 They
all have the effect of being active and able men doing an
extremely complicated and difficult but extremely interesting job
to the very best of their ability。 With me they had all one
quality in common。 They thought I was interested in what they
were doing； and they were quite prepared to treat me as an
intelligent man of a different sort； and to show me as much as I
could understand。。。。
Let me confess that de Tessin had had to persuade me to go to
Headquarters。 Partly that was because I didn't want to use up
even ten minutes of the time of the French commanders； but much
more was it because I have a dread of Personages。
There is something about these encounters with personagesas if
one was dealing with an effigy； with something tremendous put up
to be seen。 As one approaches they become remoter； great
unsuspected crevasses are discovered。 Across these gulfs one
makes ineffective gestures。 They do not meet you； they pose at
you enormously。 Sometimes there is something more terrible than
dignity； there is condescension。 They are affable。 I had but
recently had an encounter with an imported Colonial statesman；
who was being advertised like a soap as the coming saviour of
England。 I was curious to meet him。 I wanted to talk to him
about all sorts of things that would have been profoundly
interesting； as for example his impressions of the Anglican
bishops。 But I met a hoarding。 I met a thing like a mask；
something surrounded by touts； that was dully tryingas we say
in Londonto 〃come it〃 over me。 He said he had heard of me。 He
had read /Kipps。/ I intimated that though I had written
/Kipps/ I had continued to existbut he did not see the
point of that。 I said certain things to him about the difference
in complexity between political life in Great Britain and the
colonies； that he was manifestly totally capable of
understanding。 But one could as soon have talked with one of the
statesmen at Madame Tussaud's。 An antiquated figure。
The effect of these French commanders upon me was quite different
from my encounter with that last belated adventurer in the effigy
line。 I felt indeed that I was a rather idle and flimsy person
coming into the presence of a tremendously compact and busy
person； but I had none of that unpleasant sensation of a
conventional role； of being expected to play the minute
worshipper in the presence of the Great Image。 I was so moved by
the common humanity of them all that in each case I broke away
from the discreet interpretations of de Tessin and talked to them
directly in the strange dialect which I have inadvertently made
for myself out of French； a disemvowelled speech of epicene
substantives and verbs of incalculable moods and temperaments；
〃/Entente Cordiale。/〃 The talked back as if we had met in a
club。 General Pelle pulled my leg very gaily with some
quotations from an article I had written upon the conclusion of
the war。 I think he found my accent and my idioms very
refreshing。 I had committed myself to a statement that Bloch has
been justified in his theory that under modern conditions the
defensive wins。 There were excellent reasons； and General
Pelle pointed them out； for doubting the applicability of
this to the present war。
Both he and General Castelnau were anxious that I should see a
French offensive sector as well as Soissons。 Then I should
understand。 And since then I have returned from Italy and I have
seen and I do understand。 The Allied offensive was winning； that
is to say； it was inflicting far greater losses than it
experienced； it was steadily beating the spirit out of the German
army and shoving it back towards Germany。 Only peace can； I
believe； prevent the western war ending in Germany。 And it is
the Frenchmen mainly who have worked out how to do it。
But of that I will write later。 My present concern is with
General Joffre as the antithesis of the Effigy。 The effigy；
〃Thou Prince of Peace；
Thou God of War；〃
as Mr。 Sylvester Viereck called him； prances on a great horse；
wears a Wagnerian cloak； sits on thrones and talks of shining
armour and 〃unser Gott。〃 All Germany gloats over his Jovian
domesticities； when I was last in Berlin the postcard shops were
full of photographs of a sort of procession of himself and his
sons； all with long straight noses and sidelong eyes。 It is all
dreadfully old…fashioned。 General Joffre sits in a pleasant
little sitting…room in a very ordinary little villa conveniently
close to Headquarters。 He sits among furniture that has no
quality of pose at all； that is neither magnificent nor
ostentatiously simple and hardy。 He has dark； rather sleepy eyes
under light eyelashes； eyes that glance shyly and a little
askance at his interlocutor and then； as he talks； awayas if he
did not want to be preoccupied by your attention。 He has a
broad； rather broadly modelled face； a soft voice； the sort of
persuasive reasoning voice that many Scotchmen have。 I had a
feeling that if he were to talk English he would do so with a
Scotch accent。 Perhaps somewhere I have met a Scotchman of his
type。 He sat sideways to his table as a man might sit for a
gossip in a cafe。
He is physically a big man； and in my memory he grows bigger and
bigger。 He sits now in my memory in a room like the rooms that
any decent people might occupy； like that vague room that is the
background of so many good portraits； a great blue…coated figure
with a soft voice