On (Essays Collection). Hilaire Belloc
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Название: On (Essays Collection)
Автор: Hilaire Belloc
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Документальная литература
isbn: 4064066383503
isbn:
“But this,” I said, “is truer of the Irish.”
He answered: “Yes, but I am talking of my own soil.”
Then when he had been silent for a little while he began talking of the roads, which fitted into the folds of the hills, and of the low long window panes of men’s homes, of the deep thatch which covered them, and of that savour of fullness and inheritance which lay fruitfully over all the land. It gave him the pleasure to talk of these things which it gives men who know particular wines to talk of those wines, or men who have enjoyed some great risk together to talk together of their dangers overcome.
It gave him the same pleasure to talk of England and of his corner of England that it gives some venerable people sometimes to talk of those whom they have loved in youth, or that it gives the true poets to mouth the lines of their immortal peers. It was a satisfaction to hear him say the things he said, because one knew that as he said them his soul was filled.
He spoke also of horses and of the birds native to our Downs, but not of pheasants, which he hated and would not speak to me about at all. He spoke of dogs, and told me how the dogs of one countryside were the fruits of it, just as its climate and its contours were; notably the spaniel, which was designed or bred by the mighty power of Amberley Wildbrook, which breeds all watery things. He showed me how the plover went with the waste flats of Arun and of Adur and of Ouse, and he showed me why the sheep were white and why they bunched together in a herd. “Because,” he said, “the chalk pits and the clouds behind the Down are wide patches of white; so must the sheep be also.” For a little he would have told me that the very names of places, nay, the religion itself, were grown right out of the sacred earth which was our Mother.
* * * * *
These truths and many more I should have learned from him, these extravagences and some few others I should have whimsically heard, had I not (since I was young) attempted argument and said to him: “But all these things change, and what we love so much is, after all, only what we have known in our short time, and it is our souls within that lend divinity to any place, for, save within the soul, all is subject to time.”
He shook his head determinedly and like one who knows. He did assure me that in a subtle mastering manner the land that bore us made us ourselves, and was the major and the dominant power which moulded, as with firm hands, the clay of our being and which designed and gave us, and continued in us, all the form in which we are.
“You cannot tell this,” I said, “and neither can I; it is all guesswork to the brevity of man.”
“You are wrong,” he answered quietly. “I have watched these things for quite 3000 years.” And before I had time to gasp at that word he had disappeared.
THE LONG MARCH
The French Service, by some superstition of theirs which is probably connected with clear thinking and with decision, have perpetually in mind two things where Infantry is (or are) concerned; these two things are, marching power and carrying weight.
It is their thesis, or rather it is their general opinion, that of all things in which civilised armies may differ the power of trained endurance is the most variable, and that the elements in which this endurance is most usefully manifested are the elements of bearing a weight for long and of marching for long and far between a sleep and a sleep.
There is no Service in the world but would agree that rapidity of movement (other things being equal) is to the advantage of an army. Not even the Blue Water School (for which school armies are distant and vague things) would deny that. It is even true that most men (though by no means all) who have to do with thinking out military problems would admit that, other things again being equal, the power of carrying weight was an advantage to an army. But the French Service differs from its rivals in this, that it regards these two factors in a sort of fundamental way, testing the whole Army by them and keeping them perpetually present before the whole of that Army, so that the stupidest driver in front of the guns is worrying in a muddled way as to whether the Line have not too much to do, and the cleverest young captain on the staff is wondering whether the strain put upon a particular regiment has not been too great that day. The exercise is continual, and is made as much a part of the men’s mode of thought as cricket is made a part of the mode of thought of a boy at school, or as the daily paper is made a part of the mode of thought of a man who comes in daily from the suburbs to gamble in the City of London. And the French Service shows its permeation in the matter of these two ideas by this very characteristic test, that not only are the supporters of either element in the power of Infantry numerous and enthusiastic, but also that those (and I believe for a moment Negrier) who think these theories have been overdone recognise at the back of their minds the general importance of them; while the great neutral mass that sometimes discuss, but hardly ever think originally, take them as it were for granted in all their discussions.
It would be possible to continue for some time the exposition of this most interesting thing; it would be possible to show how this point of view was connected with the conservatism of the French mind. It would be possible and fascinating perhaps to show the relation of such theories with the mentality which is convinced upon the retention of private property and upon the subdivision of it, upon the all-importance of agriculture to a State, upon the possession at no matter what sacrifice of a vast amount of vaulted, tangible, material gold. But my business in these lines is not to argue whether the French are right or wrong in this military aspect of their philosophy, nor to show them wise or unwise in regarding even the railways of a modern State as being only supplementary to marching power, and even the vast and mobile modern methods of road carriage as being only supplementary to the knapsack, which can go across ploughed fields or climb a tree. My business is not to discuss the philosophy of the thing, though I am grievously tempted to do so, but to speak of one particular thing I saw.
I saw the beginning, the middle, and the end of it. Had I myself been in the Line such things might have been so familiar to me that they would not in the long run have stood out in my imagination, and I might not have been as fascinated as I now am by the recollections of that strange experience.
The Infantry that was the support of our pieces (for we were Divisionary Artillery) was quartered near to us in a little village of what is called “the Champagne Pouilleuse,” that is, “the lousy,” or “the dusty” Champagne, to distinguish it from the chalky range of the mountain of Rheims, those hot slopes whereon is grown the grape producing the most northern and the most exhilarating of wines.
In this little village were we side by side, and very far off along the horizon we had seen the night before, to the north, guns and linesmen together, the goal of our journey, which was that roll in the ground upon the summit of which the very tall spire of a famous shrine led the eye on toward the larger mass of the Cathedral. The Road was straight both upon the map and in our weary minds. It crossed the fields on which had been decided the fate of Christendom in the defeat of Attila and again in the cannonade of Valmy. Little we cared for these things. What we cared about, or rather what the fellows on foot cared about, was a distance of nearly thirty miles with fifty pound and more upon one’s back.
I lay СКАЧАТЬ