This Egyptian Tra-la-la!
It isn't worth the bones of a single grenadier, as our friends across the
Rhine would say. But I expect, before it's settled, there will be men's
bones sufficient, bleaching on the desert, to build another Pyramid. It's
so easily started: that's the devil of it. A mischievous boy can throw a
lighted match into a powder magazine, and then it becomes every patriot's
business to see that it isn't put out. I hate war. It accomplishes
nothing, and leaves everything in a greater muddle than it was before.
But if the idea ever catches fire, I shall have to do all I can to fan
the conflagration. Unless I am prepared to be branded as a poltroon.
Every professional soldier is supposed to welcome war. Most of us do:
it's our opportunity. There's some excuse for us. But these
men--Carleton and their lot: I regard them as nothing better than the
Menades of the Commune. They care nothing if the whole of Europe blazes.
They cannot personally get harmed whatever happens. It's fun to them."
"But the people who can get harmed," argued Joan.
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