Now that most of our men in the prime of life have been in the army we seem to be in for a goodly literature of disappointment. All the ungifted young people came back from the war to tell us that they were "fed up." That was their ailment2, in outline. The gifted ones are now coming down to detail. They say that a web has been woven over the sky, or that something or other has made a goblin of the sun—about as full details of a pain as you can fairly expect a gifted person to give, although he really may feel it.
No doubt disenchantment has flourished before. About the year 1880 nearly all the best art was wan3 and querulous; that of Burne-Jones was always in trouble; Matthew Arnold's verse was a well-bred, melodious4 whine5; Rossetti was all disenamourment and displacement6. Yet you could feel that their broken-toy view of the world was only their nice little way with the public. Burne-Jones in his home was a red, jovial7 man; Arnold a diner-out of the first lustre8; Rossetti a sworn friend to bacon and eggs and other plain pleasures. The young melancholiasts of to-day are less good at their craft, and yet they do give you a notion that some sort of silver cord really seems to them to have come loose in their insides, or some golden bowl, which mattered to them, to have been more or less broken, and that they are feeling honestly sour about it. If they do not know how to take it out of mankind by writing desolatory verses about ashes and dust in the English Review, at least they can, if they be workmen, vote for a strike: they thus achieve the same good end and put it beyond any doubt that they don't think all is well with the world.
II
The higher the wall or the horse from which you have tumbled, the larger, under Nature's iron law, are your bruises9 and consequent crossness likely to be. Before we try shaking or cuffing10 the disenraptured young Solomons in our magazines and our pits it would be humane12 to reflect that some five millions of these, in their turns, have fallen off an extremely high horse. Of course, we have all fallen off something since 1914. Even owners of ships and vendors13 of heavy woollens might, if all hearts were laid bare, be found to have fallen, not perhaps off a high horse, but at least off some minute metaphysical pony14. Still, the record in length of vertical15 fall, and of proportionate severity of incidence upon an inelastic earth, is probably held by ex-soldiers and, among these, by the volunteers of the first year of the war. We were all, of course, volunteers then, undiluted by indispensable Harry's later success in getting dispensable Johnnie forced to join us in the Low Countries.
Most of those volunteers of the prime were men of handsome and boundless16 illusions. Each of them quite seriously thought of himself as a molecule17 in the body of a nation that was really, and not just figuratively, "straining every nerve" to discharge an obligation of honour. Honestly, there was about them as little as there could humanly be of the coxcombry18 of self-devotion. They only felt that they had got themselves happily placed on a rope at which everyone else, in some way or other, was tugging19 his best as well as they. All the air was ringing with rousing assurances. France to be saved, Belgium righted, freedom and civilization re-won, a sour, soiled, crooked20 old world to be rid of bullies21 and crooks22 and reclaimed23 for straightness, decency24, good-nature, the ways of common men dealing25 with common men. What a chance! The plain recruit who had not the gift of a style said to himself that for once he had got right in on the ground-floor of a topping good thing, and he blessed the luck that had made him neither too old nor too young. Rupert Brooke, meaning exactly the same thing, was writing:
Now, God be thank'd who has match'd us with His hour,
And caught our youth and waken'd us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpen'd power,
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary....
Of course, it is easy to say to any such simpleton now: "Well, if you were like that, what could you expect? Vous l'avez voulu, George Dandin. You were rushing upon disillusionment." Of course he was. If each recruit in 1914 had been an à Kempis, or even a Rochefoucauld, he would have known that if you are to love mankind you must not expect too much from it. But he was not, as a rule, a philosopher. He was a common man, not much inclined to think evil of people. It no more occurred to him at that time that he was the natural prey26 of seventy-seven separate breeds of profiteers than it did that presently he would be overrun by less figurative lice. When Garibaldi led an infantry27 attack against the Austrians it was said that he never looked round to see if his men were following; he knew to a dead certainty that at the moment when he reached the enemy he would feel his men's breath hot on the back of his neck. The early volunteer in his blindness imagined that there was between all Englishmen then that oneness of faith, love, and courage.
III
Everything helped, for a time, to keep him the child that he was. Except in the matter of separation from civilian28 friends his daily life was pretty well that of the happiest children. The men knew nothing and hoped for wonderful things. Drill, to the average recruit, was like some curious game or new dance, various and rhythmic29, and not very hard: it was rather fun for adults to be able to play at such things without being laughed at. Their lives had undergone an immense simplification. Of course, an immense simplification of life is not certain to be a wholly good thing. A Zulu's life may be simpler than Einstein's and yet the estate of Einstein may be the more gracious. If a boatload of men holding the Order of Merit were cast away on a desert island they might, on the whole, think the life as beastly as Touchstone found the life in the Forest of Arden. Yet some of those eminent30 men might find a soul of good in that evil. They might grill31 all the day and shiver all night, and be half-starved the whole of the time. But their minds would get a rest cure. While they were there they would have to settle no heartrending questions of patronage32, nor to decree the superannuation of elderly worthies33. The brutal34 instancy of physical wants might be trying; but they would at least be spared, until they were rescued, the solving of any stiff conundrums35 of professional ethics36.
Moulding the pet recreations of civilized37 men you find their craving38 to have something simple to do for a change, to be given an easy one after so many twisters. People whose work is the making of calculations or the manipulation of thoughts have been known to find a curiously39 restful pleasure in chopping firewood or painting tool-sheds till their backs ache. It soothes40 them with a flattering sense of getting something useful done straight off. So much of their "real" work is a taking of some minute or indirect means to some end remote, dimly and doubtfully visible, possibly—for the dread41 thought will intrude—not worth attaining42. The pile of chopped wood is at least a spice of the ultimate good: visible, palpable, it is success; and the advanced and complex man, the statesman or sociologist43 who has chopped it, escapes for the moment from all his own advancement44 and complication, and savours in quiet ecstasy45 one of the sane46 primeval satisfactions.
A country fellow at the pleugh,
His acre's tilled, he's right eneugh;
A country girl at her wheel,
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel.
The climber of mountains seeks a similar rapture11 by going to places where he is, in full exertion47, the sum of his physical faculties48, little more. Here all his hopes are for things close at hand: ambition lives along one arm stretched out to grasp a rock eighteen inches away; his sole aim in life may be simply the top of a thirty-foot cleft49 in a steep face of stone. At home, in the thick of his work, he had seemed to be everlastingly50 threading mazes51 that no one could thread right to the end; here, on the crags, it is all divinely simplified; who would trouble his head with subtle questionings about what human life will, might, or ought to be when every muscle and nerve are tautly52 engaged in the primal53 job of sticking to life as it is?
To have for his work these raptures54 of play was the joy of the new recruit who had common health and good-humour. All his maturity's worries and burdens seemed, by some magical change, to have dropped from him; no difficult choices had to be made any longer; hardly a moral chart to be conned55; no one had any finances to mind; nobody else's fate was put in his hands, and not even his own. All was fixed56 from above, down to the time of his going to bed and the way he must lace up his boots. His vow57 of willing self-enslavement for a season had brought him the peace of the soldier, which passeth understanding as wholly as that of the saint, the blitheness58 of heart that comes to both with their clarifying, tranquillizing acquiescence60 in some mystic will outside their own. Immersed in that Dantean repose61 of utter obedience62 the men slept like babies, ate like hunters, and rediscovered the joy of infancy63 in getting some rather elementary bodily movement to come right. They saw everything that God had made, and behold64! it was very good. That was the vision.
IV
The mental peace, the physical joy, the divinely simplified sense of having one clear aim, the remoteness from all the rest of the world, all favoured a tropical growth of illusion. A man, says Tennyson, "imputes65 himself." If he be decent he readily thinks other people are decent. Here were hundreds of thousands of quite commonplace persons rendered, by comradeship in an enthusiasm, self-denying, cheerful, unexacting, sanely66 exalted67, substantially good. To get the more fit to be quickly used men would give up even the little darling vices68 which are nearest to many simple hearts. Men who had entertained an almost reasoned passion for whisky, men who in civil life had messed up careers for it and left all and followed it, would cut off their whisky lest it should spoil their marching. Little white, prim1 clerks from Putney—men whose souls were saturated69 with the consciousness of class—would abdicate70 freely and wholeheartedly their sense of the wide, unplumbed, estranging71 seas that ought to roar between themselves and Covent Garden market porters. Many men who had never been dangerous rivals to St. Anthony kept an unwonted hold on themselves during the months when hundreds of reputable women and girls round every camp seemed to have been suddenly smitten72 with a Bacchantic frenzy73. Real, constitutional lazy fellows would buy little cram-books of drill out of their pay and sweat them up at night so as to get on the faster. Men warned for a guard next day would agree among themselves to get up an hour before the pre-dawn winter Réveillé to practise among themselves the beautiful symbolic74 ritual of mounting guard in the hope of approaching the far-off, longed-for ideal of smartness, the passport to France. Men were known to subscribe75 in order to get some dummy76 bombs made with which to practise bomb-throwing by themselves on summer nights after drilling and marching from six in the morning till five in the evening. How could they not have the illusion that the whole nation's sense of comradeship went as far as their own?
Who of all those who were in camp at that time, and still are alive, will not remember until he dies the second boyhood that he had in the late frosts and then in the swiftly filling and bursting spring and early summer of 1915? The awakening77 bird-notes of Réveillé at dawn, the two-mile run through auroral78 mists breaking over a still inviolate79 England, the men's smoking breath and the swish of their feet brushing the dew from the tips of the June grass and printing their track of darker green on the pearly-grey turf; the long, intent morning parades under the gummy shine of chestnut80 buds in the deepening meadows; the peace of the tranquil59 hours on guard at some sequestered81 post, alone with the sylvester midnight, the wheeling stars and the quiet breathing of the earth in its sleep, when time, to the sentry's sense, fleets on unexpectedly fast and life seems much too short because day has slipped into day without the night-long sleeper's false sense of a pause; and then jocund82 days of marching and digging trenches83 in the sun; the silly little songs on the road that seemed, then, to have tunes84 most human, pretty, and jolly; the dinners of haversack rations85 you ate as you sat on the roadmakers' heaps of chopped stones or lay back among buttercups.
When you think of the youth that you have lost, the times when it seems to you now that life was most poignantly86 good may not be the ones when everything seemed at the time to go well with your plans, and the world, as they say, to be at your feet; rather some few unaccountable moments when nothing took place that was out of the way and yet some word of a friend's, or a look on the face of the sky, the taste of a glass of spring water, the plash of laughter and oars87 heard across midsummer meadows at night raised the soul of enjoyment88 within you to strangely higher powers of itself. That spirit bloweth and is still: it will not rise for our whistling nor keep a time-table; no wine that we know can give us anything more than a fugitive89 caricature of its ecstasies90. When it has blown free we remember it always, and know, without proof, that while the rapture was there we were not drunk, but wise; that for a moment some intervening darkness had thinned and we were seeing further than we can see now into the heart of life.
To one recollection at least it has seemed that the New Army's spring-tide of faith and joyous91 illusion came to its height on a night late in the most beautiful May of 1915, in a hut where thirty men slept near a forest in Essex. Nothing particular happened; the night was like others. Yet in the times that came after, when half of the thirty were dead and most of the others jaded92 and soured, the feel of that night would come back with the strange distinctness of those picked, remembered mornings and evenings of boyhood when everything that there was became everlastingly memorable93 as though it had been the morning or evening of the first day. Ten o'clock came and Lights Out, but a kind of luminous94 bloom still on the air and a bugle95 blowing Last Post in some far-away camp that kept worse hours than we. I believe the whole hut held its breath to hear the notes better. Who wouldn't, to listen to that most lovely and melancholy96 of calls, the noble death of each day's life, a sound moving about hither and thither97, like a veiled figure making gestures both stately and tender, among the dim thoughts that we have about death the approaching extinguisher—resignation and sadness and unfulfilment and triumph all coming back to the overbearing sense of extinction98 in those two recurrent notes of "Lights Out"? One listens as if with bowed mind, as though saying "Yes; out, out, brief candle." A moment's silence to let it sink in and the chaffing and laughter broke out like a splash of cool water in summer again. That hut always went to bed laughing and chaffing all round, and, though there was no wit among us, the stories tasted of life, the inexhaustible game and adventure. Looker, ex-marine turned soldier, told us how he had once gone down in a diving-suit to find a lost anchor and struck on the old tin lining99 out of a crate100, from which some octopian beast with long feelers had reached out at him, and the feelers had come nearer and nearer through the dim water. "What did you do, Filthy101?" somebody asked (we called Looker "Filthy" with friendly jocoseness). "I 'opped it," the good fellow said, and the sane anti-climax102 of real life seemed twice as good as the climax that any Hugo or Verne could have put to the yarn103. Another described the great life he had lived as an old racing104 "hen," or minor105 sutler of the sport of kings. Hard work, of course. "All day down at Epsom openin' doors an' brushin' coats and shiftin' truck for bookies till you'd make, perhaps, two dollars an' speculate it on the las' race and off back 'ome to London 'ungry, on your 'oofs." Once a friend of his, who had had a bad day, had not walked—had slipped into the London train, and at Vauxhall, where tickets were taken, had gone to earth under the seat with a brief appeal to his fellow travellers: "Gents, I rely on your honour." The stout106 narrator could see no joke at all in the phrase. He was rather scandalized by our great roar of laughter. "'Is honour! And 'im robbin' the comp'ny! 'nough to take away a man's kerrikter!" said the patient walker-home in emergency. It made life seem too wonderful to end; such were the untold107 reserves that we had in this nation of men with a hold on themselves, of hardly uprightness; even this unhelped son of the gutter108, living from hand to mouth in the common lodging-houses of slums, a parasite109 upon parasites110, poor little animalcule doing odd jobs for the caterpillars111 of the commonwealth—even he could persist in carrying steadily112, clear of the dirt, the full vase of his private honour. What, then, must be the unused stores of greedless and fearless straightness in others above us, generals and statesmen, men in whom, as in bank-porters, character is three parts of the trade! The world seemed clean that night; such a lovely unreason of optimist113 faith was astir in us all,
We felt for that time ravish'd above earth
And possess'd joys not promised at our birth.
It seemed hardly credible114 now, in this soured and quarrelsome country and time, that so many men of different classes and kinds, thrown together at random115, should ever have been so simply and happily friendly, trustful, and keen. But they were, and they imagined that all their betters were too. That was the paradise that the bottom fell out of.
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1
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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5
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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displacement
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| n.移置，取代，位移，排水量 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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cuffing
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的现在分词 )；袖口状白血球聚集 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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12
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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13
vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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14
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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16
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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molecule
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| n.分子，克分子 | |
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coxcombry
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| n.（男子的）虚浮，浮夸，爱打扮 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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conundrums
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| n.谜，猜不透的难题，难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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sociologist
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| n.研究社会学的人，社会学家 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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tautly
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| adv.绷紧地；紧张地； 结构严谨地；紧凑地 | |
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primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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conned
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| adj.被骗了v.指挥操舵( conn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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blitheness
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| n.blithe（快乐的）的变形 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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60
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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61
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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62
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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63
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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imputes
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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69
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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70
abdicate
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| v.让位，辞职，放弃 | |
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71
estranging
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| v.使疏远（尤指家庭成员之间）( estrange的现在分词 ) | |
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72
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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73
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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75
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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auroral
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| adj.曙光的；玫瑰色的 | |
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inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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jocund
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| adj.快乐的，高兴的 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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84
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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poignantly
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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100
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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101
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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102
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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103
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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104
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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107
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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108
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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109
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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110
parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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111
caterpillars
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| n.毛虫( caterpillar的名词复数 )；履带 | |
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112
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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113
optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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114
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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115
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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