A nation at war is a mob whose very blatancy, injustice and cruelty drive one to hatred and opposition. The enemy mob seems less detestable because it is out of sight and one thinks almost involuntarily: "It cannot be as bad as our own."
I could not bear to hear a victory joyfully announced. The jubilation and the self-glorification of the crowd filled me with loathing, and I could only think of the intensified slaughter and misery that are the price of every victory. They who pay the price, they alone have the right to rejoice, but they do not rejoice. The German mob revealed its depravity when it hung out flags in the streets to celebrate the first German victories. And, when the first battle of Cambrai was won, London jeered at the bereaved and mocked the dead by ringing the joy-bells.
Every genuine patriot is called a traitor in his own country. But patriotism, however genuine, is a thing that must be surmounted. There is only one good that war can bring to a nation—defeat. A patriot, loving his own country, would therefore wish his country defeat in war. But he who has surmounted his patriotism and has attained complete impartiality would not selfishly claim the only benefit of war entirely for his own country, but would desire all to share it alike, and would therefore wish defeat for every warring nation.
If a horde of British and a horde of German soldiers engage in mutual butchery, and if the maimed, broken remnants of the British horde have just enough order left to drive back the remnants of the German horde, leaving innumerable dead and wounded and for ever darkening the lives of countless friends and wives—in other words, if the British army wins what our infamous Press would call a "glorious victory"—then all that is evil in the life of the nation is encouraged and justified. It is then that the diplomatists who lied and schemed to bring on the monstrous event, that all the politicians who exploit and foster the nation's madness and misery to enhance their own reputations, that those who batten on the slaughter, and that those who glorify the carnage at a safe distance and fight the enemy with their lying tongues, are justified. They all are justified. But if, instead of victory, there is defeat, then they tremble lest they should be disgraced and lose their places, lest they should be victims of a disillusioned people's anger, lest they should forfeit their plunder, lest they should be called to account for the lies with which they fooled the masses. Defeat is the defeat of evil, victory is the victory of evil.
A second batch of papers arrived. The German advance was continuing. The British reverse was becoming catastrophic. At first I felt a kind of grimness, and then I was thrilled by the thought that perhaps the end of the war might be near. We might not have a good peace, but peace of any kind was preferable to war. The mendacious Press talked much about a "dishonourable peace," as though any peace could be as dishonourable as a prolonged war.
But the immediate reality became too overwhelming. Grey multitudes were sweeping khaki multitudes before them. High-explosives, shrapnel, grenades, bombs, bullets were rending, piercing, and shattering the living flesh and muscle and bone. Towns and villages were being turned into heaps of brick and wreckage. Hordes of old men, women, and children were thronging the roads, and fleeing from approaching disaster.
We went to work as usual although we worked less than usual, for we now had something to talk about. Would the Germans reach the coast? If they did, then the northern armies would be cut off and destroyed. A general retreat from our front might be ordered at any moment. We stood in groups and discussed these problems hour by hour.
One day we were returning from work and passing through the village. A crowd of civilians was standing round the window of the Mairie, where a written notice was exposed. An old woman dressed in black was moaning, "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu." The '19, '20, and '21 classes had been called up.
Then the German advance came to an end. A French army had arrived and saved the situation. The shelling of the back areas had ceased. The danger was over for a time.