Complete Works of Ford Madox Ford, page 597
Levin came in noiselessly, slid a memorandum slip on to the blanket beside the paper on which the general was writing. The general read: T. agrees completely, sir, with your diagnosis of the facts, except that he is much more ready to accept General O’H.’s acts as reasonable. He places himself entirely in your hands.
The general heaved an immense sigh of relief. The sunlight streaming in became very bright. He had had a real sinking at the heart when Tietjens had boggled for a second over putting on his belt. An officer may not demand or insist on a court martial. But he, Campion, could not in decency have refused Tietjens his court martial if he stood out for it. He had a right to clear his character publicly. It would have been impossible to refuse him. Then the fat would have been in the fire. For, knowing O’Hara through pretty nearly twenty-five years — or it must be thirty! — of service Campion was pretty certain that O’Hara had made a drunken beast of himself. Yet he was very attached to O’Hara — one of the old type of rough-diamond generals who swore your head off, but were damn capable men!...It was a tremendous relief.
He said sharply:
‘Sit down, can’t you, Tietjens! You irritate me by standing there!’ He said to himself: ‘An obstinate fellow...Why, he’s gone!’ and his mind and eyes being occupied by the sentence he had last written, the sense of irritation remained with him. He re-read the closing clause: ‘...a single command — a measure which is here regarded by a great weight of instructed opinion as indispensable to the speedy and successful termination of hostilities...’
He looked at this, whistling beneath his breath. It was pretty thick. He was not asked for his opinion as to the single command: yet he decidedly wanted to get it in and was pretty well prepared to stand the consequences. The consequences might be something pretty bad: he might be sent home. That was quite possible. That, even, was better than what was happening to poor Puffies, who was being starved of men. He had been at Sandhurst with Puffles, and they had got their commissions on the same day to the same regiment. A damn good soldier, but too hot-tempered. He was making an extraordinarily good thing of it in spite of his shortage of men, which was the talk of the army. But it must be damn agonizing for him, and a very improper strain on his men. One day — as soon as the weather broke — the enemy must break through. Then he, Puffies, would be sent home. That was what the fellows at Westminster and in Downing Street wanted. Puffles had been a great deal too free with his tongue. They would not send him home before he had a disaster because, unless he were in disgrace, he would be a thorn in their sides: whereas if he were disgraced no one much would listen to him. It was smart practice...Sharp practice!
He tossed the sheet on which he had been writing across the table and said to Tietjens:
‘Look at that, will you?’ In the centre of the hut Tietjens was sitting bulkily on a bully-beef case that had been brought in ceremoniously by a runner. ‘He does look beastly shabby,’ the general said. ‘There are three...four grease stains on his tunic. He ought to get his hair cut!’ He added: ‘It’s a perfectly damnable business. No one but this fellow would have got into it. He’s a firebrand. That’s what he is. A regular firebrand!’
Tietjens’ troubles had really shaken the general not a little. He was left up in the air. He had lived the greater part of his life with his sister, Lady Claudine Sandbach, and the greater part of the remainder of his life at Groby, at any rate after he came home from India and during the reign of Tietjens’ father. He had idolized Tietjens’ mother, who was a saint! What indeed there had been of the idyllic in his life had really all passed at Groby, if he came to think of it. India was not so bad, but one had to be young to enjoy that...
Indeed, only the day before yesterday he had been thinking that if this letter that he was thinking out did result in his being sent back, he should propose to stand for the half of the Cleveland Parliamentary Division in which Groby stood. What with the Groby influence and his nephew’s in the country districts, though Castlemaine had not much land left up there, and with Sandbach’s interest in the ironworking districts, he would have an admirable chance of getting in. Then he would make himself a thorn in the side of certain persons.
He had thought of quartering himself on Groby. It would have been easy to get Tietjens out of the army and they could all — he, Tietjens and Sylvia — live together. It would have been his ideal of a home and of an occupation...
For, of course, he was getting old for soldiering: unless he got a fighting army there was not much more to it as a career for a man of sixty. If he did get an army he was pretty certain of a peerage and hefty political work could still be done in the Lords. He would have a good claim on India and that meant dying a Field-Marshal.
On the other hand, the only command that was at all likely to be going — except for deaths, and the health rate amongst army commanders was pretty high! — was poor Puffles’. And that would be no pleasant command — with men all hammered to pieces. He decided to put the whole thing to Tietjens. Tietjens, like a meal-sack, was looking at him over the draft of the letter that he had just finished reading. The general said:
‘Well?’
Tietjens said:
‘It’s splendid, sir, to see you putting the matter so strongly. It must be put strongly, or we’re lost.’
The general said:
‘You think that?’
Tietjens said:
‘I’m sure of it, sir...But unless you are prepared to throw up your command and take to politics...’
The general exclaimed:
‘You’re a most extraordinary fellow...That was exactly what I was thinking about: this very minute.’
‘It’s not so extraordinary,’ Tietjens said. ‘A really active general thinking as you do is very badly needed in the House. As your brother-in-law is to have a peerage whenever he asks for it, West Cleveland will be vacant at any moment, and with his influence and Lord Castlemaine’syour nephew’s not got much land, but the name is immensely respected in the country districts...And, of course, using Groby for your headquarters...’
The general said:
‘That’s pretty well botched, isn’t it?’
Tietjens said without moving a muscle:
‘Why, no, sir. Sylvia is to have Groby and you would naturally make it your headquarters...You’ve still got your hunters there...’
The general said:
‘Sylvia is really to have Groby...Good God!’
Tietjens said:
‘So it was no great conjuring trick, sir, to see that you might not mind...’
The general said:
‘Upon my soul. I’d as soon give up my chance of heaven...no, not heaven, but India, as give up Groby.’
‘You’ve got,’ Tietjens said, ‘an admirable chance of India...The point is: which way? If they give you the sixteenth section...’
‘I hate,’ the general said, ‘to think of waiting for poor Puffles’ shoes. I was at Sandhurst with him...’
‘It’s a question, sir,’ Tietjens said, ‘of which is the best way. For the country and yourself. I suppose if one were a general one would like to have commanded an army on the Western front...’
The general said:
‘I don’t know...It’s the logical end of a career...But I don’t feel that my career is ending...I’m as sound as a roach. And in ten years’ time what difference will it make?’
‘One would like,’ Tietjens said, ‘to see you doing it...’
The general said:
‘No one will know whether I commanded a fighting army or this damned Whiteley’s outfitting store...’
Tietjens said:
‘I know that, sir...But the sixteenth section will desperately need a good man if General Perry is sent home. And particularly a general who has the confidence of all ranks...It will be a wonderful position. You will have every man that’s now on the Western front at your back after the war. It’s a certain peerage...It’s certainly a sounder proposition than that of a free-lance — which is what you’d be — in the House of Commons.’
The general said:
‘Then what am I to do with my letter? It’s a damn good letter. I don’t like wasting letters.’
Tietjens said:
‘You want it to show through that you back the single command for all you are worth, yet you don’t want them to put their finger on your definitely saying so yourself?’
The general said:
‘...That’s it. That’s just what I do want...’ He added: ‘I suppose you take my view of the whole matter. The Government’s pretence of evacuating the Western front in favour of the Middle East is probably only a put-up job to frighten our Allies into giving up the single command. Just as this railway strike is a counter-demonstration by way of showing what would happen to us if we did begin to evacuate...’
Tietjens said:
‘It looks like that...I’m not, of course, in the confidence of the Cabinet. I’m not even in contact with them as I used to be...But I should put it that the section of the Cabinet that is in favour of the Eastern expedition is very small. It’s said to be a one-man party — with hangerson — but arguing him out of it has caused all this delay. That’s how I see it.’
The general exclaimed:
‘But, good God!...How is such a thing possible? That man must walk along his corridors with the blood of a million — I mean it, of a million — men round his head. He could not stand up under it...That fellow is prolonging the war indefinitely by delaying us now. And men being killed all the time!...I can’t...’ He stood up and paced, stamping up and down the hut...’At Bonderstrom,’ he said, ‘I had half a company wiped out under me...By my own fault, I admit. I had wrong information...’ He stopped and said: ‘Good God!...Good God!...I can see it now...And it’s unbearable! After eighteen years. I was a brigadier then. It was your own regiment — the Glamorganshires...They were crowded into a little nullah and shelled to extinction...I could see it going on and we could not get on to the Boer guns with ours to stop ‘em...That’s hell,’ he said, ‘that’s the real hell...I never inspected the Glamorganshires after that for the whole war. I could not bear the thought of facing their eyes...Buller was the same...Buller was worse than I...He never held up his head again after...’
Tietjens said:
‘If you would not mind, sir, not going on...
The general stamped to a halt in his stride. He said: ‘Eh?...What’s that? What’s the matter with you?’
Tietjens said:
‘I had a man killed on me last night. In this very hut; where I’m sitting is the exact spot. It makes me...It’s a sort of...Complex, they call it now...’
The general exclaimed:
‘Good God! I beg your pardon, my dear boy...I ought not to have...I have never behaved like that before another soul in the world...Not to Buller...Not to Gatacre, and they were my closest friends...Even after Spion Kop I never...’ He broke off and said: ‘I’ve such an absolute belief in your trustworthiness, I know you won’t betray what you’ve seen...What I’ve just said...’ He paused and tried to adopt the air of the listening magpie. He said: ‘I was called Butcher Campion in South Africa, just as Gatacre was called Backacher. I don’t want to be called anything else because I’ve made an ass of myself before you...No, damn it all, not an ass. I was immensely attached to your sainted mother...He said: ‘It’s the proudest tribute any commander of men can have...To be called Butcher and have your men follow you in spite of it. It shows confidence, and it gives you, as commander, confidence!...One has to be prepared to lose men in hundreds at the right minute in order to avoid losing them in tens of thousands at the wrong!...’ He said: ‘Successful military operations consist not in taking or retaining positions, but in taking or retaining them with a minimum sacrifice of effectives...I wish to God you civilians would get that into your heads. The men have it. They know that I will use them ruthlessly — but that I will not waste one life...’ He exclaimed: ‘Damn it, if I had ever thought I should have such troubles, in your father’s days...!’ He said: ‘Let’s get back to what we were talking about...My memorandum to the Secretary...’ He burst out: ‘My God!...What can that fellow think when he reads Shakespeare’s When all those heads, legs, arms, joined together on the Last Day shall...How does it run? Henry V’s address to his soldiers...Every subject’s body is the king’s...but every subject’s soul is his own...And there is no king, be his cause ever so just...My God! My God!...as can try it out with all unspotted soldiers...Have you ever thought of that?’
Alarm overcame Tietjens. The general was certainly in disorder. But over what? There was not time to think. Campion was certainly dreadfully overworked...He exclaimed:
‘Sir, hadn’t you better?...’ He said: ‘If we could get back to your memorandum...I am quite prepared to write a report to the effect of your sentence as to the French civilian population’s attitude. That would throw the onus on me...’
The general said agitatedly:
‘No! No!...You’ve got quite enough on your back as it is. Your confidential report states that you are suspected of having too great common interests with the French. That’s what makes the whole position so impossible...I’ll get Thurston to write something. He’s a good man, Thurston. Reliable...’ Tietjens shuddered a little. The general went on astonishingly:
‘But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before me lie
Deserts of vast eternity!’...
That’s a general’s life in this accursed war...You think all generals are illiterate fools. But I have spent a great deal of time in reading, though I never read anything written later than the seventeenth century.’
Tietjens said:
‘I know, sir...You made me read Clarendon’s History of the Great Rebellion when I was twelve.’
The general said:
‘In case we...I shouldn’t like...In short...’ He swallowed: it was singular to see him swallow. He was lamentably thin when you looked at the man and not the uniform.
Tietjens thought:
‘What’s he nervous about? He’s been nervous all the morning.’
The general said:
‘I am trying to say — it’s not much in my line — that in case we never met again, I do not wish you to think me an ignoramus.’
Tietjens thought:
‘He’s not ill...and he can’t think me so ill that I’m likely to die...A fellow like that doesn’t really know how to express himself. He’s trying to be kind and he doesn’t know how to...’
The general had paused. He began to say:
‘But there are finer things in Marvell than that...’
Tietjens thought:
‘He’s trying to gain time...Why on earth should he?...What is this all about?’ His mind slipped a notch. The general was looking at his finger-nails on the blanket. He said:
‘There’s, for instance:
‘The grave’s a fine and secret place
But none I think do there embrace...
At those words it came to Tietjens suddenly to think of Sylvia, with the merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs...She was working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing table. She was looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A little curled...He said to himself:
‘One is going to that fine and secret place...Why not have?’ She had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions he could hear her humming. Maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet clean! Her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair...
Well! she had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths!
Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that he reminded Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet; the general had seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said:
‘Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention!’
Tietjens said:
‘Sir!’ His heart stopped.
The general said that that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement order. He said stiffly that he must not regard this new movement order as a disgrace. It was promotion. He, Major-General Campion, was requesting the colonel commanding the depot to inscribe the highest possible testimonial in his, Tietjens’, small-book. He, Tietjens, had exhibited the most extraordinary talent for finding solutions for difficult problems — The colonel was to write that! — In addition he, General Campion, was requesting his friend, General Perry, commanding the sixteenth section...
Tietjens thought:
‘Good God. I am being sent up the line. He’s sending me to Perry’s Army...That’s certain death!’
...To give Tietjens the appointment of second in command of the VIth Battalion of his regiment!
Tietjens said, but he did not know where the words came from:
‘Colonel Partridge will not like that. He’s praying for McKechnie to come back!’
To himself he said:
