Grandeur and Misery of Victory

Grandeur and Misery of Victory

Grandeur and Misery of Victory

Grandeur and Misery of Victory

Excerpt

The Parthian, as he fled at full gallop, loosed one more shaft behind. At the moment when he was swallowed up in the night of the tomb Marshal Foch seems to have left a whole bundle of stray arrows to the uncertain bow of a chance archer.

The present hour is not one for suggestions of silence. On every side there is nothing but talkers talking futile words, the sound of which perhaps charms crowds of the deaf. Perhaps that is why I have myself yielded to the universal impulse, with the excuse of preventing the absence of a reply from appearing to mean confirmation. Not that this matters to me so much as might be imagined. When a man has placed the whole interest of his life in action he is little likely to pause over unnecessary trifles.

When I saw this impudent farrago of troopers' tales in which, in the cosy privacy of the barrack-room, the soldier is unconsciously seeking his revenge for conflicts with authority that did not always end in his favour, I might perhaps have been incapable of turning my back on my duty had not the breath of the great days magically fanned to new life the old, ever-burning flame of the emotions of the past.

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