een so
servile, and that was why its passions were those of the coward and not
of the brave man; that was why chivalry and generosity and
fair-mindedness were execrated, and only hatred and boastfulness and
vindictive malice were allowed to live.

The rapidity with which the time passed was terrifying. Although my
leave had produced so much disillusionment, I yet dreaded its
termination. Just as my life at the front had made me unfit for life at
home, so my short spell of life at home had rendered me unfit for
further life at the front. Moreover, I knew that my concrete experiences
had done a little towards strengthening and confirming the attitude of
my few friends, a consideration that gave me some satisfaction. I
thought that in time I might get into touch with other people who shared
our attitude and then take part in some anti-war movement and fight
against the war instead of in it. That would have been the only activity
to which I could have devoted myself with energy and enthusiasm. But I
would soon have to go back and be muzzled once more by a ruthless
discipline and an all-embracing censorship. Moreover, as my leave
approached its end I began to regret that I had not striven harder to
enjoy the comforts and freedom of civilian life. The dread of the coming
return to slavery and dreary routine began to outweigh every other
consideration. The prospect of living in a tent crowded with
foul-mouthed, noisy soldiers filled me with dismay. I made a feeble
attempt at securing an extension of my leave, but failed, and then I
resigned myself to my fate.

One afternoon, towards the end of the fortnight, I went to Kew Gardens
with my friend.

The softness of the warm September day, the calm trees, and the flowers
that were pure untroubled beauty (how I envied them their dispassionate
lives, their tranquil growth, their effortless attainment of perfection,
and their unconscious dying!)--all these had a strangely harmonizing
influence upon my discordant spirit. We spoke little, and of the war not
at all. Indeed, the war suddenly seemed curiously remote and I could
hardly hear the throbbing of the guns. I knew that this afternoon would
never be lost, that I would often think of it when back at the front. It
would remain a dream of tranquil beauty that would haunt me at
unexpected moments. I felt that for this alone my leave had been worth
while.

The last morning came. I made a successful effort to control myself. I
sai