age trains, the mobs of cattle, the maimed and unfit men; when
the fine show of the fighters was out of sight. Plainly if a curse of
any real value was to be pronounced it must be by a prophet who saw
much that was execrable, little that was obviously glorious.

It is Balak's sagacity in choosing the prophet's second point of view
which I admire. If any cursing of an army is done at all, it will be
done by some one, whose post is behind the lines, who has seen, not
the whole, but only the uttermost part, and that the least attractive
part of the hosts.

It was my luck to remain, all the time I was in France, in safe
places. I never had the chance of seeing the gallantry of the men who
attack or the courageous tenacity of those who defend. I missed all
the excitement. I experienced none of those hours of terror which I
have heard described, nor saw how finely man's will can triumph over
terror. I had no chance of knowing that great comradeship which grows
up among those who suffer together. War, seen at the front, is hell.
I hardly ever met any one who doubted that. But it is a hell
inhabited not by devils, but by heroes, and human nature rises to
unimaginable heights when it is subjected to the awful strain of
fighting. It is no wonder that those who have lived with our fighting
army are filled with admiration for the men, are prepared to bless
altogether, not war which we all hate, but the men who wage it.

The case is very different behind the lines. There, indeed, we see
the seamy side of war. There are the men who, in some way or other,
have secured and keep safe jobs, the _embusques_ whom the French
newspapers constantly denounce. There are the officers who have
failed, proved unfit for command, shown themselves lacking in courage
perhaps, and in mercy have been sent down to some safe base. There
are the men who have been broken in spirit as well as in body, who
drag on an existence utterly dull, very toilsome, well-nigh hopeless,
and are illuminated by no high call for heroic deeds. There the
observer sees whatever there is to be seen of petty spite and
jealousies, the manipulating of jobs, the dodging of regulations, all
that is most ignoble in the soldier's trade. There also are the men
with grievances, who, in their own estimation, are fit for posts
quite other than those they hold. Some one described war at the front
as an affair of months of boredom punctuated by moments of terror. If
that philosopher had