h no gesture of regality at all.

Just to complete this impression let me repeat a pleasant story about
this king and our Prince of Wales, who recently visited the Italian
front. The Prince is a source of anxiety on these visits; he has a very
strong and very creditable desire to share the ordinary risks of war.
He is keenly interested, and unobtrusively bent upon getting as near
the fighting as line as possible. But the King of Italy was firm upon
keeping him out of anything more than the most incidental danger. "We
don't want any historical incidents here," he said. I think that might
well become an historical phrase. For the life of the Effigy is a series
of historical incidents.

6

Manifestly one might continue to multiply portraits of fine people
working upon this great task of breaking and ending the German
aggression, the German legend, the German effigy, and the effigy
business generally; the thesis being that the Allies have no effigy.
One might fill a thick volume with pictures of men up the scale and down
working loyally and devotedly upon the war, to make this point clear
that the essential king and the essential loyalty of our side is the
commonsense of mankind.

There comes into my head as a picture at the other extreme of this
series, a memory of certain trenches I visited on my last day in
France. They were trenches on an offensive front; they were not those
architectural triumphs, those homes from home, that grow to perfection
upon the less active sections of the great line. They had been first
made by men who had run rapidly forward with spade and rifle, stooping
as they ran, who had dropped into the craters of big shells, who had
organised these chiefly at night and dug the steep ditches sideways to
join up into continuous trenches. Now they were pushing forward saps
into No Man's Land, linking them across, and so continually creeping
nearer to the enemy and a practicable jumping-off place for an attack.
(It has been made since; the village at which I peeped was in our hands
a week later.) These trenches were dug into a sort of yellowish sandy
clay; the dug-outs were mere holes in the earth that fell in upon the
clumsy; hardly any timber had been got up the line; a storm might flood
them at any time a couple of feet deep and begin to wash the sides.
Overnight they had been "strafed" and there had been a number of
casualties; there were smashed rifles about and a smashed-up machine gun
emplacem