General Bramble Part 8

"My friend," he said, "I think that will do, thank you. And if you ever have the opportunity of seeing Their Majesties, don't let it slip by. In France, you have very wrong ideas, I a.s.sure you; since the Revolution, you have a prejudice against Royal Families. It is childish; you can take my word for it. I have been living with this one for more than five years, and I a.s.sure you they are quite respectable people."

CHAPTER IX

PReLUDE a LA SOIReE D'UN GeNeRAL

"... of cabbages and kings."--Lewis Carroll.

A blue forage-cap appeared under the flap of the camouflaged tent.

"Messiou," cried the general, "we were beginning to despair of ever seeing you again."

"Yo-ho! h.e.l.lo--o!" shouted the Infant Dundas. "I _am_ glad! Come and have some lunch, old man."

Aurelle, happy to find his friends again, fell to heartily on the mutton, boiled potatoes and mint sauce. When they reached the cheese, General Bramble questioned him about his journey.

"Well, Messiou, what about your leave? What is Paris looking like nowadays, and why did your mother the French Mission tell us she was keeping you two days at Abbeville?"

Aurelle told then the story of M. Lucas and of the King's visit.

"What's that, Messiou?" said General Bramble. "You've seen our King?

Does he look well?"

"Very well indeed, sir."

"Good old George!" muttered the general tenderly. "Yes, he looked quite well when he came here. Tell us that story of the cook over again, Messiou; it's a jolly good story."

Aurelle complied, and when he had done, he bent over towards Colonel Parker and asked him why the general spoke of the King like an affectionate nurse.

"The King," said the colonel, "is much more to us than you might imagine. To the general, who is an Etonian, he is a kind of neighbour. To Dundas, he's the colonel of his regiment. To the padre, he's the head of the Church. To an old Tory like me, he's the living embodiment of England's traditions and prejudices, and the pledge of her loyalty to them in the future. As for the paternal tone, that's because for half a century the King was a Queen. Loyalism became an att.i.tude of protective chivalry; nothing could have consolidated the dynasty more firmly. Royalty is beloved not only by the aristocracy but by all cla.s.ses. It's a great a.s.set to a people without imagination like ours to be able to see in one man the embodiment of the nation."

"Messiou," interposed the general, "didn't they give you an M.V.O.

for your services?"

"What is that, sir--a new ribbon?"

"My G.o.d!" exclaimed Dundas, much scandalized. "You've never heard of the Victorian Order?"

"When King Edward played bridge," said the general, "and his partner left it to him at the right moment, the King used to declare with great satisfaction, 'No trumps, and you're an M.V.O.!'"

"The idea that a word from the sovereign's lips or the contact of his person is sufficient to cure his subjects, is a very ancient and beautiful one," said the colonel. "Before he started distributing ribbons, the King used to cure scrofula. That excellent custom, however, came to an end with William of Orange, who used to say to the patient while he was operating, 'G.o.d give you better health and more sense!'"

"The King's taboo has also disappeared," said the doctor.

"I can a.s.sure you," said Aurelle, "that his taboo is still effective.

On the platform before he arrived there were three A.P.M.'s bustling about and chasing away the few spectators. As the train came into the station one of them ran up to me and said, 'Are you the interpreter on duty? Well, there's a seedy-looking chap over there, who seems up to no good. Go and tell him from me that if he doesn't clear out immediately I'll have him arrested.' I did so.

'Arrest me!' said the man. 'Why, I'm the special _commissaire de police_ entrusted with the King's safety.'"

"Well, Messiou," inquired the general, "have you brought me back any new records from Paris for my gramophone?"

Aurelle unstrapped his kit and proceeded, not without some anxiety, to unpack "Le Prelude a l'Apres-midi d'un Faune."

"I don't know whether you'll like it, sir; it's modern French music."

"I'm sure it's very fine, Messiou," said the general confidently. And in the interest of international courtesy he immediately a.s.sumed the beatific expression he usually kept for Caruso.

After the first few notes, an air of bewilderment appeared upon his kindly face. He looked at Aurelle, whom he was surprised to find quite unmoved; at Colonel Parker, who was hard at work; at the doctor, who was inclining his head and listening devoutly; and, resigning himself to his fate, he waited for the end of the acidulated and discordant noises.

"Well, Messiou," he said when it was over, "it's very nice of you not to have forgotten us--but----"

"Yes," put in Colonel Parker, looking up, "but I'm d.a.m.ned if it's music!"

"What?" shouted the doctor, scandalized. "A masterpiece like that?

Not music?"

"Come, come," said the general soothingly, "maybe it wasn't written for the gramophone. But, doctor, I should like you to explain."

"Have you seen the Russian Ballet, sir? The faun, lying on a rock, is watching for the nymphs and playing in a monotonous key on his flute.

At last they appear, half dressed; he pursues them, but they fly away, and one of them drops a sash, which is all he gets."

"This is very interesting," said the general, much excited. "Wind up the gramophone, Messiou, and give us the disc over again; I want to see the half-dressed nymphs. Make a sign to me at the right moment."

Once again the instrument filled the rustic dug-out with the wistful grace of the Prelude. Aurelle murmured in a low voice:

"Ce nymphes, je les veux perpetuer, si clair Leur incarnat leger qu'il voltige dans l'air a.s.soupi de sommeils touffus...."

"Bravo, Messiou!" said the general, when the last notes rang out. "I like it better already than I did the first time. I'm sure I'll get used to it in the end."

"I shan't," said Colonel Parker. "I shall always prefer 'G.o.d Save the King.'"

"Yes," replied the doctor; "but your children will hum 'Pelleas,'

and your grandchildren will say, 'Do you know that old tune that used to be the rage in grandfather's time?' What you never can get used to, colonel, is finding yourself in the presence of a somewhat more complex work of art than the childish productions to which you are accustomed. Nature is not simple; she takes the theme of a fox-trot and makes a funeral march out of it; and it is just these incongruities that are the essence of all poetry. I appeal to you for an opinion, Aurelle, as a citizen of the country which has produced Debussy and Mallarme."

"Have you ever heard the excellent saying of Renoir, the old French painter: 'Don't ask _me_,' he said, 'whether painting ought to be subjective or objective; I confess I don't care a rap.'"

"Ah, Messiou," sighed the general, "the confounded fellow was quite right too!"

CHAPTER X

PRIVATE BROMMIT'S CONVERSION