INTRODUCTION. As the Valkyrie ride exultant up northern skies to
Valhalla, bearing fallen heroes home, spurning fear, pain, and
death beneath the hoof-strokes of their galloping horses, the
President of the Peace Conference reclines in his opera-box-and
yawns. The triumphant rush through the air the clash of sword and
hollow reverberating clang of brazen buckler, the storm and wild
joy of battle are in his ears-but he hears not. The sounds are not
for him, nor are the shadows that take f o y and gather fast to the
summons of that wild music. Not for him is the phantasmagoria of
spectral squadrons wheeling and charging with flashing sabres and
fluttering red 1unghi. s across the stony plain until they plunge
headlong into that cloud of dust and smoke which closes like a
curtain behind them. Not for him does the forlorn hope crouch
behind the rocky outcrop of the hill, they and their boyish leader
with the haunting eyes. Upon their stem faces the cold grey light
of early dawn grows momentarily stronger-now, by Heaven, is the
time -But no-swiftly in its t u q the picture fades away, and
there, dreamlike, rise heavenward in its place the queer-pointed
roofs of the city of a Fenghuangcheng. From a passing rift in the
clouds the moon again looks maliciously down upon a solitary
adventurer, a stranger in the land, bending over his peony-blossoms
and admiring, not without melancholy, these last outposts planted
by the vanishing Army of the Czar. All is quiet. Then a murmur, a
faint ripple of song from a camp outside the walls. Broader and
louder it spreads like the lapping of the waves of the rising tide.
Nearer and yet more near louder, yet louder, swells the sound. It
pours in through thebivouacs, across the high walls, into
Fenghuangcheng itself, even as a Canadian forest-fire gathers
strength from each obstacle and leaps at last upon the town. It is
there-it surges over tlie garden with a roar and a crash The very
guard at the gates are singing. Twenty-thirty thousand-men are
singing, with what deep conviction, what fierce energy -Sons of
Nippon, down with Russia-Down with Russia lay her low. The phantoms
pass, and in their place, beneath the diamond brilliance of a South
African sun, lies the great square of Pretoria, its vacant pedestal
still waiting for its statue. Before the Parliament-house a
platform, and on it Anglicans, Presbyterians, Wesleyans, praising
God in unison. Ten thousand victorious British soldiers stand
around, rank by rank, and sing. A song of triumph or of vengeance
Not so. Listen to that mighty chorus, penetrating even to where
bitter, desperate women have locked themselves into their lonely,
darkened houses - Far-calld, our navies melt away-On dune and
headland sinks the fire-Le, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with
Nineveh and Tyre Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we
forget, lest we forget The curtain rises. The spell is broken The
President breathes more freely and resumes the reverie on
scientific progress and civic reform which had been interrupted by
the glory of the marching music. But the audience have felt
something within them respond to the passage of those luminous
visions. Something assuring them that not in their day will
sacrifice be replaced by satiety, heroism by ease, or danger by
dullness and they are content to have it so for they understand
that neither poetry, music, nor religion can long outlive war...
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