Winged Earth Magazine

For my part I had thought that he wrote out of his head; I had seen
him at the detestable job of doing it. I myself have hated this
business of writing ever since I found out that it was not so easy as
it looks, and I can always spare a little sympathy for a man who is
driving a pen to the task of putting words in their right places. Yet
the clergyman persuaded me at last. Who am I that I should doubt the
faith of a clerk in holy orders? It must have happened. Those archers
fought for us, and the grey-goose feather has flown once again in
English battle.

* *

Since that day I look eagerly for the ghosts who must be taking their
share in this world-war. Never since the world began was such a war as
this: surely Marlborough and the Duke, Talbot and Harry of Monmouth,
and many another shadowy captain must be riding among our horsemen.
The old gods of war are wakened by this loud clamour of the guns.

* *

All the lands are astir. It is not enough that Asia should be humming
like an angry hive and the far islands in arms, Australia sending her
young men and Canada making herself a camp. When we talk over the war
news, we call up ancient names: we debate how Rome stands and what is
the matter with Greece.

* *

As for Greece, I have ceased to talk of her. If I wanted to say
anything about Greece I should get down the Poetry Book and quote Lord
Byron's fine old ranting verse. "The mountains look on Marathon--and
Marathon looks on the sea." But "standing on the Persians' grave"
Greece seems in the same humour that made Lord Byron give her up as a
hopelessly flabby country.

* *

"'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more" is as true as ever it was.
That last telegram of the Kaiser must have done its soothing work. You
remember how it ran: the Kaiser was too busy to make up new phrases.
He telegraphed to his sister the familiar Potsdam sentence: "Woe to
those who dare to draw the sword against me." I am sure that I have
heard that before. And he added--delightful and significant
postscript!--"My compliments to Tino."

* *

And Tino--King Constantine of the Hellenes--understood. He is in bed
now with a very bad cold, and like to stay in bed until the weather be
more settled. But before going to bed he was able to tell a journalist
that Greece was going quietly on with her proper business; it was her
mission to carry civilisation to the world. Truly that was the mission
of ancient Greece. What we get from Tino's modern Greece is not
civilisation but the little black currants for plum-cake.

* *

But Rome. Greece may be dead or in the currant trade. Rome is alive
and immortal. Do not talk to me about Signor Giolitti, who is quite
sure that the only things that matter in this new Italy, which is old
Rome, are her commercial relations with Germany. Rome of the legions,
our ancient mistress and conqueror, is alive to-day, and she cannot be
for an ignoble peace. Here in my newspaper is the speech of a poet
spoken in Rome to a shouting crowd: I will cut out the column and put
it in the Poetry Book.

* *

He calls to the living and to the dead: "I saw the fire of Vesta, O
Romans, lit yesterday in the great steel works of Liguria, The
fountain of Juturna, O Romans, I saw its water run to temper armour,
to chill the drills that hollow out the bore of guns." This is poetry
of the old Roman sort. I imagine that scene in Rome: the latest poet
of Rome calling upon the Romans in the name of Vesta's holy fire, in
the name of the springs at which the Great Twin Brethren washed their
horses. I still believe in the power and the ancient charm of noble
words. I do not think that Giolitti and the stockbrokers will keep old
Rome off the old roads where the legions went.

Postscript

While this volume was passing through the press, Mr. Ralph Shirley,
the Editor of "The Occult Review" called my attention to an article
that is appearing in the August issue of his magazine, and was kind
enough to let me see the advance proof sheets.

The article is called "The Angelic Leaders" It is written by Miss
Phyllis Campbell. I have read it with great care.

Miss Campbell says that she was in France when the war broke out. She
became a nurse, and while she was nursing the wounded she was informed
that an English soldier wanted a "holy picture." She went to the man
and found him to be a Lancashire Fusilier. He said that he was a
Wesleyan Methodist, and asked "for a picture or medal (he didn't care
which) of St. George... because he had seen him on a white horse,
leading the British at Vitry-le-Francois, when the Allies turned"

This statement was corroborated by a wounded R.F.A. man who was
present. He saw a tall man with yellow hair, in golden armour, on a
white horse, holding his sword up, and his mouth open as if he was
saying, "Come on, boys! I'll put the kybosh on the devils" This figure
was bareheaded--as appeared later from the testimony of other
soldiers--and the R.F.A. man and the Fusilier knew that he was St.
George, because he was exactly like the figure of St. George on the
sovereigns. "Hadn't they seen him with his sword on every 'quid'
they'd ever had?"

From further evidence it seemed that while the English had seen the
apparition of St. George coming out of a "yellow mist" or "cloud of
light," to the French had been vouchsafed visions of St. Michael the
Archangel and Joan of Arc. Miss Campbell says:--

"Everybody has seen them who has fought through from Mons to Ypres;
they all agree on them individually, and have no doubt at all as to
the final issue of their interference"

Such are the main points of the article as it concerns the great
legend of "The Angels of Mons." I cannot say that the author has
shaken my incredulity--firstly, because the evidence is second-hand.
Miss Campbell is perhaps acquainted with "Pickwick" and I would remind
her of that famous (and golden) ruling of Stareleigh, J.: to the
effect that you mustn't tell us what the soldier said; it's not
evidence. Miss Campbell has offended against this rule, and she has
not only told us what the soldier said, but she has omitted to give us
the soldier's name and address.

If Miss Campbell proffered herself as a witness at the Old Bailey and
said, "John Doe is undoubtedly guilty. A soldier I met told me that he
had seen the prisoner put his hand into an old gentleman's pocket and
take out a purse"--well, she would find that the stout spirit of Mr.
Justice Stareleigh still survives in our judges.

The soldier must be produced. Before that is done we are not
technically aware that he exists at all.

Then there are one or two points in the article itself which puzzle
me. The Fusilier and the R.F.A. man had seen "St, George leading the
British at Vitry-le-Francois, when the Allies turned." Thus the time
of the apparition and the place of the apparition were firmly fixed in
the two soldiers' minds.

Yet the very next paragraph in the article begins:--

"'Where was this ?' I asked. But neither of them could tell"

This is an odd circumstance. They knew, and yet they did not know; or,
rather, they had forgotten a piece of information that they had
themselves imparted a few seconds before.

Another point. The soldiers knew that the figure on the horse was St.
George by his exact likeness to the figure of the saint on the English
sovereign.

This, again, is odd. The apparition was of a bareheaded figure in
golden armour. The St. George of the coinage is naked, except for a
short cape flying from the shoulders, and a helmet. He is not
bareheaded, and has no armour--save the piece on his head. I do not
quite see how the soldiers were so certain as to the identity of the
apparition.

Lastly, Miss Campbell declares that "everybody" who fought from Mons
to Ypres saw the apparitions. If that be so, it is again odd that
Nobody has come forward to testify at first hand to the most amazing
event of his life. Many men have been back on leave from the front, we
have many wounded in hospital, many soldiers have written letters
home. And they have all combined, this great host, to keep silence as
to the most wonderful of occurrences, the most inspiring assurance,
the surest omen of victory.

It may be so, but--

Arthur Machen.