191
* ' 4.TOMLrXNSONt  2


























ILLUSION: zgzj





tnno iomini


03UCCCCCXeV333
Christmas again, and for the z28th
time the busy world pauses, conscious
of the day's implications. This little
volume, the first edition of this
strangely moving tale by H. M.
Tomlinson, has been issued by
Messrs Harper &    Brothers
for presentation to their
friends at this
Holiday
Season.
"Mq^~~





ILLUSION:
zIgz




By


H. M.


Tomlinson


Ruprinted from
HARPERS MAGAZINE


HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON


92.8





ILLUSION: 1915
COPYRIGHT, 1927,    BHARPER f BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THBB U. 3. A.
FIRST EDITION





ILLUSION:.'9';










I.LL U..,.N 1 '


HEL;" French house I sought was seen, as I
turned a corner, remote in a dimini*shing av-,
enue of noble trees. Below the hush of mid'summer was the vibration of many wings. The
bees were in the limes. I could smell the nectar
of that tree; it is full summer when the limes
are flowering and the bees get drunk. I found
that a pleasant confirmati:on of the season, for
to me that summer was hardly authentic. The
house was set deeply in a long perspective of
foliage, as though I stood in the June of one
year and saw distantly the pale ghost of the old
chateau in a silent June of the past. I wanted
to reach that house, but it looked as though I
could get no nearer to it than the murmuring
summer in which I stood. I could only look
bac to where it was sedluded in the silence of
a forgotten year.


441





r. L. L*    U*   S"* I *O    N: 1915
A confusing idea, but then it was a confusing summer-a summer doubtful with its aspect of immemorial continuity, yet suggesting
bleakly a subtle yet disastrous interruption in
the life of the earth, as though everything appeared to be the same, but we were being
cheated with only the bright illusion of familiar things. What had been always behind them
had gone. It was June, 1915. If in one of the
arbors about me, where stood white statues
pensive with ancient secrets they would never
disclose, I had surprised a furbelowed lady
who ought to have been living only in a picture by Watteau, she might have been more
startled than myself. I should have felt that I
was the intruder, and should have withdrawn
at once from a June which did not belong to
me. Not my June. Not a lady for me, but only
for a gentleman in satin breeches and a brocaded coat. And from one of those arbors, in
a scene which was still and haunted, a figure
did suddenly emerge. It came out briskly, gave
me a direct but not a startled look, and turned
towards the chateau. It had a cockney face,
and its khaki dress was unrelieved by any or{21.}





I" L    L.e U" *   "Se I * 0 * N: 1915
nament except the blue-and-white armlet of a
British signaler. It seemed to have no doubt
about its year.
So I judged that, after all, I might not
be lost in another age. Anyhow, others were
lost there with me; or perhaps in a celestial
dreaminess the gods had become careless and
had muddled the sunlights and affairs of far
different times. For a Sikh, with a rifle which
was only a toy in his giant's grasp-a giant in
a black beard--was patrolling the balustrade
of that French house above a moat in which
waterlilies floated. The Indian sentry reached
the limit of his beat and paused to regard the
figure of Aphrodite, who stood below him
with a foot coyly poised over the water she had
been about to enter since Louis Soleil was king.
War? Not even though a bearded Sikh was
contemplating Aphrodite. There was no war.
There was but an occasional and inexplicable
flutter of the air. The air sometimes shook; the
summer day was quite peaceful, but it was not
accurately fitted to the earth, it was not quite
firm on its base. There was a sense of insecurity in it, as though it might be withdrawn from
(31





I * L * L *U     S * I * 0 * N: 1915
us because it was a mistake, being the summer
of another page and place.
Nor did the interior of the chateau reassure.
The frail old furniture was understandable,
and the ormolu, the crystal candelabra hanging from a painted ceiling, and the tapestries
-they gave the right suggestion, for a summer
noon, of the serene continuity of pleasant
human things. The ladies of the house looked
down into the room from their frames of
heavy gilt, which hung on the walls, and one
of them, the portrait near me, of a girl of
1779, seemed as surprised as myself to observe
soldiers below intent upon typewriters, and
the coming and going of British officers.
One of the officers came to me. He knew my
name, and met me as if I were one of that
household, though I had never seen him before. "They telephoned from headquarters
about you this morning. We were beginning
to think you were lost. The battalion you want
is somewhere near Neuve Chapelle, but you'd
never find it. It's rather altered up there, since
the attack, and it's an unattractive corner. But
44)h





i a L e L@ U # S &I o0* N         1915
we've got a guide for you-here he is, too.,
Lieutenant Jones.. I
The lieutenant was boyish, and had the
awkward candor of shyness. He smiled, and
said, '"I offered to take you before I knew
where you wanted to go. Shall we start at
once? It's fairly quiet there now, so we'd
better get it over."
We had a brief run by car through an uninhabited country, and then, for no reason that
I could see-but perhaps reason was not there
-the officer hid the car by a hedge and said
we must walk. We took a straight road
through an avenue of poplar trees. There was
a stagnant ditch on either side of it and limited
views of level meadows. The hot sun was
there, but if his light had been green, and so
the land had had that sinister complexion of
the spectral vistas we may see through colored
glass, it could not have been more forbidding.
It was an earth changed in nature. We were
alone in it. There was enchantment here, and
we had no clue. We approached a large pool
of blood and separated to walk round it. Its
extent alarmed me, but, except that my guide
451s





1 0 L 0 L 0 U 0 S e I o 0 * N: 1915
must have seen it to have avoided it, he gave
no other sign that fie admitted its existence.
It lay in front of an estaminet. The door of the
inn was open, and beside the door was a chair;
but nobody was in the chair; nobody sat in it
contemplating that mystery in the middle of
the road. The estaminet was deserted. There
were houses and sunlight but no people.
The distance was thudding heavily. The
horizon was loose, perhaps, and was bumping
on the earth. Ahead of us, almost lost in a
clump of trees, were the red roofs of secretive
farm buildings. There were ragged gaps in the
tiles. As we neared the farm there was a arash,
as though a boiler plate had fallen from a
great height onto paving stones and was at
once inert. Two columns of black smoke,
which had not been there before, stood over
the farm. The road, which was scattered with
holes, continued straight on with indifference,
though a tree had been lifted by its roots
athwart it. There was a row of trees that were
bundles of white splinters, and beyond them
we came upon the first men. Six were lying on
the ground, and two other men were bent over
j{6)1





I e L e L 9 U 9 S e I e 0 e N: 1915
them. The faces of the men on the ground
were averted and their eyes closed. They did
not want to look at us or at anything else.
The ugly but intermittent sounds were not
so distant as they had been when we reached
another group of farm buildings, scattered
among plantations near a road crossing. The
trees about them were motionless in the sleeping afternoon, as though guarding a secret.
The walls of one of the old barns, a structure
so weathered that its rufous, brickwork had the
surface of dusty gray stone, were riven, and
the edges of the new gaps were bright red.
From somewhere not so far away there came a
noise which Might have been of an idle boy
rattling a stick along a fence. An officer, to my
surprise, came to a door of a barn which I had
thought was empty. "'Come in," he cried.
"They spray that road with a machine gun.
Can't you hear Wit?
Under the rafters of that partially dismantled building was a man who laughed
when he saw me, though we had not met for
years. His amusement was casd, most likely,
by my unexpected appearance, which he ac47)





I. L " L " U"* S " I. 0 ~ N: 1915
cepted as another absurd feature of the
common phantasy. He himself, an Oriental
scholar, in that place, as a soldier, was not easily believable; but I took him in as one of the
irrelevances which are quite consistent anyhow in prolonged and vivid nightmares. It
was the last place where one would have expected to see him, yet there he was; and he
laughed again, as he came forward, because
his quizzical temper thoroughly relished the
waywardness of this resort and this coincidence. His blue eyes were merry.
"Have you gone mad, too?" he asked.
"'What brings you here?" He gossiped, presently, about our circumstances. "There's a war
on up here, but who's making it, except ourselves, beats me. I think it is between us and
the spooks. You haven't noticed any so-called
Germans about, have you? I haven't seen one
yet"-he flinched and grimaced at an explosion outside-"but that sort of thing all day
long has to be accounted for."
We set off together for his own place, which
he said was near, though long before we
reached it-mainly through a serpenting
j{8)ý





I * L *La U * S      1 I*a0a N: 1915
trench-my sense of direction became dizzy
and was restricted merely to up and down.
The earth was decrepitating in the heat; that
was rifle fire. The deep drain meandered aimlessly, with yellow charlock and scarlet poppies vivid overhead against the blue sky. We
dimbed out to hurry across a road, and entered another drain, which traversed the foundations of extensive ruins, and there we
waited, on our hands and knees, while the
ruin ahead of us was smashed a little more.
When the dust and smoke had settled a little
we hurried along, and soon emerged into a
village.
Nobody else was in it. It seemed proper to
find it was deserted. It was acrid with damp
mortar and smoldering fires. Some of the
houses lay piled across the street. That village
had come to its end, and the only proof that
life had ever known it was a child's doll
stretched out on its back in an attitude of
abandoned grief near the mux*med carcass of
a cow. We went across the churchyard-just
one vacant Gothic arch of the church was
standing-and strode over gray rubble, splin{ 9 h





I * L * L * U * S * I * 0 * N: 1915
tered coffin boards, and a few disinterred
sleepers in nightgowns who had come to the
surface again, indifferent as to how they slept.
As we got through that square a spasmodic
growling sped at us through the silence and
burst in violence by the Gothic arch. We descended hurriedly a long flight of stone steps
to a cellar. My friend Reynolds then sat on a
soap box and laughed once more, a little too
long. "This is my home," he said. "I share it
with a surgeon. I think he'll lend you a bed
for the night." Reynolds pointed to a stretcher
in the corner.
The cellar was immense and gloomy, and
our privacy was a corner of it, screened by
some sacking from the battalion aid post,
which was the remainder of the cellar. Just
then we had the place to ourselves. Reynolds
was eager for news; yet as I began to speak the
cellar shook in a series of spasms, and a tin
bowl on the floor trembled and whined. We
waited, and soon the cellar became deep in the
still earth again.
"We're all right here," Reynolds specu{Io )





I e L e L * U o S @ I * 0 * N: 1915
lated, "because if that stairway goes there's
another way out,. Perhaps I'd better show you
where it is."
We had a look round, and saw the other
stairway, a pile of bandages, and a wine-bin in
which there was nothing but a cat which was
glad to meet us., Then there was no more to do
but to return to the kitchen table. That was
loaded with documents, neatly piled under
shell-noses. Reynolds took his tunic off, inspected the topmost documents, and filled his
pipe.
"Now you've seen this place, perhaps you'd
hardly believe the trouble I took to get from
India to it," he said., "They said men were
badly wanted, so I supposed I ought to be
quick. The results surprised me,. My patience
had to mount a lot of monuments-it was
patience which sat on a monument, wasn't it?
-well, I was kept waiting a devil of a time on
each one I came to. Authority is a funny old
dear, and tried to keep me from the delights
of this hole as long as possible., But one day I
got as near to this as Marseilles, and I was de-,
4l:II j





I o L 9 L * U * S * I * 0 * N: 1r915
spondent because I thought all would be over
before I could have some....  Orderly!"
"Sir!"
"Bring two drinks. I say, have you seen
Major Weston today?".
"No, sir. He was killed last night, sir."
Reynolds rose and stared at me. Then he sat
down again."Bring the drinks, Richard," he
said.
He sat, while waiting the return of the orderly, playing a tattoo on the table. Then he
spoke to himself. '"There it is,"' he said. He
murmured across to me in doubt. '"I tell you
I spoke to him last night. I spoke to him." He
looked at me as though I ought to confirm
that a little conversation with another man
might sometimes fIl to render him invulnerable.
The orderly returned, methodica as at a
London counter, and then silently vansed
as though he had passed through a wall.
""Well, here we are," said Reynolds, in a
subdued way. "I was telling you how I got
here, in a hurry, to join in the war before it
was over., They shunted me in trains and bor{ 12.





I o L o La U 9 S e 1 0 0 o N: 1915
ries about France for weeks. I began to believe
they had attached me to a battalion which
didn't exist. Everybody knew promptly where
it was, but it was never there, though sometimes it had been. I did find it at last, though,
and reported myself. The adjutant said, "But
where's your sword? You can't parade without a sword." So I went to a farm, and sent to
London for a sword, and slept in an outhouse
under some fowls while waiting for it. At
length it came, and I reported myself again.
'You've got a sword,' said the adjutant. "You
cannot parade with a sword. The order is that
all swords must be returned.'1
"It is all like that," Reynolds assured me.
"The only thing to do here is to shut off your
intelligence and hope that the next thing to
happen won't be as idiotic as everything which
has happened before. I got into frightful difficulties. at first through trying to be reasonable. One day some headquarters or another
sent a stern demand to know why we were
using so much chloride of lime., I suppose they
thought we were stealing it. I don't know.
Anyhow, a divisional headquarters has no
4. 13 )





I * L 9 L e*UU S * I * 0 e N: 1915
reason to use chloride of lime. So I told them
what we did with it. That md matters worse.
That made them suspicious. The colonel told
me I'd better send an officer up to the latrines
just to satisfy them with a report. The young
officer was gone so long that when I remembered the chloride of lime again, because the
report had to be mde, I got nervous, and went
to look for him. There had been a bit of shelling. I found him. He was in a crater. We had
to waste some more chloride of lime."'
Here Reynolds' narrative was interrupted.
There was a shuffling on the stairs, and a whispering, "tTake 'is legs." "I got 'im." A little
group of soldiers moved across the cellar and
laid one of their number on a bench. The
others arranged themselves along the same
form in various attitudes of lassitude and
weary indifference. They were muddy, gaunt,
and unshaven; all that was dean and bright
about them was some bandages. Severalat:
tempted cigarettes with a slowness which allowed a match to burn out before it was used.
They paid no attention to us and, after a steady
glance at that array of cripples who seemed
4414





Ia L 9 L e U 9 S e I e 0 e N: 1915
resigned to anything that could happen, Reynolds called out to them that the medical
officer was expected in at once. They did not
answer. Some of them turned reproachful eyes
on us, but they neither spoke nor moved.
Other footsteps sounded on the stairs, hard
and deliberate, and the M. 0. and two assistants entered. Reynolds watched the scene for
a while, called out that if help were wanted
we could give a hand, and readjusted more
privily the canvas screen.
"tThat goes on all day, off and on, if it's only
a quiet day. When they're busy I clear out-I
can't stand being looked at like that, when I
can't do anything. We haven't had as many
today. But I don't like the look of that fellow
on his back. Hs feet are too loose. Sometimes
the feet tell you more than a man's face."y
There was g roain in the far corner, and
Reynolds waited. He bega his tattoo on the;able. We sat, looking at the floor.
40"%tNo,"' (It was the voice of the M. 0.) "No.
Leave that man., You other fellows all right
now? Better make your way to the transport
while it's quiet. You'll do till you get to the
4151~





I # L * L o U e S 0 I e 0.9 N: 1915
hospital. Lucky beggars. Hop it. Off you go."
The sufln began again, and when that
had ceased we heard the Medica Officer instructing his men where to put the soldier who
remained. The doctor came over for a gossip
with Reynolds before venturing out, and then
once more we had the gloom to ourselves.
"Can you make anything of it?"p asked Reynolds, with an inconsequence which was not
altogether innocent.
""I find it a bit bewildering."'
""There's no sense in it, none at all. Those
fellows who have just gone out to hobble
through shell-bursts in the hope of finding sal
vation-I wonder what they make of it? They
never say a word about it. You might as well
ask the horses-but some of the horses sweat
through funk. It's very queer. Once a horseha
had a dose of it, he trembles whenever he
hears a gun. Trembles and sweats. But he goes
into it when told, all of a lather, and so do we
-all of a lather. "
""It seemed to me when on my a here," I
told him, "4that the whole thing was just an
illusion. The country didn't look real. SomeJ1i6J)





I * L e L * U"o S o I * 0 ~ N: 1915
times I wondered whether it was there, or
whether I was there."
"I know. Most of the fellows feel that way.
But don't be fooled by it. It's as real as stupidity. At first you think it's all rather an imbecile
joke. That's why some of the best of the young
uns die too soon. They go about showing it
no respect, just as though the silly business was
only pretending to be there. But there it is, all
right. It is fatuous moonshine stuff, but it has
got us in irons, and so you'll jolly well find.
Here comes its Hermes--one of its envoys."
A despatch rider entered, saluted, handed
over his token out of the blue, and went. Reynolds read the message, sighed, and placed it
on one of the piles. "You get the notion, too,
that you are lost in it, that nobody knows
where you are, and could never find you. But
the gods have got us taped. They know all
about us, and if they told you to put your head
in a bag you'd have to do it. You can get
killed for two reasons-for being an idiot,
and for refusing to be an idiot.
"One day, when we were just back in some
particularly unpleasing rest billets--most of
4i:.17 )





r ' L. L * U ~ S. S 1~ 0 ~ N: 1915
our rest, by the way, was shelled to hell--the
colonel came to me. 'Look here,' he said, 'the
general has sent a message that a French
colonel is to visit us on urgent business,
though I don't know what he wants, and we
are to treat him mighty fine. But there's no
food fit to eat. He'll be here tonight. Just
scout around for something tasty, will you?
Luckily we can make him drunk, if he's that
way indined. And, I say, I wish you'd let him
have your bed. His A. D. C. may have mine,
as yours is the best.'
"We blessed those Frenchmen for nuisances, but we made ready for them, and our
mess cook made a really presentable table of
the stuff we had. Then we waited, wondering
what these fellows were going to be like, for
we'd seen nothing of the French, but had a
huge respect for their military qualities. Most
of us were only civilians turned soldiers. I
think even our colonel had been a solicitor, in
another life. Only the adjutant was a regular.
So we were a bit nervous about it.
"At length he came, this French colonela tall portly man in a blue uniform and brown
4.18 JI





I   L   L   U   S   I   0   N: 1915
bulging gaiters, accompanied by a slender
young officer, very stiff and correct. The
French colonel had one of those hunting horns
round his shoulder-you know the sort of
thing-you see the curly instrument in comic
prints of French sportsmen out after partridges. He didn't take that trumpet off. Only
his cap. His bald head was pale, but his big
round face was red and very hearty, with lots
of chin, and a long grizzled mustache which
would have been straight and fierce if he
hadn't laughed so much. He laughed, and
stamped with one foot, or patted his sides with
both hands, very free and friendly, and then
pulled out his mustache. A cheery card. But
his pale young A. D. C. was prim. Prim and
silent. Never said a word. Smiled faintly and
ironically when spoken to. 'Yes?' he would
say. Only that. Seemed to think that it was all
rather a bore.
"Not a word about the business of their
visit. Only rich laughter about nothing in particular. We began dinner. The French colonel
wore his hunting horn. We pretended not to
see thething-we sort of behaved as though a
19 )





I* L.*L"eU.eS"a I"e0oN: 1915
hunting horn at dinner was the custom of the
country, especially in war, and we didn't want
our curiosity to betray our ignorance. The
young French officer hardly looked up, and if
he did it was to stare at the wall over the head
of the man opposite. I suppose he found the
crudities of a British table unentertaining, but
that duty was duty.
"His colonel was different. He was enjoying himself-we happened to have a Burgundy of a good year-and our young fellows
played up to him on behalf of the regiment
and the good name of England. After one
bout of merriment, which was so happy that
we all joined in, that stout Frenchman rose,
put one foot on his chair, and blew a tantara
on the horn. Then he sat down again and
went on.
"Of course we took no notice of the fanfare.
Pretended we had heard nothing. The French
colonel's A. D. C. paid no attention to it,
either. We thought perhaps it might be the
custom of the Frenchman's regiment, some
ancient right won in battle. Now it was the
proper thing for the colonel of that regiment
{2-0o





Ie L e L e Ue S o I e0e N: 1915
to do-to wind the horn at intervals during
dinner. Maintain a link with the glorious past.
""That lusty colonel was full of funny
stories, and at the end of a good one, when
he'd got us all going, he'd rise from his chair
and give a fanfare solemnly. I noticed our orderlies looked a bit surprised, but they didn't
laugh. As for our own colonel, he was so polite
that he appeared to have been as deaf to it as
the young French officer.
"The fun got very lively after dinner, and
I must say our youngsters thoroughly enjoyed
this Gascon, who was certainly enjoying himself. He loudly approved our whiskey. Then,
in a sentimental mood, he mentioned his wife.
Ah!I He would show why France would fight,
but yes, till not a German was this side of the
Rhine; that or death. He was very grave.
Gentlemen, you shall regard this. Then he put
his hand inside his tunic, and pulled out what
might have been a pack of cards. But he
tugged at the pack too hard. The cards shot
across the table., I was a little shocked. Photographs of women. The scatter showed a collecdion of heads and busts, and not a few legs.
1 2.1 J1





I   L L 0  L a U  S a I e 0 * N: 1915
But the fine old fellow was entirely unembarrassed. The sort of thing which might happen to any man, you know. He began sorting
them out, quite coolly and indifferently, and
was evidently looking for a particular photograph.
"For the first time that evening the severe
young Frenchman condescended to take an
interest in what was going on. He rose and
leaned over the table, and intently inspected
the varied collection of ladies. His curiosity
was genuine. Suddenly he pointed an accusatory finger at a portrait. He spoke at last. 'That
is my wife,' he said to his colonel.
"Without a pause he struck his colonel i
the face. The big fellow collided with a chair
behind him, and over it went, and so did he,
with a great banging of brassware on the stone
floor of that farmhouse. Our colonel was horrified. We were all alarmed. We stared at one
another. What happened when a French
officer hit his colonel in the eye? What ought
we to do when they were guests? Nothingi
the King's Regulations about that.
"Somebody was assisting the French colonel
12.2.j





I * Le L * U * S e*1I    0 e N: 1915
to his feet, but he rose lightly, shook with
laughter as he pulled his tunic straight, and
went through a door into the night. Outside,
we heard him play a bold tantara on his horn,
a salute to all stags, I suppose. Presently he
came back.
"'As he entered he was met by his j unior.
They embraced each other and kissed. I looked
away at our colonel. I didn't know where to
look. Our superior seemed to be bemused. He
was, I thought, tottering on the verge of lunacy. He stood by the fireplace, looking at our
guests, and fumbling at his mouth in wonder.
We all acted, I must say, as though we had
witnessed nothing unusual. Nothing had hap.pened but what might have occurred in any
well-regulated mess in war time. We were
jolly well, controlled, I think.
"'A little later we conducted them to their
rooms. But when they had gone none of us
said a word about the evening's performance.
We affected casually a pretense that we were
now imune to surprises. Well, a subaltern
did speak. He said to our colonel, 'Do you
think he plays that trumpet at night, sir?' But
4 2-3 lb





I * L " L. U * S " I * 0 ~ N: 1915
our colonel did not answer. We put the lights
out.
"Next morning at breakfast we were very
moody. The Frenchmen were late but nobody
remarked it. I think we all were in doubt. Had
anything happened the night before? After
a bit our colonel called across the table to
me, 'Look here, Reynolds. I am right, am I
not? There were two Frenchmen with us last
night?'
"'Yes, sir. I think so. I had the impression
myself, but as nobody else seemed to remember it I thought I might have been mistaken,
and so kept quiet.'
"'All right,' said the colonel. 'That settles
it. I was wondering, myself, whether I'd been
dreaming, but as you've got the same idea
there may be something in it. If they were here
last night, they're here now. You and I will go
and greet them. Come along.'
"We went up to our colonel's room first.
The bed had been slept in, but no French
A. D. C. was there. So off we went to my room.
And no French colonel, either. My bed had
been used, but there was no other evidence, ex4{24 h





IoL*LL    oU  eS eI e0o    N: 1915
cept a hunting horn hanging over the knob at
tire head of the bed. 'Well, I'm damned!' said
our colonel.
"'Funny thing was, none of the orderlies had
seen those fellows go. Nobody had seen them
go. And we never heard another word about
it. Never knew why they caled. What do you
make of that?"V
I didn't attempt to mak anything of it.. As
an episode of the world of war it was as meet
and proper as an Oriental scholar makn British reports on chloride of lime in the cellar of
a French farm,. While Reynolds and I sat smiling at each other, filling our pipes, the tin
bowl on the floor began to complain again. It
trembled and whined. The cellar began to be convulsive. Somebody
fell headlong down the
stairway.
MI.





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