Briefly, such was the plotting and
intriguing that never had any witch's cauldron brimful of drugs and
nameless abominations been set to boil on a more hellish fire than that
of this parliamentary cook-shop.
"Heaven only knows what they will end by serving us," said little Massot
by way of conclusion.
General de Bozonnet for his part anticipated nothing but disaster. If
France had only possessed an army, said he, one might have swept away
that handful of bribe-taking parliamentarians who preyed upon the country
and rotted it. But there was no army left, there was merely an armed
nation, a very different thing. And thereupon, like a man of a past age
whom the present times distracted, he started on what had been his
favourite subject of complaint ever since he had been retired from the
service.
"Here's an idea for an article if you want one," he said to Massot.
"Although France may have a million soldiers she hasn't got an army. I'll
give you some notes of mine, and you will be able to tell people the
truth."
Warfare, he continued, ought to be purely and simply a caste occupation,
with commanders designated by divine right, leading mercenaries or
volunteers into action. By democratising warfare people had simply killed
it; a circumstance which he deeply regretted, like a born soldier who
regarded fighting as the only really noble occupation that life offered.
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