There can be no doubt in any reasonable mind that this war is binding
France and England very closely together. They dare not quarrel for the
next fifty years. They are bound to play a central part in the World
League for the Preservation of Peace that must follow this struggle.
There is no question of their practical union. It is a thing that must
be. But it is remarkable that while the French mind is agog to apprehend
every fact and detail it can about the British, to make the wisest
and fullest use of our binding necessities, that strange English
"incuria"--to use the new slang--attains to its most monumental in this
matter.
So there is not much to say about how the British think about the
French. They do not think. They feel. At the outbreak of the war, when
the performance of France seemed doubtful, there was an enormous feeling
for France in Great Britain; it was like the formless feeling one has
for a brother. It was as if Britain had discovered a new instinct. If
France had crumpled up like paper, the English would have fought on
passionately to restore her. That is ancient history now. Now the
English still feel fraternal and fraternally proud; but in a mute way
they are dazzled. Since the German attack on Verdun began, the French
have achieved a crescendo. None of us could have imagined it.
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