The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [44]
‘When the bombing begins here, clearly civilians will play as dangerous a role as soldiers, if not more dangerous.’
‘Of course. Even so, Vigny would say those in uniform have made the greater sacrifice by losing the man in the soldier – what he calls the warrior’s abnegation, his renunciation of thought and action. Vigny says a soldier’s crown is a crown of thorns, amongst its spikes none more painful than passive obedience.’
‘True enough.’
‘He sees the role of authority as essentially artificial, the army a way of life in which there is as little room for uncontrolled fervour as for sullen indifference. The impetuous volunteer has as much to learn as the unwilling conscript.’
I thought of Gwatkin and his keenness; of Sayce, and his recalcitrance. There was something to be said for this view of the army. By this time, Pennistone and I were the only ones awake in the compartment. The button cleaners had abandoned their paraphernalia, resumed their tunics and nodded off like the rest. The quartermaster began to snore. He did not look particularly saintly, nor even dedicated, though one never could tell. Probably Vigny knew what he was talking about after fourteen years of it.
‘All the same,’ I said, ‘it’s a misapprehension to suppose, as most people do, that the army is inherently different from all other communities. The hierarchy and discipline give an outward illusion of difference, but there are personalities of every sort in the army, as much as out of it. On the whole, the man who is successful in civilian life, all things being equal, is successful in the army.’
‘Certainly – and there can be weak-willed generals and strong-willed privates.’
‘Look, for example, at the way you yourself compelled my neighbour to move his kit last night.’
Pennistone laughed.
‘One can just imagine Vigny romanticising that fat sod,’ he said, ‘but that is by the way. Probably Vigny, while emphasising that we are back with the citizen army of classical times which he himself envisaged, would agree with what you say. He was certainly aware that nothing is absolute in the army – least of all obeying orders. Take my own case. I was instructed to wait until this morning for a train, as there had been local complaints of army personnel overcrowding the railways over weekends to the detriment of civilian travel facilities. I made careful enquiries, found chances of retribution remote and started the night before, thus saving a day of my journey.’
‘In other words, the individual still counts, even in the army.’
‘Although consigned to circumstances in which, theoretically, no individuality – though much will-power – exists.’
‘What would Vigny have thought of your disobeying that order?’
‘I could have pleaded that the army was not my chosen profession, that my ill-conduct was a revulsion from uniform, drum, drill, the ritual of the parade ground, the act of an unworthy, amateur neophyte of war.’
We both went to sleep after that. When the train reached London, I said goodbye to Pennistone, who was making his way to the country and his home, there to stay until recalled to duty.
‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’
‘Let’s decide to anyway,’ he said. ‘As we’ve agreed, these things are largely a matter of will.’
He waved, and disappeared into the crowds of the railway station. Later in the morning, while attending to the many odd jobs to be done during my few hours in London, I was struck by a thought as to where I might have seen Pennistone before. Was it at Mrs Andriadis’s party in Hill Street ten or twelve years ago? His identity was revealed. He was the young man with the orchid in his buttonhole with whom I had struck up a conversation in the small hours. This seemed our characteristic relationship. Stringham had taken me to the party, Pennistone informed me that the house itself belonged to the Duports.