CHAPTERXIII

chapterxiii

iamnotstrongenoughinthescienceofpsychologytounderstandtheoriginoflaughterandtogetintotouchwiththemainspringsofgaiety.thesharpcontrastbetweennormalethicsandanabnormalityofactionprovidesagrotesquepointofviewarousingironicalmirth.itisprobablealsothatsurroundingsofenormoustragedystimulatethesenseofhumoroftheindividual,sothatanysmall,ridiculousthingassumestheproportionofmonstrousabsurdity.itisalsolikely—certain,ithink—thatlaughterisanescapefromterror,aliberationofthesoulbymentalexplosion,fromtheprisonwallsofdespairandbrooding.inthedecameronofioagroupofmenandwomenencompassedbyplagueretiredintoseclusiontotelloneanothermirthfulimmoralitieswhichstirredtheirlaughter.theylaughedwhiletheplaguedestroyedsocietyaroundthemandwhentheyknewthatitsfoulgermswereontheprowlfortheirownbodies...soitwasinthiswar,whereinmanystrangeplacesandinmanydreadfuldaystherewasgreatlaughter.ithinksometimesofanightispentwiththemedicalofficersofatenthospitalinthefieldsofthesommeduringthosebattles.withmeasaguestwentamodernfalstaff,a“tonofflesh,”who“sweatstodeathandlardstheleanearthashewalksalong.”

hewasamanofmanyanecdotes,drawnfromthesinksandstewsoflife,yetwithasenseofbeautylurkingunderhiscoarseness,andavoiceoffine,sonoroustone,whichhemanagedwithartandameltinggrace.

onthewaytothefieldhospitalhehadtakenmorethanonenipofwhisky.hisvoicewaswelloiledwhenhesangagreetingtoamedicalmajorinafloridburstofmelodyfromitalianopera.themajorwasalittleirishmedicowhohadbeenthroughthesouthafricanwarandintropicalplaces,wherehehaddrunkfire-watertokillallmannerofmicrobes.hesufferedabominablyfromasthmaandhadhadaheart-seizurethedaybeforeourdinnerathismess,andtoldusthathewoulddropdowndeadassureasfatebetweenoneoperationandanotheron“thepoor,bloodywounded”whoneverceasedtoflowintohistent.buthewasinalaughingmood,andthirstyforlaughter-makingliquid.hehadtwowhiskiesbeforethedinnerbegantowethiswhistle.hisfellow-officerswereoutforanevening'sjoy,butnervousofthecolonel,anausteresoulwhosatattheheadofthemesswiththelookofamanafraidthatmerrimentmightreachoutrageousheightsbeyondhiscontrol.acourteousmanhewas,andrathersad.hispresenceforatimeactedasarestraintuponthecompany,untilallrestraintwasbrokenbythefalstaffwithme,whotoldsoul-crashingstoriestothelittleirishmajoracrossthetableandsanglovelyricstotheorderlywhobroughtroundthecottagepieandpickles.therewasatall,thinyoungsurgeonwhohadbeencarvinguplivingbodiesalldayandmanydays,andnowlistenedtothatfatroguewithanintensityofdelightthatlituphismelancholyeyes,watchinghimgravelybetweengustsofdeeplaughter,whichseemedtocomefromhisboots.therewasanotheryoungsurgeon,onceofbarts',whomadehimselfthecup-serverofthefatknightandkepthiswineatthebrim,andencouragedhimtofreshaudacitiesofanecdotry,withahumorousglanceatthecolonel'stroubledface...thecolonelwasforgottenafterdinner.thelittleirishmajortookthelidofftheboilingpotofmirth.hewasentirelymad,asheassuredus,betweendancesofawildandprimitivetype,storiesofadventureinfarlands,andspasmsofasthmaticcoughing,whenhebeathisbreastandsaid,“apoxinmybleedingheart!”

falstaffwasplayingjuliettotheromeoofthetallyoungsurgeon,singingfalsettolikeafatgermanangeldressedinloose-fittingkhaki,withhisbeltundone.therewerecharadesinthetent.theboyfrombarts'didremarkableimitationsofagamecockchallengingarivalbird,ofacowcomingthroughagate,ofageneraladdressinghistroops(mostcomicalofall).severalglasseswerebroken.thecorkscrewwasdisregardedasauselessimplement,andwhisky-bottlesweredecapitatedagainstthetentpoles.iremembervaguelythecrowningepisodeoftheeveningwhenthelittlemajorwasdancingtheirishjigwithakitchenchair;whenfalstaffwassingingtheprologueofitothestupefiedcolonel;whentheboy,onceofbarts',wasroaringlikealionunderthemesstable,andwhenthetall,melancholysurgeonwasatthetopofthetentpole,scratchinghimselflikeagorillainhisnativehaunts...outside,thefieldhospitalwasquiet,underafleecyskywithacrescentmoon.throughthepaintedcanvasofthetentcitycandle-lightglowedwithafaintrose-coloredlight,andtheredcrosshunglimpabovethecampwheremanywoundedlay,wakingorsleeping,tossinginagony,dyinginunconsciousness.farawayoverthefields,rocketswererisingabovethebattle-lines.theskywasflickeringwiththeflushofgun-fire.aredglareroseandspreadbelowthecloudswheresomeammunition-dumphadbeenexploded...oldfalstafffellasleepinthecaronthewaybacktoourquarters,andismiledatthememoryofgreatlaughterinthemidstoftragedy.