Silence is obligatory. Besides, the rich and high-placed who have
come here from all the ends of the earth, smitten by the same evil,
have lost the habit of talking. They have withdrawn into themselves,
to think of their life and of their death.
A servant appears in the balcony, dressed in white and walking
softly. She brings newspapers and hands them about.
"It's decided," says the first to unfold his paper. "War is
declared."
Expected as the news is, its effect is almost dazing, for this
audience feels that its portent is without measure or limit. These
men of culture and intelligence, detached from the affairs of the
world and almost from the world itself, whose faculties are deepened
by suffering and meditation, as far remote from their fellow men as
if they were already of the Future--these men look deeply into the
distance, towards the unknowable land of the living and the insane.
"Austria's act is a crime," says the Austrian.
"France must win," says the Englishman.
"I hope Germany will be beaten," says the German.
They settle down again under the blankets and on the pillows,
looking to heaven and the high peaks. But in spite of that vast
purity, the silence is filled with the dire disclosure of a moment
before.
War!
Some of the invalids break the silence, and say the word again under
their breath, reflecting that this is the greatest happening of the
age, and perhaps of all ages. Even on the lucid landscape at which
they gaze the news casts something like a vague and somber mirage.
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