Autobiographical fiction; France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The break through in the centre at Rivoli, too; that’s a thing
that will crop up if there’s ever another war. It’s no more obsolete
than the _Iliad_. I must add that we are practically condemned to make
frontal attacks, because we can’t afford to repeat the mistake we made
in Seventy; we must assume the offensive, and nothing else. The only
thing that troubles me is that if I see only the slower, more antiquated
minds among us opposing this splendid doctrine, still, one of the
youngest of my masters, who is a genius, I mean Mangin, would like us to
leave room, provisionally of course, for the defensive. It is not very
easy to answer him when he cites the example of Austerlitz, where the
defence was merely a prelude to attack and victory.”
The enunciation of these theories by Saint-Loup made me happy. They gave
me to hope that perhaps I was not being led astray, in my life at
Doncières, with regard to these officers whom I used to hear being
discussed while I sat sipping a sauterne which bathed them in its
charming golden glint, by the same magnifying power which had swollen to
such enormous proportions in my eyes while I was at Balbec the King and
Queen of the South Sea Island, the little group of the four epicures,
the young gambler, Legrandin’s brother-in-law, now shrunken so in my
view as to appear non-existent. What gave me pleasure to-day would not,
perhaps, leave me indifferent to-morrow, as had always happened
hitherto; the creature that I still was at this moment was not, perhaps,
doomed to immediate destruction, since to the ardent and fugitive
passion which I had felt on these few evenings for everything connected
with military life, Saint-Loup, by what he had just been saying to me,
touching the art of war, added an intellectual foundation, of a
permanent character, capable of attaching me to itself so strongly that
I might, without any attempt to deceive myself, feel assured that after
I had left Doncières I should continue to take an interest in the work
of my friends there, and should not be long in coming to pay them
another visit. At the same time, so as to make quite sure that this art
of war was indeed an art in the true sense of the word:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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