surrender to Art lies the affirmation of Art. My Friend The Incurable V. WAR HALLUCINATIONS _An interview with Mme. Truth_ I found her in an obscure corner of a wein-stube which bore the legend: In vino veritas. She beckoned to me appealingly. “Mr. Incurable, will you come and sit at my table? They all shun me nowadays; to associate with me is considered _mauvais ton_. But you, I am sure, need not fear for your reputation....” To be sure, my reputation could not suffer any more, even if I committed patricide; so I went bravely to Madame’s table, and ordered Rhine-wine and a neutrality sandwich à la Wilson (caviar and Limburger dressed in petals of French roses); to complete the expression of my loyalty to the President, I requested the national hymns of all the belligerents, after which conscience-clearing ordeal I turned to my companion. Her appearance was shocking; not even the clumsy robe of Censor O’Connor’s cut could conceal her bruises and many-colored insignia. “Madame,” I gallantly inquired, “whence these atrocities?” “These are love-tokens from the special war correspondents. Ah, dear, since the death of Tolstoy I have had no true lover. You say, how about Shaw? Well, George Bernard has championed me daringly, I admit; but I can never tell whether he is in earnest or whether he makes use of me for his clever jugglery. G. B. S. has made it his profession to say unpopular things; how could he have overlooked such a rare stunt as telling the truth in time of war? He is so very skilful in the gentle art of making himself unpleasant to the majority that I am inclined to believe he would readily betray me for my rival, Mlle. Lie, as soon as she had lost her popularity. As for Maximilian Harden, you see, I am an old flame of his; he has suffered prison and persecution for my sake, the dear; do you remember the Eilenburg affair, when Maxie removed the figments from Wilhelm’s bosom friends, and demonstrated that the “crime” punishable in England with two years of Reading Gaol was freely practiced by the august princes of Germany? O, he is a darling, Monsieur; but, between us, he handles me too roughly, the bulldog. Think of Bismarckian hugs and Kruppesque caresses! You see how hard it is to please me as a lover: I am such a frail sweetheart.” I protested that I have never had the ambition of becoming her lover, consequently I was in no need of her warning. Mme. Truth felt offended.