THE BUTTON.

Gisborne Times, Volume XLV, Issue 3966, 26 June 1915, Page 8

THE BUTTON.

SKY-BLUE AND YELLOW. THE LUST OF WAR. *

(By James Hopper, in “Collier’s.”)

A man stood at midnight in the central. room of a palace. Over his stark grey uniform he had thrown a flowing red cloak. Six or eight other men were in the same room; in the half-light, whenever they stirred, the medals on their breasts glistened. They stood—the one in the red mantle, the others with the medals—about a heavy table' covered wntfi green baize. On the table a map was spread. For many years the man in red had, looked at the map. Whenever lie looked at the map he saw nothing but the map. He did-not see the rivers, trees, meadows, meadows with lowing kine; lie did not see villages, houses,' and gardens; men and women he saw still less.

And baby girls, not at all. He saw only a sheet with dots and linos, -with portions dark and portions, light. Part of that shoot —most of it, in fact—was yellow. But far olf, at one end, a small triangle was blue. This made him unhappy. He had been brought up to believe that all the large, yellow part was Ins absolutely. But the triangle was not his. So that, whenever lie looked at that bit of blue (which was very often ; in fact, for years he had done little else), he felt inside of him bis heart swell like a load with acrid yearning and covetous rage. He wanted the skyblue piece to be yellow, like his own.

LOOSING THE GUNS. By the side of the map a little white button shone in its ebony frame. To the man in red, just- as the map was only a map, this button was simply a button. The one in the red mantle now nodded curtly to those with the medals, and in answer a click of spurred heels, snapped simultaneously together, tore the silence as a sharp spark tears night. He bent over the table, placed a gauntleted finger on the sky-blue bit of the map, and said : “I can no longer bear it the blue must be made yellow.” And the others cried in unionism: “We also can no longer bear it, your Majesty; the blue must be made yellow.’ ’ With this the one in rod removed bis finger from the map and placed it oil the button shining white in its ebony frame near by. He pressed the button. Immediately, almost dragged from their beds ami their homes" to uniforms and guns, millions of men begun to march "in serried ranks. Stores rumbled behind them, cannon among them. They ‘were marching—because the button had been pressed-—to make the blue map yellow. A GIRL NAMED FERNANDE.

Within the bit of blue there lived a little girl three years old, named Kern unde. For it was not true, as the men in red seemed to think, that the bit of blue was merely stoist paper pasted to canvas. The bit of blue, in fact, was a land. A land with trees and hills and streams, with cities and homes; a land of beating hearts. ' Just as the man in red pressed the button, the little girl three years old, named Fernando, was sleeping in her small carved wooden bed, close to her mother’s big bed. We shall see what pressing the button did to that little girl, Fernando. We can see it from a letter which the little girl's mother wrote to the little girl’s father, who received it as be stood in a trench, trying to defend the bit of blue. The mother is only a peasant woman. She does not write very well. Let we shall seeHere is her letter: “My Dear Henri (her husband),— 1 have received four letters from you the same day—this is the second I send you—you ask me why I don t write —you don’t know, then, that tne enemy has been three weeks with us, doing us misery. For they iiave brought a great- mourning on us, my deaAlenri; I am going to tell you the whole truth, for I cannot bear all this to myself, and you must have courage, as 1 Rave had courage. Well, as you must know already, my little baby was born on the 28th in thy midst of the bombardment. I was all alone, only my poor old mother was with me, and Fernande; but that is liotliiiur yet ] for, two days Inter, tJiev made us all prisoners, all the women and children and old men of the vil|;ioe. and Thev. put us all m the church. There they were making us die of hunger. But that is not all: at night They would put a hgnt m the steeple so that we would be bombarded by our own troops. On the first day of September, day of misery, a bomb falls into the church and kills at one blow my poor old mother and jny poor little babe. She was holding it" in her lap. But that is not aU '• Fernande also was struck a piece that went through her right side—and she suffered for two whole hours. She would say: ‘Mamma Marie, take mo away from the church ; it does notieel o-ood here/ And then she would ask me for something to eat, but there would be nothing. And then again: ‘Mamma Marie, take me away Hoin the church; it- is not good hero. And I could not take her away; they were guarding well outside. “So you see, you must not- wony about us, for there is nothing left but me, and I can always get along. You see that I have been courageous. Courage is strength. That is why you must be courageous, to avenge our two children. You must all take courage, so as to crush. Them aud never let Them come again. I think I will take a gun and kill a pair ot them myself. Show the letter to al vour comrades, so that they can avemre our two children. Don.t won., about me, for I ba-ve no longer-any children; think only of your vengeance. Mv poor Henri, have courageI hope that some day/ve will be together again.—-Mane.” IN THE CHURCH.

So here you have it—what the man in the red'cloak did wheti he pressed the button: when, looking at a map which to him was only map, pressed a button, wlncn- to him vas simply a button. _ ... This be achieved: A little girl is dying across the lap of ber mother; she asks for just one thing: ‘-Mamma Marie, take me out of the church; n is not good here.” And is denied. She is dying there on her mother s lap, but she docs not know that she V/ dvh.K. Her -side bv a fragment of shell, but also she does not realise. Probably there is no great pain—a strange nm ibness rather than a pain. She has no J telligence of what has come to hei, only a dim feeling that there is something wrong. Not for' a. moment dots little Fernande imagine that the n comprehensible evil done her lias be done by a man. No, she docs not explain, she has no word of. reproach. Only there is one thing which does trouble her : a desire; she would lute to be taken out of tho church. Out ol that church which, instinctively, she connects with her ill being. ‘Alumina. Marie, take me out of the church; it is not good here.” Mamma Marie does not take her out of the church. THE STUPIDITY OF IT ALL.

Mamma Marie is strange. (She holds her very tight and does not move, and looks ahead \ath hard eyes.' Everything is strange, anyway. They used to live in a. house, a house with a small garden in which one wandered eating bread and butter. Now they live in.,the church. And the church, which on Sundays was so beautiful, so peaceful and warm rund luminous and fragrant, that church itself is changed. It is dark now and cold —and there is nothing to Now "and then there is a terrible noise; stones fall and .people cry. After one of those terrible crashes one’s side begins to hurt. What appals one, it is the stupidity

of it all. It happened- all because there exist sfilf some men with imaginations so aborted that to them a map is merely a map and a button merely a button.” * ; It is this crass stupidity wlneli must bo smeared from this earth.