# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3818/The First Blunder

THE FIRST BLUNDER.
How I succeeded in getting this interview I should very much like to know. But I did. Let that suffice.
When I entered He was standing before His mirror fumbling with His moustache, which seemed unwilling any more to point upwards, but had a persistent droop. "Donner und blitzen!" He exclaimed irascibly as he added more and more stiffening paste.
Observing me He paused and sat down, motioning me to do the same. Then, after taking a tablespoonful of the blood-and-iron tonic in a bottle beside Him, He bade me be quick with my questions as He was busy.
I explained my visit at once. "It says in the paper," I said, "that your Majesty's troops are being withdrawn from the North of Belgium."
He nodded.
"And that," I continued, "the province of Antwerp is free of them."
He nodded again.
"But," I said, "surely that is a mistake—an error both of tactics and judgment of the greatest seriousness?"
"How?" He asked.
"This chastisement of the world," I said, "which you are to inflict———"
He smiled agreement.
"This spread of Geist———" I continued.
He beamed.
"How can it be thorough if you shirk your duty?" I added.
He bade me explain myself more fully.
"Take Louvain," I said, "as a start. That was splendid."
"Wasn't it?" He replied. "Hoch!"
"That's the way," I continued. "Destroy the gems of architecture. Burn the priceless and unique manuscripts. Wreck the seats of learning. That will teach the world what you really mean, what you really stand for."
His eyes glistened. "We do our best," He said. "Hoch!"
"But why be half-hearted?" I went on. "That's the folly. It seems to me that some one among your generals must be blundering very badly if Antwerp is to be so scandalously neglected. The lesson that it might teach if properly handled! The enormous value of its example to those parts of the civilised world that are still on the fence!—Holland, for instance, Italy, Bulgaria."
"But the blunder? For God's sake—I should say for My sake—tell Me quickly," He said with his hand on the telephone.
I drew from my pocket a packet of picture postcards and showed him one.
"How beautiful!" He said. "Where is it?"
"Antwerp Cathedral," I replied.
"What a lovely spire!" He remarked wistfully. "So tall and slender. It looks as if it would fall so easily."
I showed Him another.
"That is charming," He said. "Where is that?"
"Antwerp again," I said. "The Plantin museum. The most interesting printing establishment in the world. So quiet, so serene—in short, perfect and irreplaceable."
The last word seemed to strike Him.
He repeated it once or twice.
"And these are at Antwerp?" He asked again.
"Yes," I said. "And these"—showing Him more photographs—"are at Bruges. And," I added meaningly, "still standing."
"Yes, you are right," He exclaimed. "It is outrageous. What fool ordered the withdrawal from Belgium, I wonder—with all this work for culture still to do!"
He was furious.
"Not a stone should have been left," He said. "The true Geist must prevail. Every opportunity of proving our enlightenment should have been taken. There will be trouble over this, I can promise you. Leave me now. I must think."
He turned again to the blood-and-iron tonic, and was once more at the mirror when I left. His moustaches had come undone again. Both ends now pointed resolutely to the carpet.