During his weeks at the depôt everything seemed to have rolled off him, like water off a duck's back, without making the faintest impression. He was eager for news, no doubt, but he was far from attaching to it the tragic and capital importance which clothed the least occurrence in this hour of our history.
It was disappointing and exasperating to me. I would have given a lot to meet Fortin and have a talk with him. We had just heard that he had become a humble private again, and was with the reinforcement detachment.
However, I set about extracting all the news from Langlois, bit by bit, and finished by attaining my end.
To begin with, the period of optimism had continued. The enemy had been intercepted on the Meuse, and at Liège, Namur, and Dinant. Our offensive was developing at Mulhouse and towards Morhange. That had gone on until Friday, the 21st. That day'scommuniquéstill gave a favourable picture of the situation. There were two shadows on it, however: the day was described as having been "less fortunate" in Lorraine, and the occupation of Brussels. The nextday, there was nothing very new. A huge battle was going on. The guns were talking.
Complete silence for two days. On the third—it was Tuesday—thecommuniquéannounced, in terms very flattering to our troops, that the attack had had no decisive results and that we had fallen back on our covering positions. The casualties were heavy on both sides. One paper claimed to see a second Valmy in the engagement.
But since then things had been going from bad to worse! To how great an extent? I pressed Langlois, and implored him to try and recall the smallest details—the text even of the bulletins. We were holding out? Apparently. Towards Nancy our luck seemed to be re-establishing itself. In the North? Oh. Langlois admitted that he really knew nothing about the North. I pretended to be as calm as possible in order to encourage him. Come along! The daily reports? What did they point to? They were perplexing—"The English have lost a little ground on our extreme left...." "We have had to bring our line slightly farther back...." What else? Ever since the day following "Charleroi" they had talked of German patrol parties venturing right up to near Douai and Valenciennes. A note which had an official twang about it had appeared on this subject. There was no cause for alarm! Merely isolated instances! That was all very well! But the same day we read in the socialistic manifesto that "Our richest and most cultivated regions are invaded."
"And what about the Russians?" I asked. "Haven't they come in yet?"
"Yes—things are going all right down there apparently."
There were no details, of course.
The detachment had left F——, Langlois continued, at midday on the 29th,—the Paris dailies had just arrived.
This time there was acommuniquéwhich was undeniably odd. Even he had been startled. He quoted the exact text: "The situation on our front, from the Somme to the Vosges, is exactly the same to-day as it was yesterday."
From the Somme to the Vosges! It was my turn to get a shock. What! Then the Huns were at Amiens! Yes, everything went to prove it. Even nearer perhaps? They had heard a rumour on their train journey, of sanguinary engagements at Bapaume and at Peronne. Other reports were circulating. Soisson and St. Quentin were said to have been cut off, the Compiègne forest on fire.
I would not believe it all. I clung to thecommuniquéof the 27th. But in any case it was a terrible awakening. Even Guillaumin, who joined us, was not incredulous, for once. An orderly had just confirmed the news of the investment of La Fère. We put this fortress down as being about half-way between the frontier and Paris. Was the capital in danger? Not yet, after all! We pictured a huge force barring the way to the intrenched camp.
What worried me most was public opinion which, with us, is so nervous and impressionable. There was good reason to be calm about the morale of the army. But the departments in the background. We were given a gloomy reflection of the spirit reigning there now....
And the government especially? I had a vague dread of some faltering, some lack of real energy inthis coterie of middle-agedbourgeois, who had grown up amid the dejection which had followed the defeat, and had been softened by forty years of enjoyable egoism. Would they hold out? What did we know of it? We had got no more letters since the game had been played and lost in the North.
Certain facts which I learnt from Langlois were not calculated to reassure me. The cabinet had been modified! Socialists in the Ministry. If it should mean the road to some humiliating pact? There was still a fear of civil war, in which France would drown herself in a fratricidal struggle or, worse than all else, fling herself into the arms of the infamous wretch who would speak of peace!
I kept my anxiety to myself in my continuous endeavour not to shake any one's courage. I watched mypoiluswith delight as they exerted themselves to cheer up the new-comers. The Judsis and Lamalous laughed at their glum looks.
"Like to know wot they'd say, if they'd seen any real fightin'!..."
They pulled their legs, inventing fantastic feats of prowess by the regiment, or the company. The taking of "Beauclair" for instance! Judsi often returned to the subject of that exploit. They had found more burnt and spitted Bosches in there than you'd believe possible. A carpet, no a pile, of them rising right up to the first storey. Maddening for the ground-floor people of whom there was not a sign to be seen.
The audience was greatly tickled.
"Now you'll do. W'en a man knows 'ow to laugh, 'e'll make a soldier!"
Thereupon, news arrived. We had been attached to the 4th Corps again, and were to be entrained. What for? Paris. We were to form a part of the troops constituting the mobile defence.
There was general rejoicing. Paris! A certain number of the men came from the city or the suburbs, and even for the others the magic syllables evoked endless delights. What ho! for the picture palaces and the pretty girls, in their first free hour....
It opened up a perspective of repose for everyone, after so much toil.
CHAPTER XI
THE CATHEDRAL
Thenotice had reached us at seven o'clock in the morning. At five o'clock in the afternoon we arrived at St. Menehould, of which we saw nothing but the station. At six we were in the train.
Just as it was getting under way—I was looking through the ventilator—there was a sudden panic on the platform. Employees and foremen began to run, flinging their arms up. What was it? There was a noise, I understood. A Taube was flying over the station. The men crowded to the doors. We had no time to distinguish anything. A tremendous explosion flung us on top of each other, and a certain number fell on to the floor of the waggon.
A bomb had just fallen thirty yards from us. There were instant yells and a torrent of smoke. A waggon was pulverised on one of the adjacent lines. Three men killed, and six wounded we heard. And two hours' delay for us.
So we did not get away till night. The beginning of our misfortunes! We had not been going twenty minutes, when we pulled up with a violent jerk. An avalanche of rifles and packs—contusions and confusion.
The lantern was shivered, and went out. A chorus of imprecations exploded in the darkness. We strucksome matches. No serious damage done. Prunelle's face was bleeding, and his glasses were broken. He had a splinter of glass at the edge of his eyelashes. He was lucky. He might have lost an eye.
And outside? We leant out. Shadows were swarming on the ballast, some limping, others frightened. Bouchut had been sent for and came up in a fury shouting at the top of his voice. An orderly was standing in front of each waggon inquiring in a surly voice:
"Any casualties here?"
A commonplace stoppage. The tail carriages had turned over, and the last one which contained among other things the officers' equipments was reduced to atoms, to the great glee of the men.
"We'll lend 'em our tooth-brushes!" said Judsi.
They were not so delighted about it, when they heard that some more men had been killed there, four or five apparently, including Sépot, the chief laboratory man, a good sort, whom everybody loved.
"If this sorter thing goes on," Lamalou said, "there won't be many of us by the time we gets to Paris!"
The stoppage was prolonged. I got out and walked up and down for a little while. The sky was overcast, and there was no moon. I got back. Our train hooted dismally in the darkness, like a ship in distress.
I fell asleep, and we started off again, and went bumping drowsily on our way.
We woke up at dawn to find we had halted again, and were not to go on for an hour at least. The cooks were getting coffee ready. There was an autumnal feeling in the air. It was bitterly cold, and we stamped our feet. It was a characteristic landscape, with its billows of bald hillocks studded with little woodsof conventional shapes.... The surroundings of the Camp de Châlons.
De Valpic was shivering and stayed in his waggon. Guillaumin said to me below his breath:
"I wonder—if I'm dreaming?"
"Why?"
"I thought I heard...."
"Well?"
"Firing!"
I listened attentively. No, there was nothing. I chaffed him on his hallucinations! Was he profiting by Ravelli's teaching? Firing indeed! An excellent joke! We had left the enemy more than a hundred and thirty miles behind.
Guillaumin did not persist. The time which had been fixed passed by. Then we were told that we should be there for another two hours.
I left the railway lines and went off into the open fields.
I noticed that our convoy was not the only one which had been stopped there. The black line stretched away as far as eye could see, bordered with a swarm of uniforms, and smoking bonfires. The line was badly blocked.
As I had plenty of time before me, the idea occurred to me of climbing the nearest hill. I followed a chalky path.
I had imagined that this crest was quite near by, and that I should reach it without any difficulty. I only breasted it after twenty minutes of breathless climbing.
A violent north wind lashed me, up there, and dried my perspiration. A vast panorama lay before me: aseries of desolate-looking humps covered the ground, some of them bristling with vine poles, supporting the good Champagne grapes. I took my bearings. Just to the south, I made out the blue ridge of the more important hills, a sort of promontory where I thought an army might have got a good hold. I turned towards the west, a lifeless, colourless stretch of country. The railway line with its telegraph posts disappeared between two low hillocks on that side.
But I thought I could make out the haze and dust rising from a big town. Yes—when I looked harder—there was a purple phantom, the silhouette of a building, hardly discernible in the mist, which little by little grew more distinct—those towers superb in their grace and strength. In my wonder, I named it aloud—Rheims Cathedral.
By some strange chance I had forgotten that this Presence was so near at hand, though on getting into the train that day before, I had vaguely hoped that fate might lead us to it.
My veneration for this most sacred of all shrines dated from my earliest childhood when I had admired a picture of it reproduced in my prayer-book. Abbé Ygonel, my first teacher, had sung the praises of its magnificent harmony in striking terms. I had made of this erection the centre round which gravitated the whole of our history, enchanting as a legend.
I had only once been to see it. I had gone to Rheims for a football match, and before and after the game had left my comrades, and had gone all alone to reflect on the faith which reared the poem of this portal and these towers.
I unconsciously picked up the thread of that meditation again now. The coronation cathedral! It wasthere that all the kings whose names were landmarks in our annals, from Philippe-Auguste to Louis XVI. had come, with bowed heads, to receive at the hands of holy men the crown and the unction which made them more than men.
Detached from the present, I once more began to rejoice at this glorious realisation—when my meditation was disturbed by an almost imperceptible wave of sound—a distant echo. A storm beginning or ending? I considered the sky. It was clear and serene. Again there was a stifled rumble. This time I ceased to entertain any doubts. Guillaumin's ears had not played him false. My heart contracted at the first echoes of firing to awaken Champagne. I listened. I wanted to find out ... the pale horizon guarded its secret. I looked again. The bewildering part of it was that this rumbling seemed to come not from the borders of Argonne, where we had left our trail only yesterday, but from the opposite direction, stretching westwards towards Paris. Was the enemy there? Could it be possible? Already barring this route!
I had mechanically turned my eyes towards the cathedral again. What was I seeking? I believe it was help and comfort, from thee, the representative city,—vision worthy of exalting us.
Why, on the contrary, did this unbounding sadness worm its way into my heart?
What did this proud edifice declare? The power of Royalty, the glory of the Catholicism.... The soul of ancient France, which was incarnate in these living stones, had crumbled more quickly in the blast of modern thought, than they had in the wear and tear of time. What bound us, the sons of the twentiethcentury, to these traditions for which our ancestors had lived, and piously lavished themselves in such attestations?
Other thoughts obsessed me. Rheims, the heart of the country. This city, which held such an illustrious place in our annals, to-day was threatened, almost lost. How many of our ancient possessions had lately fallen into the hands of the enemy? In 1871, Strassburg and Metz. This time the downfall was more rapid—Flanders and Artois, Picardy, so many treasures and marvels, our patrimony of art and land. The impious tide was advancing. And what fate awaited these august arches, under which our princes had prostrated themselves, the nave which had echoed to the sublime chants of our religion? Would they become a Lutheran church which we should be allowed to look over for the consideration of a few pfennigs? Or was there a worse fate in store for them? I dared not put it into words ... the crushing presentiment of ravage and crime, fire and sword, devastating this miracle of human hands. I only know that filling my consciousness with the gorgeous picture I secretly bid it farewell.
What was to be done? Resist? No doubt. But so many legions had burst from the Germanic reservoirs. What if it was the barbarians' turn to spread across this corner of the world? An unwavering law—why not? France would perhaps die away—the most civilised nation, ruined by her intelligence, by her scepticism revolting against that which had formed her grandeur. I glanced at the string of stationary trains below. Should we ever get any farther? Were we not more likely to fight where we were? An ironical fate to perish in sight of these towers,symbols of our whilom virtue, of our repudiated creed!
It must be noticed that I was still convinced that we should all do our utmost duty. We should merit the respect of those who would build on our ruins. I closed my eyes. I almost wished that the hour of our noble passing would strike as soon as possible. It seemed to me that, wounded to the death, I might have closed my eyes, unregretfully, on my race and on myself since we had achieved our destiny.
And yet compunction pursued me among these gloomy speculations. Where was my dauntlessness of yesterday? Why did I suddenly flinch? I sought for the torches which lit up my path. A dazzling beacon stood forth: My love! Jeannine—Jeannine! I still adored her, but what fears interposed themselves, chilling my hope. I counted the days, how many was it, five or six, since I had heard from her. Our one chance of happiness was exposed to so many risks.
What was happening over there? If there were strikes and riots, and the attendant train of outrages? A fair-haired victim...! Would not our future fall to pieces with the future of our nation? Or again—other thoughts assailed me. The turgid surge of uncertainty. Had I deceived myself? Had I not relied too much on a few friendly letters? Had the exalted tone of my missives suddenly alarmed her?
And then I took pity on myself. So that was the only cause of my depression. The delay in our correspondence. But was there any one round me, never mind who it was, more favoured than I? I tried in vain to bring about a reaction.
I went back into the valley. Guillaumin was watching for me and greeted me by asking:
"Well, are you convinced now?"
Yes, it certainly was firing. It could be heard quite distinctly. The men had recognised it, and seemed exhilarated by it.
Judsi announced:
"Boom! There now! We missed the band!"
Primitive souls, who did not know what anxiety was.
CHAPTER XII
PESSIMISM
Towardsmidday we set off again, but to our surprise, went slowly backwards, accompanied by the shrill blasts of whistles. The line beyond Rheims must obviously be cut, or just about to be cut. Where were they taking us to?
There was a new halt, near a branch line, which lasted for an interminable time. Then we laboriously got under way again. The evening was already falling.
How long did that journey last? Two nights and two days? Or three? It was enough to make one lose all idea of time.
I doubt whether, after leaving Châlons our speed could have exceeded eight miles an hour. Every five minutes we pulled up, sometimes only for a few seconds, sometimes for two or three hours. To begin with the men in command of each truck had instructions to see that no one got out. But as the comedy continued to repeat itself, the orders were soon relaxed. It was better outside than in.
At Châlons and at Troyes we found cold meals prepared for us. In between times the men spread over the neighbouring fields in search of carrots, beans, and potatoes, and generally reaped a fruitful harvest. They hollowed out ovens along the line, but thetrain often started off just as the camp-kettles had been put on to the fire. The first time or two, panic ensued, the men seized the material, burning their fingers, and crammed their mouths with half-cooked vegetables.
But they gradually got to take things more calmly. If the train wanted to do a bolt, let it, by all means! They'd catch it up all right. Or if not they would jump on to the next one that came along, that was all! There was a procession of convoys on our down line.
The most hilarious merriment spread from one end of the chain to the other. It was occasionally chilled by meeting an ambulance train carrying its terrible load of suffering. We were shunted and the other passed us. It was heart-rending, and unpleasant too, to have to stay in the wake of it, where there floated an unsavory smell. But the rest of the time—high jinks! Thepoilushad taken a fancy to this fantastic excursion. Peasants did a trade in eatables along the line. We bought eggs, cheese, jam, and black puddings and sausages from them—good cheer, in fact. And wine most of all. There was a great run on some frothy wine of an inferior quality sold at two francs a bottle. The men clubbed together and there were great drinking bouts which ended in some of them being distinctly "binged."
It was no use trying to interfere. The N.C. O's were giving way everywhere. Some of them even joined in. Among our lot I at least succeeded in putting into force this rule: that whoever felt squeamish, should not get back into the truck, where he would make everyone uncomfortable. It was strictly observed: some of these excellent fellowsmeekly dragged their wish to vomit along the ballast for a livelong day.
I was far from partaking in this atmosphere of gaiety, and was, on the contrary, bored and depressed. I did not get out half-a-dozen times, but stayed in our truck in almost complete isolation. Chance had separated me from Guillaumin on this journey, and thrown me with Langlois, who was not a very inspiring companion.
De Valpic was feeling the effects of his recent fatigue, and lay down the whole time. Humel twice came to pay me a short visit, unknown to the rest of the "set." Henriot was nowhere to be seen.
I have said that we stopped for a moment at Troyes where we turned off on to the main line, Belfort-Paris. We soon saw the effect of it in the change of speed. Two of our gay spirits again took advantage of a halt, to rag in the fields. The train started off at full speed without whistling. We did not see them again until two days later.
We arrived at Pantin at night. The men's persistent gaiety made me singularly cross, and I was much relieved when the captain lost his temper and exacted silence. We detrained in pitch darkness. All the lamps in the station had been put out for fear of Taubes and Zeppelins.
I longed and feared to learn what turn things had taken. I questioned a foreman who confided in me:
"You're lucky, you're the last to arrive! To-morrow the system won't be working. It's already cut at Meaux."
They hurried us along the platform, weighed down like human live-stock. On leaving the stationwe turned into an unlighted avenue, and marched for half an hour or fifty minutes.
The men demanded a halt.
Everyone was so firmly convinced that we were being brought back to rest here. We would have given anything to lie down, if only on bad straw. Our backs were sore all over from those seventy-six hours in the train.
The streets were deserted. At long intervals there was a sentry, or patrol-party. We went on, half dozing. With my head nodding, I urged myself on to certain arguments, which were comparatively reassuring. Don't throw the helve after the hatchet. A besieged town is not a captured town. Paris, in 1870, had held out for more than four months. The defensive works in those days did not approach those of to-day.
Henriot was walking beside me. I unbared my thoughts to him. He retorted:
"Oh rot! They'll get in as easy as look at it!"
"Do you really know anything definite about it?" I asked, a little nonplussed.
"I know as much as everyone else! Nothing's ready. The forts in the west are not worth a pin. They won't hold out any more than those at Namur!"
He added:
"And then you know, when we no longer think of anything but defending ourselves...!"
There were two lanterns in the middle of the road, and forms coming and going. It was an intrenching party—some Zouaves digging a piece of trench, and a machine-gun was pointed there.
Judsi turned round.
"A bit beforehand, ain't they?"
Their zeal was rather overdone! That was the general impression. I, on the contrary, felt that it might come in useful no later than to-morrow.
I repeated to myself Henriot's half-finished remark, "When we no longer think of anything but defending ourselves...!" And I followed the thought to its conclusion. I remembered the teaching of my military education, a certain crude phrase in the regulations, "A passive defensive is doomed to certain defeat!"
Pray what were we doing but running to shut ourselves up in a camp? How many sad precedents there were for that? Metz, Port Arthur, Adrianople ... I recalled the changed attitude of those of my companions who were capable of reasoning. De Valpic, prostrate. Was it due only to weariness? Guillaumin was taciturn and reserved, and the officers silent. The captain? We had seen very little of him—once or twice gloomily gnawing his moustache. What baleful influence was in the air? I was suddenly suffocated by it.
Where were they taking us now? It was Prunelle who put us on the track. He recognised the country, it was in the neighbourhood of Neuilly-Plaisance. There was a tiny village there where he went every Saturday evening, and quite near by, a topping place for fishing. May I be hung if he did not begin to prate of perch and roach?
There was a halt at last. I took a turn. A shadow was silhouetted in front of me:
"Sergeant!"
"Who goes there?"
Oh, I recognised him....
"That you, Donnadieu?"
It was my corporal, the voluntary casualty of Mangiennes!
"I've come back, Sergeant," he said. "Sergeant...."
He stopped, choking....
"Did you tell the others?"
"Tell them what?"
"How I ... was wounded?"
"No." I replied coldly. "I told no one."
My glance mechanically sought his hand. He explained:
"Two fingers gone, that's all! I've asked them not to discharge me, as I can hold my rifle! I've been waiting for you here for two days...."
He began again:
"Sergeant, I was watching for you ... I wanted to see you before the others ... because ... because...."
He swallowed:
"If the thing had got about ... I should have put a bullet through my head!"
His tone was abrupt, and sincere. A man who would recover himself. Why could I not find a hearty word for him?
"Where were you looked after?"
"At the field hospital.... A dozen or so out of the company were there."
"Do you know what became of...?"
He read my thoughts....
"Sergeant Frémont?"
"Frémont, yes?"
"He died ... in two days. They couldn't move him."
I left him. Little Frémont dead! It seemedimpossible, and yet I had foreseen it. The tragic destiny weighed on us all! Again I saw him, this comrade of my youth, seated on the bench in the garden, beside his love, with the clear eyes....
I went back to my companions. Guillaumin and De Valpic were together, and Humel not far away. I called him, and told them the sad news, in an under-tone.
"It's quite certain then?"
Humel fixed his eyes, in which I read anxiety and terror, on me. Poor boy! He, especially, needed a comforting word. I could not furnish it. We were all four silent.
Then De Valpic tried to dispel the gloom, by referring to some incident or other on the journey. He adopted a joking tone. But his strength failed him, his cough put an end to his story. And the order came to start again.
We met again during the next halt. No one had the heart to say a word. Each one of us felt capable of mastering his own distress, but if they all came to be fused and strengthened by each other, there would be nothing for it but to sob....
CHAPTER XIII
A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER
Wewere billeted in a school, a pleasant change after the wretched holes we had been given in Argonne. I slept until it was broad daylight.
When I awoke, ourpoilushad been up for a long time. Judsi was parting his hair, and talking of asking for leave to go and see his lady friend. I went on lying in my corner for quite a long time. I was haunted by the gloomy speculations which had attacked me the day before. I thought of you, Jeannine, and wondered if you were thinking of me....
De Valpic appeared at the door and glanced round the room. He caught sight of me and came up.
"Good morning, old chap!"
He sat down beside me.
"This Paris air does buck one up. I'm in the 'pink' this morning!"
He coughed.
"And what about you?"
"Not so dusty."
He continued:
"You did look cut up last night. Directly I got up, I said to myself, now it's my turn to go and cheer him up!"
I smiled.
"Awfully decent of you, but did I need it as much as all that?"
There was a moment's silence, while his warm gaze probed me. Then he put his hand on my shoulder:
"We aren't getting letters," he said, "but it doesn't mean that they have forgotten us, old man!"
He had accentuated his words, with the intuition of a generous heart. How cleverly he had seen through the almost unconscious yet ever-present motive of my bitterness. I hoped he would continue—but he did not force my reserve. Simply and quietly he began to open his heart to me again, as he had the other day. I learnt that his betrothed was named Anne-Marie, and he told me her family name too, an illustrious one, as I had supposed. The last card he had had from her had been sent from Laon, he said.... Yes, she was down there with a detachment of nurses.
De Valpic spoke slowly, in his expressive, caressing voice. He told me what strength and stoical tenacity of purpose he had drawn more than once, from the tender daily letter. Without this assistance he would have faltered and fallen at the beginning. He considered that now was the time, when he, like me, had been deprived of all news, for so long, to stand fast, to show himself worthy of her, to put forth all the strength which she had inculcated into him.
It was a confidence which seemed to prompt mine, or take it for granted, a new bond between us. All he told me of his fiancée, I could attribute to Jeannine. Valiant children, they were both alike in their attachment to us, in their task of inspiration. I too invoked a certain passage in one of the recent letters, buttoned up in my tunic, where courage and patience werepreached to me, where I was implored never to despair of happiness. Stick to it, then, by way of homage, in proof of manly devotion. I fervently forbade myself to let despondency get a hold over me. Ah! If only I could have made enthusiasm my daily bread.
"I've just been writing," continued De Valpic. "Sent from here, perhaps it will arrive. Won't you imitate me?"
I asked him to excuse me for a moment while I scrawled a few lines. I told Jeannine that fate had deigned to answer my prayer, and bring me near to her.... Nothing more than a smiling testimony to our faith and hope.
On reading it over I laughed and said:
"Well, if she is not cheered up by that!"
"You know," he said, "that Paris is showing a most admirable spirit."
"Really? How can you judge of it?"
"Come along!"
He gave me a hand by which to pull myself up. We went out. In the street I was at once struck by all the windows decked with flags flapping in the wind, the serenity written on the faces of the people walking about, the tranquil hum. I had seen the city look like this during the mobilisation.
"Has there been—a victory?" I murmured.
"It will come all in good time!" De Valpic said gaily. "Don't be in such a hurry!"
Bells were beginning to ring.
"It's Sunday," he continued. "What luck to be here on a Sunday!"
We took a few steps. It was a clear, spring-like morning; a gentle breeze made the sunlit tree-topsquiver. A troop of little children ran up brandishing sticks and spades.
"Hurrah for the soldiers!" they cried.
They had the attractive, wide-awake faces common to Paris boys. They nudged each other.
"It's the 3rd ... just look!"
"My big bruvver's in the 302nd."
Some of them gazed into our eyes saying:
"'Ad a 'ard time, 'aven't yer, but we're sure to wop 'em, ain't we?"
"Wop 'em—rather!" De Valpic retorted joyously.
The passers-by smiled at us, or gave us a friendly wave of the hand. The City greeted us, not as her saviours—Paris did not admit that she was in any danger,—but simply as good children who had suffered for her sake.
The rare trams which were running, began to turn out numbers of Sunday excursionists. A great many had come with their families either on foot, or bicycling, to enjoy the air of their beloved suburb. Not one of them showed the least trace of terror. They were marvellously light-hearted. It was amusing to see the fathers pointing out the preparations for defence to their offspring, the trenches and barricades made of trees placed at intervals along the avenues, and supplying the explanations in a serious or amused tone of voice. The little brats enjoyed the unusual sight. Their eyes were often turned skywards, a Taube was the only thing wanting to make their joy complete.
De Valpic pressed my arm. He was triumphant.
"Well, what do you say to it?"
Two pretty young women, who were crossing the road, came up to us. They were attractive anddistinguished-looking. They both had baskets on their arms, and we noticed their brassards. They gracefully offered us cigarettes, cakes, and packets of sweets tied up with ribbons. I helped myself discreetly. De Valpic would only accept a flower, which he stuck in his cap.
"And what about your comrades?"
We called Bouillon who was passing. He was still only half-clothed, as he had been washing at a fountain. At last he made up his mind to it and they made a great fuss over "the bravepoilu."
Having stuffed him with dainties, they began to question him. Where did he come from? From Paris, really! And what quarter? Grenelle. One of them exclaimed that she lived in that part too. Bouillon was stammering in his embarrassment.
I took it upon myself to give them "Marie's" address. The young woman promised to go and see her, no later than to-morrow, and she would take something for the baby.
I think that they had recognised De Valpic and myself as belonging to their world. Just as they were about to go on their way, they turned round once more.
"Perhaps you have some letters to send?"
"Yes, indeed."
We gave them the missives.
"Good luck to you!"
They held out their hands to us, with a pretty gesture.
Directly they had gone, I said to De Valpic:
"What we ought to have done was to ask them for some papers!"
"What does it matter?"
He accosted the first passer-by, and then went on to the next group. His courtesy stood him in good stead. In five minutes he had collected six or seven newspapers, of that day or the day before. We went in again to revel in this literature.
Our eyes grew wet with joy, at the very first glance.
I have spoken of my obstinate fears concerning the interior peril. They soon vanished. There was no confusion at all.
The Government was intact, and had become greater and more sanctified. All the different parties were working together. The alterations in the Ministry had no other significance. It was a Sacred Union. The words exactly described it.
I fell upon thecommuniqués. That day's said that the enemy was continuing his change of front in the south-east....
That of the day before mentioned that Rheims and La Ferté had been reached.... That was no news to us!
Most of the space was devoted to the enormous advance by the Russians, a piece of news which astounded, and overjoyed us. What fun has since been made of the wave of hope let loose by these victories at the beginning, of the naïve enthusiasm of the crowds, and the tale of the Cossacks being only a few days' march from Berlin? Wrongly, in my opinion. The benefit derived from such illusions will never be exaggerated. Our salvation was built on them and by them,—by the fervour aroused in the veins of each Frenchman, the fierce resolution to strain every faculty, to fight side by side, to hold out until the mighty flood of Slavs, pouring out of the Steppes, should overwhelm everything....
And besides, they were not all chimeras. There were already some definite results. Oriental Prussia was invaded, and "Altenstein" and "Gumbinnen"—the censor was silent on the subject of "Thannenberg." And then, at the other extremity of this front, the triumphs in Galicia, the occupation of Lemberg, which had just been announced, and endless booty and trophies!
Farther on other flourishes were sounded. There was an avalanche of details on the marvellous exploits of the Serbians—their success at Lonitza, dated from the week before—down to the splendid Montenegrins who were said to be threatening Cattaro.
What could be more impressive, too, than the firmness of the English resolution! The expeditionary force, coming over in numbers, day after day; Lord Kitchener's allusion to the "formidable factor"—everyone knew what he meant by that.
Above all, the solemn compact made by the Three Powers not to sign a separate peace.
And then what life and courage there was in the style of all these articles. They would always be read and re-read for the edification of the people. There was no sign of depression or giving way. Nothing but a superb confidence in the destiny of the country. They approved the action of the Ministry, frankly and completely. It was an excellent move to take the Government to Bordeaux, as a measure of prudence. Gallièni was to replace Michel. Well if the latter submitted, he must be imitated. There were sober commentaries on the strategical situation. The errors and defeats were admitted, but public opinion convinced that further mistakes were being guarded against, was not affected by them. The possibility of an attack against the Intrenched Camp was recognised, but there were strong arguments tending to prove that it would fail utterly. There were interviews with combatants, wounded, and prisoners; noble traits, and heroic sayings. In fact, one might say that the atmosphere was one of cocksureness and joviality. The press and the nation were attaining to the fine temper of thepoilus.
Here and there anonymous pieces of information or an article, signed by a celebrated writer or politician, were conspicuous—all great successes. It was not my smallest surprise. These people, worthy of their reputation, of their readers, of the Moment! Supple geniuses moving without effort at the zenith of eloquence.
Why quote any names? They were superbly-tuned instruments, all vibrating on the same note, taking their part in the pæon, even to a certain divine flute-player, whom I had formerly admired as an artist, without considering him sincere, even without always relishing his disdainful irony—I was struck by the direct, earnest style which he suddenly displayed. I felt my soul thrill in unison with his great soul, which he unveiled with a quiver.
De Valpic and I devoured the papers, and handed them on to each other.
"Just read that!"
I know quite well that we brought the most credulous state of mind to our reading—I was even tempted to upbraid myself with it. The world of the press was well known to me! It was turned on at a word of command. Even in face of all likelihood and reason. Perhaps all the probable sorrows of the hour were being hidden from us.
De Valpic read my thoughts:
"As long as it goes down...!" he said.
It was true enough. They were happy lies to judge by their fruits. If those who traced these lines despaired at heart, all the more honour to them.... Who could thank them enough for the manly assurance they had inscribed on the face of the crowd? Could I not feel the benefit of their encouragement upon myself?
My companion looked at his watch.
"I must leave you."
"Where are you going?"
He smiled:
"Will you come with me? There is a mass at nine o'clock, just near by."
CHAPTER XIV
HIGH STRATEGY
I wasgoing out into the yard, with my three or four papers spread out in my hand, when I heard myself called. I stopped. It was Captain Ribet.
"Newspapers are prohibited!" he said.
I was standing at attention. I gazed at him. Was he joking? In peace time, I knew they were not allowed. But to-day! Was it a pet fad of his? Or else were there special instructions?
His features relaxed. He continued:
"Will you lend me one?"
I handed him the whole bundle.
"Allow me ..." he said. "Just a glance."
He ran through the first page, and was just going to turn over.
I made bold to say:
"There's nothing so exhilarating as that reading, I consider, sir! I confess I was thinking of letting my men profit by it...." He cut me short:
"I understand, I understand you. You're a good sort, Dreher! Two or three of you have turned out to be extraordinarily useful! I was a little bit prejudiced against you youngbourgeois. I thought you would be selfish, and not care a rap about your work or anything else. I was mistaken."
He added:
"I wish all your comrades were like you!"
I opened my mouth but he stopped me.
"I know what I'm talking about. I'm quite well aware of it. Look here, only this morning I had a talk with Descroix and Humel. I've warned them of one thing, and that is, that if during the first engagement their men flinch.... Ah! I'm not going to stand any nonsense! It'll be a case of summary justice, I can tell you!"
I put in a few words on Humel's behalf.
"Yes, he's getting himself in hand again, since he's had something to do with you others!"
Bless the man! Nothing escaped him. He continued:
"As for Playoust, nothing on earth will induce me to have him in my firing-line again. I'm going to arrange to have him sent to the ammunition-train, but I shall warn them to keep an eye on him there!"
I said nothing as I felt slightly embarrassed. It was certainly the first time that the company commander had lingered in tête-à-tête with one of his N.C. O's. Ravelli, who was a few yards off, must think I was getting a wigging. I tried to escape.
"Stop a minute," said Ribet, "if I'm not boring you...."
He smiled.
"And stand at ease, Dreher!"
I moved my left leg, and smiled in my turn.
Then he began to talk to me in an unexpectedly familiar tone—this man whom I had thought so proud, so incapable of confiding in any one. He told me his whole history, how when quite small he had always longed to be a soldier, how he had been kept back by an illness, and had failed for St. Cyr (I had alwaysthought he had been through it), why he had enlisted.... He loyally reported all his disappointments, and mortifications. It was the last trade in peace time. He appealed to me to corroborate this statement from the knowledge gained from my brother whom I had just lost. Oh, the slow advancement, the insufficient pay, the spirit of jealousy and tyranny...!
He made a speech for the prosecution. The greatest part of the army was a mass of laziness, lies, and intrigue. There were two ways of rising from the ranks: the military school, where hard work did not succeed except when combined with push (except in regard to successes with the fair sex), and the Colonies. He had got himself sent to the Soudan, as an ambitious young subaltern, but at the end of a few months his liver had become inflamed. Weeks of fever, and a long martyrdom at the hospital at Brazzaville had followed, and he had finally been sent back to France with the advice never to set foot in Africa again. It had meant that his life was wrecked—that he must grow old in the dreary atmosphere of little garrison towns.
His tone grew still more bitter when he described the utter boredom, the flat distractions, the lack of any intellectual milieu, and beyond that the moral subjection, the physical over-work. The machine was worn out before its time, one became fit for nothing.
I could not help asking him:
"Why ... can't you clear out in time?"
"Why? Because when once you're in it, you stay there. Made a captain after fifteen years' service, I waited ten more for—can you guess what? A trumpery bit of rubbish, the military cross!"
He continued:
"When I retired, I was used up, done! The time for aspiring to something higher was past, or at all events for the realisation of it. I was made a tax-collector. That was all that was left for me!"
Yes, theirs was an odd fate, I thought, the peace-time soldiers, who come out and mature, acquire lace and age, and end by disappearing without having realised that for which they imagined they were born.
I said in order to console him:
"But since you're fighting to-day...."
He drew himself up:
"Exactly. To-day I'm fighting. I am taking risks, I obey and command; I am, in fact, of some use. At my age, if I had been in the reserve, they'd have left me at the depôt!"
He tossed his head.
"It's true. Taking everything into account, I don't think I regret anything."
His eyes shone.
Of some use! Yes, indeed, this company commander, who had three hundred men in his charge, and played his part conscientiously, had used and not abused the power placed in his hands. It was the eternal swing of the pendulum. Greatness after Servitude!
He went on with his confidences.
"You'll laugh at me! The things I was keenest about were the studies which form the crown of our art—strategy and tactics. To handle masses of men, and face those many-sided problems—the offensive, the pursuit, the retreat.... I worked a lot on my own account. There are some questions on which I don't think ... any one could catch me out."
He was working himself up.
Fancy holding the fate of a section in your hands! Or being commander-in-chief on a day when the victory he has prepared comes to pass.
At this point a little irony crept into my thoughts and chilled my admiration for him. What was to become of all these ambitions of a company commander in this fine "dug-out" from St. Maixent? The idea of exploiting his mania occurred to me. I might get some interesting information out of him....
I looked at him.
"Well, what do you think of the situation at the moment?"
Did he guess my secret tendency to sarcasm? A struggle seemed to be going on in him. Mistrust obviously won the day. He would not lay himself open to ridicule. He treated me to the usual commonplace. We must hold on, and leave the Russians time to throw all their weight into the balance. It was a necessity for the Germans to finish us off quickly.
"Then you don't think we ought to meet their attack?"
"That depends!"
"Well then, do you think our retreat is nearly over?"
"Ask Joffre!"
I sounded him:
"Some people consider that we ought to go and wait for the enemy on the Loire."
That was too much for him. He cried:
"Oh, no, no. That would be absolutely idiotic. I know there was some talk of it!"
"How far, then?"
He hesitated:
"I hope some day we may be in a position to take the offensive again!"
I looked up.
"Yes," I said, "because at the moment...."
"Well?"
"What are we doing?"
He scrutinised my face.
"Follow up your idea."
"We are shutting ourselves into a camp."
"Does that distress you?"
"I may be a bad judge."
He twirled his moustache.
"Really! You too, you too! You look at things like that?"
I had him—I had led him on to the point from which I knew he would launch out.
"If the worst came to the worst, and Paris was stormed, there would only be one thing for us, the troops collected here, to do. That would be to stick in the trenches covering the approach to the forts, and be killed, down to the last man!... For that matter I think they'd be in a bit of a hole with our army on their flank. But that's not at all the position. For four days, Dreher, four days you understand, their new objective has been visible. They are inclining towards the south-east. They are set on surrounding all our forces in the field. Under these circumstances, I think—it seems to me—that a decisive movement...."
This time he threw restraint to the winds. He began by explaining all he had been able to follow of the operations since the beginning. In a lump, of course, but how much I valued that first sight I had had of things as a whole, at a time when I was sighingafter light from the depths of my ignorance. It was in vain that I had instinctively put myself on guard against the pretensions of an officer in a subordinate position. I was forced to admire the masterly way in which he stated the facts, the precision and lucidity of his words, which would have made of him a remarkable professor of military history. He summed up for me, in a few words, the action in the North which until then had been shrouded in a thick mist for me. Our premature offensive, the strength of the German right under Von Kluck exceeding all expectations—our English Allies overcome in spite of heroic efforts—the enemy's wing set in motion and hurled towards Paris by forced marches which it was impossible to hinder in spite of terrible sacrifices—our men falling back, fighting day and night, on to the outskirts of the capital. That was last week's balance sheet. To-day the enemy had given up the idea of Paris, provisionally and was applying the new principle: the search for, and the annihilation of, the hostile armies in the field. It was a far-reaching conception. Just think of the gigantic forces they had hurled into Lorraine too, which had just forced us back in a few days from Sarrebourg and Morhange to the St. Dié-Nancy front. It was a colossal enveloping movement. Our front pierced towards Neufchâteau, as the principal German mass fell back by Châlons—our communications cut, that meant all our forces in the east, and the whole system of our fortified towns caught at one haul, three-quarters of our strength destroyed, the war virtually over.
"Then?" I said panting in spite of myself.
"We have a chance. Will they know how to make use of it? I believe so—First of all, our right musthold out. Castelnau is down there, he is the only man who has held his own. Then you see Von Kluck is clearly leaving Paris on one side. He does not set much store by the place, only sees it in the stake of victory. That is perhaps a mistake, perhapsthemistake. Perhaps our one object was to get him to make that mistake!"
He took a deep breath:
"Dreher, listen to this! If we were in the camp in force—and why shouldn't we be?—if we had had time to concentrate several corps there, a hundred thousand men say, which I believe is the case—if we threw ourselves on their flank, imprudently uncovered—if at that precise instant our other armies made headway against them—if Von Kluck were suddenly to find himself wedged in a vice...."
The captain pulled up short. Was he afraid of having said too much, of having ventured too far in his bold inferences?
He went on:
"However, they may be tempted to keep us as a last resource."
But he could not bear this idea, and refuted it himself instantly:
"No, a thousand times no! A bad calculation. All the forces on the spot, and at the right moment! That was what was wanted!"
He interrupted himself again, with beads of perspiration on his forehead ... and suddenly said in a detached tone of voice:
"I say that to you, but I know nothing, nothing. The staffs are the only judges. Are our numbers sufficient? Is our combination assured, and the enemy's compromised?"
An aeroplane passed by. The captain raised his arm:
"Is it that bird that is bringing decisive information?"
"Or the order to attack?" I murmured.
He was silent, and I could get no more out of him but idle generalities, but I read in his eyes, and face his approbation of my wish, the conformity of our desire.
CHAPTER XV
A WORD IN SEASON
I wasin a state of great excitement when I left him—a mixture of hope and anguish aroused by the ascendency of his words. They had been so clear and categorical, too. I could so vividly imagine the movement of salvation within our reach. The German right, harassed by a dizzy offensive, no doubt experiencing difficulties in the replenishment of supplies, after having lightly embarked on this broad movement of conversion—with us as a living menace on its flank, well supported by the camp (were our numbers large enough? That was the chief point), well rested and provided with ammunition ... what a lot of trumps we should hold in the advantage of taking them by surprise; the consciousness of the justice of our cause, the strength drawn from contact with our Mother City.
I was possessed with the idea that a decision was urgent. Was not this the day and the hour, even the minute, that historians would designate to all eternity as that in which our supreme chance of victory occurred?
My heart was beating madly. I tried in vain to calm myself by the usual reflections. I could so well picture the alternative being laid before the governor of Paris. Either to reserve his army in view of theprobable siege, or else to hurl it into the furnace down to the last battalion.
It was a formidable initiative. The fate of the country in his hands! All my being was strained, almost to breaking point, towards the side of boldness. I would have given ten years of my life that this man's heart might be well tempered.
I walked feverishly through the streets wherever chance led me, looking for someone to talk to. I met De Valpic, but he was exhausted and was going to rest.
Guillaumin had been warned for orderly duty at the Town Hall. I went to see him, but did not get much out of him as he was absorbed in his duties. It was a sight to warm the heart, this string of inhabitants, coming, each one of them, to offer to have soldiers billeted on them.
On leaving there, I went to have a look at my men who were cleaning themselves up and mending their clothes—a laudable care for their personal appearance, and a way of passing time. According to the general opinion, we should be there for some time.
I continued my walk and extended its area. I came to a vague piece of ground bordered by a hedge. I distinguished the murmur of voices behind it, and caught sight of some uniforms. Someone exclaimed:
"Take care!"
I showed myself. Then they laughed.
"Halloa! That you, Dreher?"
Five or six of my comrades from the fifth battalion were seated there in a circle, Ladmiraut and Miquel among others; Fortin, too. I was delighted. It will be remembered that I had not seen him since the incident at the "Globe."
I went and sat down beside him and began to talkto him in a cordial tone. Idiotic, the fuss that had been made! Did they still continue to worry him?
"Not a bit."
He spoke rather coldly. Miquel intervened.
"Rather not! He's in my platoon. I let him off the troublesome fatigues."
The conversation seemed to be hanging fire. I asked:
"What were you talking about when I arrived?"
"Oh, nothing much—nothing at all interesting. You got any news?"
I was stupidly inspired to tell them of little Frémont's death.
"Poor boy!" sighed Laraque.
"Whose turn is it now?" Fortin remarked.
Silence fell again. I said:
"You don't seem very enthusiastic here."
"Not much reason to be."
"Oh, come!"
Fortin gave a start, but his neighbour nudged him, saying:
"That your opinion?"
There were smiles. My reputation as a scoffer was indeed well established. Fortin, without addressing me in particular, murmured:
"I wonder if there are still any optimists left?"
"Of course," I said. "Myself for one."
He gazed at me, refusing to take me seriously; then said, in a tired voice:
"I am stating results. The war has been going on for just five weeks and where have we got to? We've been beaten everywhere and thrown back on our final redoubt. The amount that was said about defending the least particle of ground foot by foot,till the last extremity! The extremity has soon come. Let's establish the balance: Lille, Arras, Amiens, Beauvais, St. Quentin, Mézières, Rheims—by this time probably Meaux and Châlons; possibly Nancy! A quarter of France invaded. No, I tell you, there's nothing to be done. They were ready; that's all. They knew what they wanted."
I interrupted him, quivering all over. It was my turn now to copy Guillaumin.
"Then, according to you, everything is lost?"
"Oh," he said, "the men are first rate. There's nothing lost by admitting that. They will probably hold out to the end, in face of all hope, for honour's sake."
"And you'll be one of the first to do so," said Miquel.
"Just like everyone else. It's in our blood. I see our line of resistance on the Loire, then on the Garonne. The wretched government will have to move house again."
"How you run on! And Paris?"
"It's lucky they didn't bear straight down on it. They'd be entering it at this very moment."
"Perhaps they had some reason...."
"Bah!"
"All our armies on their flank."
"Our poor armies! A lot there is left of them!"
"Really? Look at our regiment. Is it at full strength? Have its numbers been made up to what they were at the start? Yes. Well, it's the same thing everywhere. All the depôts have supplied men. As we fell back we recuperated our reserves while, as long as their communications go on extending, their front loses in density. They are no longer so immensely superior to us in numbers as they were at the beginning, and their movements are anything but free. Maubeuge was not taken yesterday."
"But it will be to-day."
"One day gained."
"Oh, yes! That's a good joke, that idea about holding out."
"Holding out, exactly. We've got to the thirty-fifth day of war. According to the German plans, we were to be annihilated by that date. Are we? No. There are all kinds of things lacking."
"All kinds?" Fortin said ironically.
"Our line is not broken anywhere; we have only wheeled. You spoke of Nancy just now. They'd better come and take it from Castelnau! Do you really want to know what I think? I think they're the ones that are in the soup."
A buzz of scepticism greeted my declaration. I continued:
"First of all, here they are forced to take how many?—three or four army corps back to the East."
"To the East? Why?"
"Against the Russians."
"Where did you get hold of that idea?"
"In the papers."
"Are they to be had?"
"If you look for them."
I shook them.
"You're not curious! You know nothing, then? Not even you, Fortin? Really? Nothing of our Allies' successes?"
He raised himself.
"But look here, are these tales serious?"
"What d'you mean? Their advance exceeds all expectations."
I summed up the triple Slav offensive in Prussia, Galicia, and Bosnia.
They seemed to doubt my statements. I abruptly pulled a newspaper out of my pocket, spread it out, and read out the headlines of the articles. I called their attention to the illustration, a mighty Cossack pointing his lance at Berlin.
They pressed round me, crushing me, their hands seizing the paper and their eyes devouring the contents. When their first thirst was allayed I continued in the most serious tone:
"There's a first motive for confidence. For the second?... But you've only got to look at these Sunday crowds. Talk to them and you'll soon see. We are seeing Paris at her most noble aspect. Don't you realise that we are living through the most glorious days in our history? For the first time we have avoided weakening ourselves by political convulsions in the face of danger. That will save us, simply."
Some of them nodded in approval. Fortin tried to weaken the impression I had made.
"The papers say what they choose."
I attacked him.
"And what about you—what are your statements based on?"
"I should be only too glad," he protested, "to see things take a turn for the better."