Front matter (continued 2)

"What will the flying machines do?" I asked suddenly.

The subject interested me. I had visions of raids and fantastic combats à la Wells.

"Nothing at all!" Laquarrière broke in. "They haven't a ghost of a chance against Zeppelins."

He embarked on the praises of these Dreadnoughts of the air, one of which had gone two thousand kilometres without a stop, a few months before.

"I shouldn't be surprised to see them over Paris to-night!"

I tossed my head. He continued:

"Besides, as regards aeroplanes, you mustn't imagine that we're in any way superior to them in that line. They've beaten all our records lately, distance and height."

It was only one detail among many. He did not hide from me the fact that he had an extremely poor opinion of our state of preparation. Cipollina's tone and mistrust were repeated in him. I ventured to remark:

"Our troops in the East are tip-top."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps, but you are hardly up to the same form."

What could one say without losing one's temper, a thing I was not in the least anxious to do.

After leaving the restaurant, we took a turn on the boulevards, where the increasing crowd was gathering. Lost in the streams of people, alternately bumped into or elbowed, it was impossible to keep up a connected conversation. So much the better. I was quite willing to forget the presence of my companion.

I was haunted by the thought that it was my last evening of liberty ...; after to-morrow my uniform would impose upon me the strictest restraint. I was making use of the final respite. I inhaled without displeasure the dusty air laden with the smells of acetylene gas and human emanations.

A lot of the shop windows had their shutters up and looked dismal, and looking up one could make out insolent German inscriptions. Angry bourgeois muttered as they passed, clenching their fists. People were talking of nothing but the hasty dismissals of the day before. The other shops flaunted their dazzling electric lights. The luminous sky-signs, intermittent and hallucinating, unrolled flamboyant zigzags and blazing coils. An unreal scene, well suited to the agitation of the hour! Soon it would be quenched and blotted out and dismal.... Paris was lavishing her final brilliance. What gaps were to be made by to-morrow's call in this multitude promenading their quivering city with such pride! I tried to read his secret on the face of each man of an eligible age for military service. Was he going to rejoin? and I felt inclined to shout to him:

"I'm going, you know; I'm one of you!"

My glance rested approvingly on the sturdy-looking fellows whose martial air under their képis I could well imagine. With their heads held high and their hands behind their backs, most of them looked about them with a superlatively good-natured expression, quite innocent of swagger.

Laquarrière shouted down my ear:

"You all look as if you were starting out for a day's shooting!"

Oh! so I looked like the rest? Well, I was not sorry for it!

My companion persuaded me to finish up the evening in a music hall.

The place was full. Lots of people were treating themselves to an evening's amusement before the coming horrors. There was a sketch, followed by several acrobatic turns. The audience was enthusiastic. But I was struck, nevertheless, by the coldness with which "the eccentric" Fergusson, usually the idol of the public, was received.

Laquarrière enlightened me by remarking:

"That will teach England to buck up a bit!"

We laughed together over the childishness of crowds, for this "eccentric" said to be a Londoner, had perhaps been born at Javel. The three Alkenkirch brothers, the Dresden tight-rope walkers, had also disappeared from the programme.

Laquarrière whispered:

"They would have been torn to pieces! Just look at the brutes."

I had to echo him, but I thought to myself that if ever there had been a time when Chauvinism was excusable....

The show came to an end. There was not the usual rush for the doors when the curtain fell on the final scene of the little revue.

"The best part is still to come!" whispered my companion.

A murmur ran through the crowd, and swelled into "La Marseillaise! La Marseillaise!"

Laquarrière nudged me with his elbow.

"Now we're off!"

He assured me that the orchestra had had orders to delay striking up in order to give the audience time to work itself up.

True enough the uproar was increasing. The audience were on their feet, waving their sticks, and violently demanding:

"La Marseillaise!"

Laquarrière called my attention to the courtesans in the promenade, who, delighting in an evening which promised to be fruitful, stood on tiptoe leaning on the arms of their chance-met companions, and stamping and shouting: "La Marseillaise!"

The conductor's bâton gave three short taps. On the sudden abatement of the tumult, rose the superb rhythm of the opening notes,—a virile introduction.

All the men had bared their heads simultaneously.

No; not all.

"Hats off!" shouted someone behind us.

For whom was the order meant? For Laquarrière, I could see. He shrugged his shoulders to show that it pleased him to thwart such a fool. But the moment was ill-chosen. Other voices, already grown threatening, repeated:

"Hats off! Hats off!"

He gave way, smiling scornfully.

The orchestra excelled themselves. At the opening of the refrain the general attention was caught and held by the imperative call of the repeated high note, and the feelings of the audience carried away by the well-marked rhythm of the melody. A warlike jollity was abroad. I swear I had a momentary vision of risen troops hurling themselves in serried ranks against the hostile masses. I shivered. I was entering into communion with the multitude....

Laquarrière leant towards me and made some remark which I did not catch, but which I had to acknowledge with a smile.... My trance was over, I listened untroubled to the crash of the brasses, as it grew in intensity and rose headlong to the heights, to die away in wild flourishes. Then from two thousand throats there rose a clamour which rolled like thunder round the roof. A new thrill ran through me; I was just going to shout ... when Laquarrière seized me by the arm.

"Let's be off!"

"Nice patriots!" he mocked; "all these fine fellows who came to gaze at a pretty pair of legs."

That restored things to their proper proportions.

"But what about you? It shook you up a bit, eh?"

I denied it obstinately.

He walked back with me. We talked of nothing but the most ordinary things on the way. I was preoccupied, almost melted. Why?... good heavens! because in a few minutes I was going to part from the only friend of my childhood, from the only fellow being who really knew me....

Should we ever see each other again?

In spite of my instinctive horror of any display of feeling, I could not help imagining that some heartfelt word would pass between us, some brotherly embrace draw us closer to each other ... and the prospect moved me.

Laquarrière soon settled the matter.

When we got to my door, he stopped suddenly and held out his hand saying:

"Well, so long, old chap! Hope your pack will weigh lightly on you!"

It just hit the nail on the head.

"So long, old chap!" I repeated.

He went off, swinging his stick.

Oh well, it was quite natural! We were nothing to each other. Nobody was anything to any one.... What idle fancies I had woven!

BOOK III

August 4th-9th

CHAPTER XI

THE FIRST STAGE

Montparnasse station—cold and grey on this dull August morning. Groups of people, each setting out with its escort, might be seen streaming in from all the neighbouring turnings towards the square which the last tooting trams were crossing. They formed but one swarm, scattered and renewed without ceasing. There was nothing like these huge quivering masses, the preoccupation of all Paris, magnificent in their emotion and courage, who succeeded each other at the Gare de L'Est. Poor women, young and old looking almost equally faded, were carrying old handkerchiefs containing the possessions of their husbands and sons,—working-men in broad belts. Beside them, fathers wearing decorations and beautifully dressed mothers and sisters surrounded young bourgeois dragging heavy kit-bags. All these people were holding back their tears and smiling, saying that they would see each other again!

As for me, I was alone. I was leaving nothing behind me. So much the better; I was glad of it. I was starting on the great adventure, with an entirely open mind, in the rôle of an on-looker.

The two staircases were barricaded. Only one entrance was open, reserved for soldiers carrying their railway warrants in their hands. I followed the stream. We climbed the slope. From the road below passers-by made us signs of encouragement. I noted the quick sprightly steps of most of my companions. Mine were rather slower but firm and decided nevertheless. I unconsciously adopted the gait of a man who means to see the thing through.

I should, I thought, see nearly all my contemporaries in the regiment turning up at this meeting-place. I rejoiced at the thought of spying out, on each one's forehead, the reflection of his private feelings.

The comrades of my twenty-first year! There is no age at which a life lived in common is responsible for forming more attachments than this one, but I was among those who had made the fewest friends during those ten months. I had had a room to myself in town, while many of them agreed to share with two or three others. I was considered a bore; a report which I had started, a state of affairs which I exploited, in order to escape endless fatigues. Beyond that I was neither liked nor disliked. They mistrusted my coldly mystifying disposition, they envied me the calm insolence with which I defied my non-commissioned officers. When the time came for separation, and the exchange of addresses, I did as the others did; without any illusions; nobody would bother to look me up, I felt sure. I was mistaken. Someone did come: Guillaumin.

He was a grotesquely ugly chap, with a great thick red nose, short-sighted eyes, and a hoarse voice. A chatter-box, energetic and obliging, loved and chaffed by everyone. What should he do but get the idea into his head of keeping in touch with all those he had considered good fellows down there! And he had almost succeeded in doing so. He was the living index which one need only consult for information on the fate of all the old lot in our platoon. He dropped in to see me from time to time, on his way from the office where he vegetated as a clerk. We dined together on those evenings, and for him, I deserted Laquarrière, who, having caught sight of him one day, did not spare me his sarcasms on my grotesque "regimental friend."

I arrived in the station. It was swarming with reservists leaving to rejoin their regiment. Not many faces that I recognised. One already felt lost, and groups were formed instinctively.

The first one I shook hands with was Laraque, the handsome Laraque, whose rosy shaven face and marked features, prepossessing and imperious at the same time, gave him simultaneously the air of a Roman Emperor or of a ballad prince.

"Well, there we are!" he said. "Killing, what?"

"Killing, oh rather. Got your ticket?"

"What do you imagine! I think they might give us a free trip!"

His tone showed me where I was. I could see that it was going to be the proper thing to take everything as a joke. Not to show one's feelings in any way.... Good! We should see how long that would last! I should have my revenge as an on-looker.

Faron joined us, the son of the professor at the Sorbonne. He himself was a barrister, thin, energetic, and impenetrable. He buried himself in his newspapers. Then Holveck small and witty. He had just started a bank, with a branch in New York. Ladmiraut, an old Normalien with a puffy face and thick, hanging lips, an erudite pedant and a simple soul who used to be the picked target for all the practical jokes. Big Denais, the finished type of the don't-care-a-blow-for-any-one shover. Fortin, who had taken a degree in history, a lecturer and public speaker, not long returned from Germany, and already in search of a public.

It was a very lively scene. All meeting and recognising and calling to one another.

"Helloa Miquel, is that you?"

"What a nice surprise!"

"No! it must be a put-up job!"

They were all here, all going to fight. But with what will, I could not yet decide.

Our train, the 7:16, was almost due. Laraque dragged me away towards the platform, out of breath and purple in the face, his hat and eye-glass on one side. He wiped his damp forehead and shiny nose.

"Do you know what delayed me?"

We did not listen to his story, he realised it, and cut it short.

"And ... what about the old lot?"

I mentioned some names and expressed my surprise at not seeing Boutet.

"What! You haven't heard about it! Poor wretch! He's been at Berck, for the last six months."

"Oh, I say ... that's the limit," said Laraque.

He laughed, but I felt that it was only half in fun.

Guillaumin continued:

"I came across little Frémont outside."

"Oh!"

"He couldn't tear himself away from his wife."

"What, Frémont married?"

"Yes, rather, six weeks ago."

Just think of that. The idea amused me. He had been the youngest in the platoon, enlisting at the age of eighteen, though he did not look more than sixteen. He was as beardless and fresh as a girl and scared at first by the round oaths in the barrack-room ... and now he was married!

"What's his wife like?"

"Also quite young. They're like two children! She wants to go to F—— with him."

The journey lasted just four hours.

We had scrambled into one of the "commandeered" carriages which within a few days would take us on to the scene of action.

We were gay with a gaiety in some cases spontaneous but for the most part, assented to, though neither forced nor painful. Magnificent inconsequence! And the delight of meeting again like schoolboys at the beginning of the October term.

At certain moments we touched lightly upon some subject of serious discussion. England?... Oh yes! England!... Some facetious remark soon put an end to it. Holveck turned to Guillaumin:

"You'll have to do away with your eye-glass."

"Why?"

"Because of the splinters ... if you get a bullet in your eye!"

This sally raised a general laugh. Through the open windows our gaze roved over the countryside. It was a little depressing no doubt. This war! How many would set eyes on this landscape again next year!... But let's hope for the best whatever happens. After all, it simply meant that manœuvres would last rather longer than usual!... This state of affairs would not last for ever; two or three months, six at the most! and it would be all over!... and Philoppon, the fair-haired dandy who had been brought to the station in a car by his people, already had visions of next winter, which he expected to spend as usual on the Riviera.

"I tell you what, you chaps, I shall see an extraordinary improvement in it after the war, what!"

On our arrival we went straight to the barracks.

The weather was stormy. In crossing F—— I was reminded of our former route marches.... Our platoon heading the battalion. The company commander gave us as guide a great lout of a sergeant who kept up a stream of invectives. All the world and his wife were at the windows. Left—Right! Left—Right! Our pace quickened going up the hill, and we had to hang on to each other in order to keep our intervals. What an effort it was, weighed down, and with the muscles of the thigh contracted, and those of the calf aching, to cover the last lap.

I called these things to mind now all the more easily because I again found myself struggling with my pack on the same ascent. I was perspiring, and already tired and depressed. And then in those days I had the buoyancy and the enthusiasm of youth, and facing these trials I used to say to myself, "It's got to be gone through!" I had the feeling that I was buying repose for the rest of my life.

What a sigh I had heaved when my time was up. I had thought my period of physical constraint, the most trying of all, over and done with!... And now I had got to go through it all over again.... Worse even than that. The hardest part by far still awaited me!... How I loathed in advance the bitter hardships to come, the defilades at the double, the tramps across the ploughed fields under the crushing weight of the pack, all the cursed, humiliating, bodily subjection.

But I made a childish vow not to "overdo" things, as they say.

CHAPTER XII

NEW COMRADES AND OLD

Having registered my name the sergeant on duty snapped:

"The 22nd! They're in the College, Rue St. Paul."

One thing delighted me. Guillaumin was attached to the same unit. I had so often experienced his good-nature and devotion. He would be invaluable, perfect, on active service.

But what other non-coms., should we have as companions?

Directly we got to our quarters, we saw two men detach themselves from the group standing there. Two more of the old lot, two school-teachers.... Guillaumin whispered their names to me—Descroix, a squat, red-haired chap, with an imperial and a clumsy way of walking; and Humel, a small slight man with a thin pale face, and a rather cunning expression. We greeted one another cordially, pretending to congratulate ourselves on the lucky chance. They lost no time in addressing us in the most familiar terms, and we put on no side. Conversation soon began to lag, however, as we lacked any interests in common.

Guillaumin suddenly went off. He brought back a man named De Valpic to introduce to us. He was tall and slim and distinguished-looking with a gentle, sad expression.

As he was already in uniform the company sergeant-major, who was passing, requisitioned him.

When he had gone, we asked Guillaumin who he was.

"Oh, you know the De Valpics—the historical ones! He is the ambassador's nephew. I met him in camp at Mailly, and he asked me to go and see him—A mansion in the Rue de Grenelle, with a courtyard of sixty yards. But quite unspoilt, a very good sort, you'll see!"

"He'd better not give himself airs here!" said Descroix.

He and Humel did not seem in the least disposed to make friends with the new-comer.

Reservists kept on arriving in an uninterrupted string, their rejoining orders in their hands.

"Here are the people we're going to get killed with," Guillaumin said. "What sort do they look?"

Beaucerons for the most part, reserved, obstinate, weather-beaten beings, who did not talk much. When they did it was with a guttural accent. I was able to identify the faces of a certain number of worthy farmers, the Simeons and Gaudéreaux whom I had noticed during my year's services. From a distance they all seemed our elders, with their scored faces, and their bodies bent and thickened by the rough work in the fields. A minority of Parisians were making four times more noise than the others. I raised my eyebrows. I had caught sight of Judsi with his queer clown's face—a bad stock—and further on, Lamalou, a huge fellow with a weakness for the fair sex, who had come back from the punishment battalions in Africa; a good sort, but terrible when he had been drinking.

"The deuce!" I said to Guillaumin. "We've got some bad hats."

"They make the best soldiers!"

Judsi was raising roars of laughter by handing round the hat, his hat, an extraordinary object which he must have picked up for fun on the high road.

"Help a pore man!"

He humbugged: Didn't his pals agree that it was just the time to go and fetch a few kilos of red wine? Who knew whether they wouldn't have kicked the bucket by to-morrow.

He ended by collecting about four francs. He went off and came back in ten minutes' time carrying seven or eight bottles.

They made him a speech, they smacked each other on the back, they went into fits simply at the sight of him clicking his tongue or rolling his eyes.

I suddenly caught sight of someone coming towards me ... the brick red cheeks, the flat nose, the crisp hair, and full lips exposing the receding gums ... all these were familiar to me. The man was wearing a dirty grey suit. He held out his hairy paw to me.

"Halloa, my 'rooky'!"

The sound of his voice enabled me to place him.

"Bouillon!"

Eight years before, when I first joined, I had found him rejoicing in good conduct and efficiency badges, and acting as barrack-room orderly. The excellent fellow had at once taken me under his protection, and had seen me through the first three weeks, teaching me the rudiments of manual and platoon exercises. He was not a little proud of it. I was "his rooky." A little later on Bouillon had got into trouble. He had been led away by Lamalou, and mixed up in some night brawl, and had lost his stripes in consequence. When I rejoined the company I had been able, without causing him any humiliation to get him attached to me as bâtman and we had both congratulated ourselves on our understanding, he because I occasionally gave him a tip to supplement his weekly three francs, I because my kit was so well cared for, from that day onwards.

I had not seen him since. The joy of having found me again lit up his face.

He said insinuatingly:

"If only you could get me into your section?"

I promised to try and arrange the matter for him shortly.

"That chap seems very much attached to you," said Guillaumin.

"Pooh! He hopes to get some money out of me!"

A quartermaster-sergeant who had re-enlisted accosted us:

"I say, you're the N.C.O.'s of the 22nd, aren't you? Come and get changed: Then you can lend a hand ... with the men!"

We followed him to the clothing-store which had been installed in a yard.

An officer was there, a sub-lieutenant in the reserves, a young fellow with a fine head, and a long brown moustache, which he twirled mechanically. We reported ourselves to him. He timidly asked each one of us what our profession was.

"That's right!" he said approvingly; "quite right. Yes!"

There was a superb lot of regulation trousers, tunics, and greatcoats.

Guillaumin marvelled at them.

"Some preparation—what!—in spite of all they say!"

We soon found what we wanted, all that is, except him, whose arms were so long as to be out of all proportion.

We laughed at his build, resembling that of a monkey.

"First-rate for bayonet work!" he retorted.

We were ready. The quartermaster brought us a dozen men.

"The first batch!"

A nice business this: these two hundred fellows to fit out! They all kept coming out of turn. And they weren't a bit easy to manage, as they did not care a rap for us! And then how nice and easy it was to find one's way about among these marks. M III, G II, E IV...! A foul dust flew out of the piles of clothing which were lying about, out of the heaps of caps which had come undone.... And the stink of these people in their shirt-sleeves!... Heavens! I did the best thing I could do under the circumstances, and bolted surreptitiously.

Having got over the railings I saluted a couple standing on the pavement, hand-in-hand. Little Frémont and his wife whom I thought insignificant-looking. I went on, but was not displeased at the idea of his being in the 22nd; one more pleasant comrade.

I did not reappear in quarters until evening. Guillaumin at once warned me charitably to look out! I was marked! Descroix and Humel had soon noticed my disappearance and had made no bones about reporting me. The quartermaster had stormed and raged; a regular hullabaloo!

"What does it matter!" I interrupted.

I saw, however, that there was a certain amount of danger in allowing a hostile clan to form itself at the very beginning. I went into the little room reserved for us. I found Descroix in his shirt-sleeves, and offered him a cigarette, which he accepted. Humel came back, and we joked. Neither of them uttered a word about the afternoon's occurrence.

However, the quartermaster-sergeant came to tell me, in a tone that I did not half like, that I had been warned for orderly duty at the gates.

"Who detailed me?"

"The sergeant-major."

The others were chuckling inwardly. I made the best of a bad job. All right! My turn would come in time no doubt! I was looking for the necessary equipment when a counter order arrived. The guard would be drawn entirely from the 23rd to-day.

Still better! I went out calmly, taking Guillaumin with me. Frémont had vanished. We met De Valpic:

"Are you coming to dine with us?"

He excused himself. Not this evening, he preferred to rest.

Rest after what? His refusal shocked me. If he was going to refuse to associate with us, he would have to be taken down a peg.

CHAPTER XIII

KNOCKS AND CONTACTS

Each morning, for the next three days, we got part of our equipment. The quality of the leather goods was excellent, the arms were in first-rate order, the linen clean and of a kind to wear well. There were some details not up to the mark, the haversacks were only moderately good, most of the water-bottles leaked or smelt bad. Bouillon, however, got me all I wanted in the way of new things, and it was, thanks to him too, that the battalion cobbler deigned to put nails into my boots.

In the afternoons my only idea was to "leg it."

In theory we were not allowed out until after five o'clock; but as a matter of fact our stripes over-awed the sentry, the sergeant in charge took care not to see us on condition, of course, that we should do as much for him sometime.

Guillaumin stayed in billets for the first two days, hoping to make himself useful. I found him in a state of exasperation when I got back in the evening; they had made no use of him, nor of the men, for that matter.... Oh yes, I beg your pardon! They had not stopped sweeping the yard all afternoon. Then at four o'clock they had emptied a cartload of straw out on to it, and now it was dirtier than ever! His obsession for the time being was this: What were they waiting for? Why didn't they take us on the drill-ground? Let them teach us our trade as soldiers. To think we were going to fight to-morrow!

Through him I learnt that the text-books had lately been modified on several essential points. I enjoyed getting a rise out of him.

"Oh, what does it matter! None of the officers have an inkling of it."

He got into a great state of mind. What a shame it was to have to see such valuable material wasted. We had no leaders.

"In the 22nd anyhow!"

We were agreed on that point.

Who would have believed that our captain had not yet put in an appearance, though his arrival had been announced several times. The first lieutenant Delafosse, a middle-aged man, cold and correct, confined himself to questions of administration. As for the others, Henriot, whom we had come across on the first day, we soon placed as an elementary schoolteacher. Yet another of them! Rather a refined-looking man, but his accent left much to be desired. He taught, we heard, in a village near the Meuse. He meant well no doubt, but was woefully lacking in authority and initiative. His two colleagues, Descroix and Humel, had soon monopolised him, and were hail-fellow-well-met with him. He made himself very pleasant and attentive to us, and was obviously anxious to make a good impression. When he had to give an order he seemed apologetic about it:

"I refer the matter to you ... you know all about that as well as I do!"

Ravelli, the battalion sergeant-major, a good-looking dog, who had been decorated, added his own failings to those indispensable to his calling! An insufferable bounder! Stupid and pretentious; a real bad lot.... He grovelled to the officers and bullied the men shamefully. He did not quite dare to attack us openly, and we could see he appreciated our powers of retaliation. But the poor poilus in the ranks!

It was nothing but parades and roll-calls and inspections with this low-bred cur at their heels from morning till night, an endless stream of fatigues. The tactlessness of the man! The Parisian groused. Lamalou already refused flatly to obey him; and Judsi made no bones about exclaiming, "The bloody beast, 'e'd better look out for 'isself w'en we get our ammunition."

Such were our superior officers. The trio lacked breadth of mind. Breton, the quartermaster-sergeant was acting company sergeant-major, as we had not a pukka one.

Three more non-commissioned officers had now been added to the company. Hourcade, a bank clerk in civil life, a dull dog, and meticulous to a fault. Belloeil, a butcher from Marais, with very high colouring,—a good sort, so obese that they had given up trying to clothe him. He declared his intention of staying behind as drill sergeant to the raw recruits. And lastly Playoust. He was a character, this Chartres fishmonger. A fine figure of a man, a rake with the gift of the gab, he was addicted to "talking big," and did not lack a sense of humour. His bragging amused me. A gay dog, he boasted that he accepted ... hospitality in town every night, but never two nights from the same hostess. He assured us that there was a large choice. Where on earth?... Why of course among the wives of the regulars who had left on the day of mobilisation.

Guillaumin had not much taste for this class of bragging. Nor I, for that matter, but I recognised in this popular cynicism a kindred spirit to my own. And then Playoust made up to me and always liked to count me among his audience when he was playing the fool. It was no time before he had gained a singular hold over a certain set of our comrades. Were we there to be bored? He organised "manilles" in which Descroix and Humel and Hourcade took part from the beginning. Quartermaster Belloiel took a hand when wanted. Guillaumin loathed cards. As to the others they were left out of it. I was never asked to make a fourth. But I saw that it was in my own interest to remain on good terms with the whole lot.... There did not seem to me very much difficulty about that; ... I had bought cigars to give away. I wasted a whole afternoon in this colourless society. Playoust was in good form that day. We kept up a cross-fire of witticisms, he and I.... It was up to the others to do the laughing. Everything went well!

I climbed down when Guillaumin came to me that same evening much against his will—for he hated telling tales—to give me a friendly warning.

"You look out! They can't stand you!"

"No! Is it as bad as all that?"

"Quite. It's better that you should know about it."

"What do they object to about me?"

"The way you get out of things, and shirk the tiresome jobs. They can't stand that. Directly your back was turned, just now, they exploded. A regular chorus! It's just the same every evening!"

"Descroix and Humel?" I asked scornfully.

"And Playoust too."

"Really! You don't say so!"

"He most of all!"

This gave me something to think about, when all the time I'd been looking on him as an ally!... I thanked Guillaumin for drawing my attention to it.

"You may be sure I stood up for you," he added.

As if I should ever have doubted it!

I examined my conscience; there was no doubt that I had been to blame on several occasions!

Thereupon I altered my plan of attack!

The next day Playoust happened to be on guard. He was obviously frightfully cut up at having to fail a particularly lovely lady. I offered to take his place. He accepted casually.

"I'll do the same for you sometime, old boy!"

"Right you are!"

In the morning I had already suggested taking charge of a fatigue party of some sort. Descroix had exclaimed:

"Nonsense, it can't be true! Dreher who never stirs a foot."

"It's about time he took his turn," said Humel.

Never mind! I quite thought I should succeed in disarming them partially.

At the same time I judged it expedient to tighten the bonds between us, the four old pupils. I busied myself about it without much success.

Frémont was the pleasant comrade he had always been. But in voice and gesture and outlook he still retained a certain something which was extraordinarily infantile, and rather took one aback. He was extremely young in mind too. A Doctor of Science at the age of twenty-three and an honours man he took no interest in anything outside his speciality. He was particularly unresponsive on the subjects of art and philosophy which I was particularly fond of discussing.

Besides he was living in a dream. Though present at every parade, he deserved every time—as Guillaumin threatened him, with a laugh—to be reported as absent.

"Oh, these young husbands!"

He waited until the regulation time to go out, but then he lost no time in getting through the gate. His wife had come to fetch him, and they went off arm in arm. One met nobody but them in town, all evening. Why couldn't they shut themselves up? I knew they had hired a room. Yes, Guillaumin explained to me, but they did not have the use of it till eight o'clock. Poor lovers! The fact remains that their idyl, in a fair way to become the talk of the whole regiment, got on my nerves!

As for De Valpic, it must be admitted that he was rather an eccentric being. His manners were perfection. On coming into contact with him one felt that he was unusually cultured, not to say, erudite. He would embark on a discussion with great gusto ... but it would suddenly come to a premature close. He used to pretend to give way suddenly before your arguments. I say pretend because you felt that he had others in reserve. Was it the disdain of a great gentleman for our bourgeois dialectics? The supposition warred with his entire absence of side. But I had nevertheless to adhere to it. He so carefully avoided all attempts to force his intimacy. It was impossible to persuade him to take a meal with us. And yet he could hardly be called a sybarite when he dined at the best hotel in the place. He professed to be on a special diet. Was he ill? Perhaps. As a matter of fact he did not look very robust.... I questioned him discreetly. He reddened and got out of it by answering vaguely:

"Digestion!..."

What is certain is that he was of a particularly lazy disposition. His least busy day he spent stretched out at full length, his head leaning against his valise, his legs in a rug which he had brought; quite idle, with his eyes open. This attitude drew upon him, besides Playoust's quips, the animosity of the company sergeant-major who, sticking his nose in at the door, would call him slyly:

"Halloa there! De Valpic! As you're doing nothing!"

Guillaumin continued to be my only intimate companion. I did not tell any one but him of my discovery of a hay-loft looking over the Principal's garden. He soon got in the habit of coming there often to join me. It became our headquarters.

I now succeeded in persuading him to go about the town with me. We hardly left each other's side. In the evening he accompanied me to the door of the hotel where I had been able to find a room, and he went back to sleep on the straw. I had thought of asking him to share my bed; but how embarrassing for both of us! He would no doubt have refused.

F—— seemed quite commonplace. I had seen it look pretty much the same each time the Division assembled for manœuvres.

There was the same stream of red trousers rolling through the streets at all hours, besieging the "pubs," and rifling the grocers' shops and bazaars, the shopkeepers' one idea being to exploit the reservists whose pockets were usually well-lined. The windows decked with bunting suggested the idea of an eve of the fourteenth of July, or of a visit from the President.

The atmosphere was as calm as possible. Those who had expected riots, or a revolution! I only remember one incident. The report spread one afternoon that a spy had been discovered and arrested at the station.... In five minutes a crowd was shouting in front of the police-station where the transgressor, or transgressors—they talked now of three or four!—had been taken and put under arrest. Policemen were guarding the door. We waited for half an hour amid the growing feverishness. When they came out there was an outcry and a rush.... The shameful fury of crowds!... I caught sight of the two poor wretches, a man and a woman, little puny, terrified creatures. A motor took them away. They were both cowering under the menace of raised walking-sticks.

The sight had irritated me. It was easy to say spies! I thought of our compatriots, caught unawares in Germany. It might have happened to me. I was there at the time of the Agadir trouble. I teased Guillaumin who had been as bad as the rest. He admitted that he had been in the wrong, but it was too much for him. The Bosches. The filthy Bosches!

The lead had been heaved and soundings taken. All these people hid the sacred passion beneath their calm exterior. They were right. This nation had risen to butcher us. Between them and us a war of extermination was beginning....

And I could so easily have forgotten it!

CHAPTER XIV

THE EXISTING STATE OF MIND

The Paris papers came regularly; several editions every day, but we were no longer so ravenous for this type of nourishment. When once the period of anxiety concerning Belgium's resistance and the intervention of England was over, we almost lost interest in the rest, yes, even in the first engagements in Lorraine, where our men won such a glorious name for themselves. We felt that nothing of importance would take place for ten days or a fortnight.

Our chief anxiety was to know what they would do with us.

The general opinion was that we would be in the second line (Reservists. The idea!), that we would only look on from afar at the first terrible encounters.... When the regulars were put out of action, yes, then it would be our turn to take the field. But it was quite possible that the war would already be well advanced.

What day should we leave? And what would our destination be?

Outlandish rumours were in circulation. They were hailed with a smile, and passed on in fun, but we ended by believing them. What did we know about it? The "tips" always came from such high-placed officials, generals, or station-masters. One persistent rumour was that we were to be sent to Le Havre, and from there shipped ... to what port do you think? You'd never guess, however long you went on trying! To Bremen! A landing party! Heavens, we stopped at nothing, with the British fleet behind us! According to another version we were to form part of a reserve force concentrated at Goëtquidam Brittany! The drawback was that we ran the risk of not seeing anything!

Morale! What a strange factor it is in deciding the fate of nations! I failed to take it into account now. This uncertainty weighed on me. I sounded my companions.

"Look here, how do you think things are going ... all right?"

"What!"

My question astounded them. On looking back it seems to me obvious that an insane optimism held sway. What could the Central Powers do against this gigantic coalition. The Kaiser had lost his head! Driven by the "junker" party, he was risking his all in a fit of despair.

How long would it go on for? The figure quoted was three months.

Three months, I said to myself: three months!

Fate might decide that our army corps, our regiment, was not to be engaged more than once or twice.... There would be some rough knocks to put up with! But what of that? Lots would come through! For those who did it would be curiously interesting to look on at the reconstruction of the world which would follow.... Would life be any the better for it? Yes. In what way? I did not know. But I was firmly convinced of it.

In Guillaumin I had a surprising source of high spirits and enthusiasm. He lived in a state of exaltation. He was the only one to read between the lines, in the daily reports, endless sensational pieces of news, extraordinarily favourable to us, withheld, he said, through an excess of modesty.

"They're afraid the public might lose their heads."

If I pretended to be alarmed:

"What's become of the concentration? Look at all the regulars that are about still!"

He retorted with:

"My dear fellow, they're getting two days ahead of the estimates."

He had been to the station. He had seen any amount of trains passing crammed with troops and war material...! An inconceivable number of big guns, and ammunition waggons, and gun carriages! A store of unsuspected riches!

Our staff? Was admirable. Joffre, the great strategist, who left nothing to chance. Pau, the soldier whom the Germans feared more than any one, De Castelnau! Since he had made it his career despite his opinions!

The Government? Perfection. Viviani, the right man in the right place; the strong and many-sided genius that was needed. How fine,—and what a clever move—his letter to Madame Jaurès had been! The results of it were this solidity, and absolute unanimity; the rising en masse of the peaceful operatives, the internationalists of yesterday, claiming for their great country the right to live and be respected.

Guillaumin knew the text of the different official declarations and proclamations by heart; he recited scraps of them to me.

"Glorious! What!"

It was not an assumed excitement. I sounded him. He really was delighted to be going. It was the ingenuous wish for the unexpected and for adventure in one who led the most dreary of lives as a civilian. And the need to expend himself in a cause he felt was just. He did not need much urging to bring out such big words as Duty and Patriotism!!

His fervour both lowered him and raised him in my estimation. On one side I was inclined to place him in the class of credulous boobies, like the young fool of a lawyer's clerk I had met in the railway carriage. At the same time he gave me an example of moral warmth and vigour preferable to my frivolity.

He alone seemed changed by these formidable circumstances. He was thrilled. I should like to have been thrilled.

What made the Descroix and Humels so unbearable to me was their peace-time point of view. The way they spent hour after hour playing stupid card games, taking no interest in anything else! It was beyond me, and it worried me. They would not be the ones to save France!

(Should I be!!!)

Guillaumin reassured me.

"Don't you worry about that! You keep your eye on the poilus. That's all that matters!"

I tossed my head. My men? What could I know about them?

I had thirty-three roughs under me, squads 11 and 12. Guillaumin had the same number, squads 9 and 10; Lieutenant Henriot was in command of the platoon.

Up to now, I had tried only to avoid being unpopular. I thought I was succeeding in it. I relied entirely on my corporals, Bouguet and Donnadieu, who were well up in their job.

Chance had thrown together in my section, Judsi and Lamalou, the two scoundrels whom I have already mentioned, among the stolid Beaucerons who were all so much alike that they might have been brothers. They were a scurvy couple. They had already been caught by a patrol one night in town, and brought back drunk, shouting and storming, and had been in such a dangerous mood next day that Henriot had not dared to haul them over the coals for it.

The impressions I had retained of the few weeks once spent on a company, before going to the "Peloton," the one occasion in which I had come into contact for a short period with the lower classes, were these: The barrack was a den of wild beasts, and the peasants real brutes. The fact that the one thing they looked forward to was Sunday when they could drink themselves stupid, made them lower even than the animals. Beyond that the only thing that had worried me was the "promiscuousness." The days of ragging were over; I was free with my cigarettes and "drinks." I could always find someone ready to take my fatigues for me for the sake of a sixpence, and ever since then Bouillon had been my guardian angel. It did not matter how much this pleb was looked down on!

Attached to my original company during the manœuvres, reports had reached the ears of the reserve officer to the effect that I was already well up in my work, and I had at once been made a non-commissioned officer, a distant and unapproachable being.

My energetic "command" ensured my authority, on the drill-ground at all events. Elsewhere?... There was no elsewhere. As for taking a personal interest in each of the men, and searching into, and investigating their characters, as Guillaumin tried to induce me, and forced himself to do,—the idea had never entered my head. To-day it seemed an idle fancy outside the realms of realisation. I felt that this mass of men was too remote from, and, in all probability, hostile to us. No, they did not count at all as individual souls! I listened to Guillaumin as he extolled their sound good sense, and sturdy morale. It was too much to ask of this poor food for cannons.

But one thing struck me, nevertheless; the small, the infinitesimal number of men who "groused." Not a sign of "shirkers." It was astounding to me to note, in the days that followed, how this spirit had spread. I did not see any great enthusiasm, but rather determination, or perhaps it was resignation. There was at all events, no reluctance, no little underhand plots, elaborated with a view to remaining at the depôt. I have quoted our friend Belloeil; but even he would willingly have gone with us, I think, but for his asthma, which made him pant like a seal, merely at having to go up into billets.

One drama, I remember, caused a sensation: a reservist who had thrown himself successively through a window, under a cart, and under a train. He was hard to kill, that fellow!

How set he was on doing away with himself! At the inquest, a letter which had been discovered established the fact that the only motive for this act had been ... fear. Yes, simply the stupid fear of going to the front.... Poor wretch. What a fine funeral ovation they gave him. Good-for-nothing, rotter, and funk were the mildest terms employed. If he had accounted for a Bosche, his skin would have been of some use.

On the fourth day, Friday, the order arrived in the morning to assemble for field-parade.

Guillaumin was triumphant.

"There now, you see! Didn't I tell you so? They're coming all right—even to us!"

The men were taking their valises. And what about us; no, we agreed not to.

We started off. A fig for marching at attention! That was not expected of us. We followed the railway lines. A train was just passing, the carriages decorated with flowers. Soldiers were laughing at the windows.

The 104th Argentan.

"Halloa, you chaps! Wait for us! We're going on foot to have a look at the Bosches!" Judsi shouted.

We halted farther on in a field by the roadside. Suddenly a whistle was blown, and the word was passed round that the captain was there!

In the twinkling of an eye we were formed up again and got into line as well as might be.

Delafosse, the first lieutenant, gave the order:

"Present ... arms!"

Captain Ribet rode up, mounted on a beautiful grey mare. He was a tall spare man with a crisp moustache and very bright eyes. An ex-officer in the regulars; we knew he had retired when quite young after having won the légion d'honneur.

He saluted, and without any preliminaries pointed imperiously at the first section.

"Skirmishing order," he shouted.

We had about fifty yards to cover at a double.

"Kneel!"

We knelt down.

"Advance!"

We stood erect, and then immediately had to operate a change of front. The words of command and evolutions followed each other in rapid and varied succession. The captain gave the order and looked on coldly at the execution of it without uttering a word. We all lacked enthusiasm but it did not go badly, all the same. Our covering sergeants knew what they were about, and Henriot slipped in the necessary explanations. I acquitted myself passably in my thankless rôle of supernumerary. The men charged and deployed, and then returned to their first formation, their movements facilitated by their long experience in former days. During the short intervals of respite, reflections were heard:

"How's that for manœuvres!"

"We are having a dose."

At last arms were piled and while the men amused themselves by pulling out pipes or chunks of bread, the captain blew his whistle again.

"The non-commissioned officers!"

The first thing he did was to find fault with us.

"Why haven't you got your valises?"

The subaltern opened his mouth....

"That will do. We'll consider it as said!"

He had a few words of praise for the way we drilled.

"There was a little hesitation in the third though."

"Among us! really!"

He added a few commonplace remarks on our duties which played such an important part in the field. We must prove the value of the material entrusted to us. It was for us to make the most of it.

Seizing the opportunity afforded by a brief silence, Playoust thought he might ask him what the probable date of our departure would be.... Sunday was talked of.

"I am not here to answer questions, Sergeant!"

He warned us that he would inspect us next morning at nine o'clock.

"Service marching orders. Ready to leave. And mind you see that nothing is missing!"

He dismissed us with a salute.

Directly we had got away Guillaumin exclaimed:

"A queer fish that!"

"You like him?"

"Yes, I do. It's men like that that we want!"

I protested. My impression of him, on the contrary was an unpleasant one. Who did the man think he was, to treat us as little boys?

When we got back into quarters, I made fun of the sudden zeal consuming my comrades. The prospect of this inspection next day scared them. Each one rushed off to put his men on their mettle. Guillaumin especially was quite off his chump. I, for my part, contented myself with warning my corporals that everything must be in order at the time fixed! I should hold them responsible!

That done, I did not worry any more! I spent the afternoon resting in my hay-loft.

The best of it was that I was sergeant of the day. I ought to have gone and put myself at the disposition of the adjutant. Bah! He could do without me, without the world coming to an end.

My predecessor, Belloeil, had told me that I should have to take the men who had been given orders the day before to the barracks on the stroke of five o'clock. They would draw their pay there, and I should countersign the register.... The list was handed over to me. They watched for me at the exit, but I arranged to escape them; De Valpic would take them to-morrow.

One of them accosted me in the town; I snubbed him, and he went off cursing and swearing. Guillaumin blamed me for it.

"Poor fellow! Suppose he had some purchase to make!"

"Oh rot! I'm doing him a good turn; he'll drink a drop less than usual, that's all!"

CHAPTER XV

AT THE GLOBE CAFÉ

We got there early. Nearly all the old "Peloton" lot were to meet there that evening. The large room at the back had been put at our disposal.

Punch was served to everyone. Toasts were drunk half as a rag. There was a tap-room atmosphere. Everyone was in uproarious spirits—feverish with the excitement of the departure which was so close at hand. A school-master named Groningaire started off with a song—he had a good voice—then some patriotic verses, while we sang the refrain in chorus.

Miquel went to the piano.

"Go it! Play us something!"

He was known to be a performer.

"What style do you want?"

"Oh, anything! Improvise something!"

"The 'Battle,' g-r-r-r-r-r and symphony!"

There was a general laugh. He sat down on the music stool.

"First part. Four o'clock in the morning."

His fingers raced over the keys. A running accompaniment in the bass suggested the army sleeping. A high note, the bugle call, suddenly burst forth followed instantaneously by shouts, the stir of troops awakening and moving to and fro, and the neighing of horses....

"Bravo!"

Reminiscences no doubt of melodies he had composed or learnt. His rare skill soldered them into a sort of pot-pourri, which was at the same time both genial and burlesque. He jerked out the titles of motifs: the start at dawn, the approach of the enemy, the deployment, then the surprise of the first shots, the scattering, and the reply.... The pianist's fancy multiplied and expanded, painting an extraordinary picture. In the left hand, the cannon rumbled ceaselessly in hollow tones. In the treble a frenzy of staccato notes crackled like a fusillade. Between the two, smothered vociferations, and the trampling of the combatants could be distinguished. To end up with there was the charge, swelling harmonies, and a roar of glory and madness, throughout which fragments of the famous "La Goutte à boire!!!" recurred persistently.

Miquel paused. There was a burst of applause.

"Hush!" he said. "Wait for the day after...."

He struck a minor chord, succeeded by two or three others, equally lugubrious, a gloomy arpeggio strengthened the impression of mourning.... The day after! yes. There was a slight shudder. I recognised Beethoven's Funeral March.

"How idiotic! What are you playing that for?"

Denais had got up, and was drawing his hand across his forehead. Then embarrassed by our glances he forced a wry smile.

"Rotting apart, it's not exactly cheerful!"

A few backed him up. Others shrugged their shoulders. A discussion began which degenerated into an uproar. Laraque took possession of the piano and romped through a "tango" which was applauded. Miquel was called upon again; but he refused point blank this time, and it was not very long before he left, perhaps because he was offended.

Then Guillaumin and I went to swell a group which had formed in a corner, round Fortin, who was holding forth.

A robust fellow, with an enormous forehead, and a clever, ugly face, he was repeating the lessons he had just brought back from Germany where he had been living for some time. His rich voice carried wonderfully, supported by his energetic gestures. A frequenter of public meetings and debating societies, one was tempted to forgive him if he was rather inclined to like the sound of his own voice, because he spoke well.

To begin with, however, I only half listened to him. He was enlarging upon the industrial qualities of that race, their method, and patience, and tenacity of purpose, their thoroughness in perfecting detail; on their moral virtues too, from which the others sprang.

This sort of thing had been overdone! However at such a time it assumed a striking note of unexpectedness and daring. This Frenchman obviously overflowed with sympathy, or at all events admiration for the foe he was about to face.... And not one of us protested.... What impartiality, I thought. Was it to our credit, or discredit?

I now followed the speaker's arguments with interest. He occasionally spoke so decidedly and precisely that I suspected him of dishing up for our benefit certain passages already composed for the work he was meditating.

On the other hand one had the feeling that one was not the dupe of a rhetorician. I was able when necessary to verify the exactitude of his statements by my own recollections.

Here he was sketching the portrait of the young German, steady and strong, accustomed from his earliest childhood to long walks with his pack on his back, his first attempts at warlike frolics, keen on swimming, shooting, and gymnastics, more sporting in reality than we were who had been won over to the rough games from over the channel. They were chaste too and had no false shame about admitting it; not exhausted, depraved, and indeed contaminated, as a result of the stupid dissipation which we appear to think necessary for our young men. I could see the companions of my excursions round Iéna again,—Otto Kraëmer, merry, affectionate, and untiring—and so virtuous—questioning me with an innocent smile, quite free of any suspicion of envy, on the pleasures of Paris.

Fortin showed us how war had become inevitable for these people. Since they were suffocating at home! They were a prolific race; that was their foremost merit. The necessity and also the capacity for expansion in a country which in forty years doubles its population! There was the fruitful young sap. To them belonged the future.

We were listening, silent and engrossed, leaning on our elbows.... Ladmiraut demanded some detail from time to time. He had pulled out his note-book. Guillaumin, who was beside me, seemed to be the only one who could not listen to this language without impatience; he strummed nervously on the marble table-top.

Fortin went on to say that over there it was the entire populace from the Kaiser down to the last of the beggars, who dreamt of the greater Germany.... The fateful hour had struck.... He reminded us of the saying where the five sons of the German family came to demand a share of his heritage from the only son of the French family. We certainly had no luck in just happening to be the neighbours and thus the picked adversaries of this terribly covetous race, and in holding so many rich provinces that they meant to annex again in the name of ancient traditions for the Germanic Empire! Any schoolboy coming from Germany would tell you of their ambitions. To begin with they must have what remained to us of Lorraine and Champagne and Flanders, they'd see about Burgundy and the Franche-Comté, when the occasion arose!

"Then you think we shall be beaten?" Guillaumin broke in harshly.

It was like a cold douche, we looked at each other. Fortin shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I'll tell you one thing, I think, and that is that we're fighting in a cause ... that is out of date. We no longer incarnate a great force worthy of existence. Our day is nearly done. Just think how long we have held the stage. Mark you, I do not say that our end will not be glorious. We are an old fighting race, we shall do wonders, I think, before succumbing. Nor do I say that our decline is not to be regretted in the superior interests of civilisation...."

"Then you see no hope of anything but decline and disappearance!"

Guillaumin's face was kindled, his big nose shone, his hand was clutching at a match stand.

"Sss...! I say. Chuck it at his head!" whispered Holveck.

Someone laughed, and there was a short relaxation.

I did not take my eyes off Fortin, wondering whether he would accept the challenge.

And he actually did! He made up his mind to it. It was a thankless task, he said, to go against all our prejudices and cherished illusions. But still, if he was driven to it.... And perhaps it would be better that we should realise what we were in for!...

"Yes, start away then!" Guillaumin exclaimed. "Tell us what you think and what you know!"

What he knew? The other protested that he was not admitted to the secrets of the gods, that he was lacking in the necessary technical knowledge concerning military matters, but that what he feared from certain reliable data, was the "kolossal" force—the word is laughable, not the thing it stands for—of this horde of invaders about to fall upon us. People in France reassured themselves by the aid of simplex calculations. They summarily compared the figures of the population, with the triumphant argument that the enemy must put so and so many men on the Russian front.... As if there was not an immense gulf fixed between the actual and the theoretical returns! As if it was not the vitality of the races that would have the last word! Or again, the total of Germany's effective forces was put at twenty-five corps against our twenty-one corps! Only another way of throwing dust in our eyes. Who suspected that on the two banks of the Rhine there were fifty or sixty corps, already complete with their full complement, ready to be set in motion at a sign and destined to be formed into twelve or fifteen formidable armies. With them there was no waste of material; each individual had his own appointed place, the technicians in the factories; the smallest details were foreseen and provided for, the most recent discoveries in every sphere, exploited. The troops were young and sound, and their discipline was marvellous. Each soldier had his map and compass. Their uniform was far and away the least noticeable. Their equipment was faultless. Their heavy artillery unique (it would be our most unpleasant surprise!). They had adopted quite new principles for use in aërial warfare.... What more was there? The best-regulated commissariat, propaganda among the neutrals, accomplices among their adversaries.... And then the spy system. Ah, yes! the spy system!

"Oh, magnificent!" muttered Guillaumin.

"I beg your pardon. As they wanted war, it was only right that they should be as well prepared for it as possible. One can't help admiring them for that!"

Guillaumin, still unconvinced, sneered:

"Oh, charming! There's nothing to be done then! And to-morrow a German Europe!"

Fortin having made a movement as if to say, "Why not?" a certain member of us protested all the same: "Oh no! Anything but that. We would fight for it! The triumph of brute force. Government by the sword (all the old catch words), we couldn't stand that...." Laraque declared that when we were beaten he should go to live in America. Ladmiraut asserted pedantically that all attempts at universal sway were foredoomed to failure. Napoleon was an example of it!

Fortin retorted:

"We exaggerate when we talk of tyranny.... There would be a certain amount of rearranging to be got through. What these people want, is...."

"To pick our pockets," cried Guillaumin.

"Yes, to pick our pockets, and also...."

Fortin let himself be carried away. Was it paradox or conviction?

"Would you like to know what they want? Well, simply the reign of reason, of their reason. To their physical need for conquest is added this intellectual need. I think that in the case of a crushing victory they would not be exacting, that they would content themselves with re-organising and ordering the world to their ideas. The triumph of 'Kultur,' yes! Without doubt they would allow as many individual liberties and indeed local constitutions, as possible, to subsist. Their charter of empire is so convenient! The United States of Europe. That is their avowed dream, often expressed by the Kaiser. Peace, yes, but under the aegis of the Hohenzollern, chosen of God! An imposing task to which they bring the fervour of apostles, which to-morrow, on the battle-field will become the fanaticism of martyrs. The horror of this contest does not dismay them, they consider it unavoidable. There are two obstacles in their path; France in their eyes grown old and debased; Russia that huge inorganic body, still in a state of barbarism. Their idea was to humiliate both nations, with the object of raising them up again later on while imbuing them with the moral and intellectual virtues on which the Teuton prides himself. England impedes them equally. This conflict too was fated. They despise the English because they consider them too exclusively concerned with their well-being, with their comfort; too material, shopkeepers, in fact! They themselves pose as idealists and philosophers, but heirs to the spiritualistic traditions, and regardful of the property, of the integri——"

"What about the violation of Belgium!" Guillaumin interrupted.

"Oh, that! That does'nt count: Das ist Krieg! It's only outside the state of war that they flatter themselves that they're good, just, sentimental, and gentle. It is impossible to deny that their ambition, in the main, is generous; to put an end to the inferior period of improvisation and disorder, and to instigate the reign of perfect equilibrium—of happiness, that is!—among men."

He paused:

"And bear in mind that it must be admitted that no race has ever had a better chance of success than they have at this moment!"

Yes, Fortin showed us this prodigious result as being remote and still hidden behind the veil of the future, but within reach—all Germany was aware of it!—of the present generation or at all events of the next. German Europe? But, except for the three powers in question, who were to be overcome by force, was it not that already?

He showed up, in a crude light, the important underground activities of the exchequer and the cabinet; quite another side of the question. Italy, our famous Latin sister, peremptorily wrested from the sphere of French influence. Austria! With what supreme skill the rival of yesterday had been converted into the intimate ally of to-day. Turkey: simply a German colony, who, on the day prescribed, would hurl all her weight into the balance. The Scandinavian countries, Spain, Switzerland, Holland,—all pronounced Germanophils. It was a real miracle that Belgium should have barred their way! The Church instinctively approving two traditional Empires, full of spite and distrust for a republic. And then the Balkans! Nothing but sad surprises could be awaited, from Roumania, whose king, Carol, had bound himself by treaty to the fortunes of the Central Powers; from Bulgaria, whose just grievances were being exploited by the enemy; from Greece who was retained in this orbit by her king, the Kaiser's brother-in-law! A fine piece of work by the Wilhelmstrasse! Fortin exhibited the play of this far-sighted and prudent diplomacy, which had been weaving its web for so long, and peopling the European thrones with German princes and queens for the last fifty years.

There was no gainsaying it. This fellow, Fortin, was deucedly interesting! We were all listening, down to the most rowdy group, who had little by little stopped talking and come up. There were but few protestations now. Foreheads, furrowed by wrinkles, were unconsciously bowed in assent.

But there was a sudden climax. A dry voice made itself heard behind us. We turned round. A lieutenant was standing on the threshold of the room.

"Your name! I want the speaker's name!"

We were all stupefied. Fortin got up.

"And 'stand at attention' first of all."

The other explained the position. He was pale.

"Your company?"

"The seventeenth."

"You're a despicable worm! You dare to speak in such a way! You, a French non-commissioned officer! What would a German say or do? Get back to your quarters at once. You'll hear from me later."

The officer's voice was trembling. Fortin did not reply. Liberty was dead! He took down his belt which was hanging on a hook, shook the few hands held out to him, then saluted and left the room.

What a douche! A dismayed silence reigned for a few minutes. At last we left the place, but even outside we hardly spoke.

"Lieutenant Coudray, wasn't it?"

"There's no knowing where this may end...."

"Court-martial!"

Ladmiraut unburdened himself.

"Just what I said; Fortin exaggerates."

"Exactly!"

Everyone agreed that it was bound to happen.

It seemed to me that our voices were lowered. Did we mistrust each other? Really, the unexpected appearance of this officer!... Someone must have gone to warn him.... These were nice times, certainly!

We separated, and Guillaumin took me home as usual.

"I don't wish him any ill," he said, "but you must confess that he was asking for it!"

"Who? Fortin?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Oh, look here! He said enough to make one jump through the ceiling. No, but can you see the Bosches calmly laying hands on Champagne and Flanders!"

I was still suffering from the effects of the irritation and humiliation aroused in me by the intervention of the Lieutenant. I could hear his cutting voice. Some rotter or other! But there was nothing to be done, but to bow before his superior rank.

It must be added that I had come under the depressing influence.... What a hit it was at my illusions, at our groundless self-confidence! To go and get killed for a cause we knew was already lost. Oh, it really was the limit!

A cold rage filled me. I vented it on poor Guillaumin to begin with. He was on the point of returning to the subject of his Champagne and his Flanders.... One would have thought they belonged to him and that someone wanted to pick his pocket of them!

None of that! I shut him up, and told him what an ass I thought him. The dull resentment which had been heaped up in me by these first days of subjection, rose up from the depths of my being. And I did not stop at that; my egoism and the anarchism of my bad days rebelled.

I suddenly announced that I hoped the socialistic agitations would come to something.

"What agitations?" Guillaumin asked.

"Oh!" I said. "They were keeping quiet on the subject, by order! but they existed, could not help existing in spite of certain recantations. Would they smother the peoples' poignant cry for peace at any price, much longer? War on the War!" Following up the bold refrain, I asserted that I should like to see the workmen who had been called up, fire their first shots at the instigators of the catastrophe, all these statesmen, generals, and financiers of both countries, who were driving two peaceful nations to the slaughter! As if all the political and economic interests in the world were worth this massacre of innocents!

I went further—or lower. I blush when I remember to what degrading lengths I allowed myself to go. If our neighbours were really so passionately anxious for the expansion of their "Kultur" as Fortin had said they were, did he, Guillaumin, know what remained to be done? Simply fold our arms and wait for them. They would not devour us, or at least not all of us! We should be invaded? And then? Annexed? What a misfortune that would be to be sure! There would be no more France? Well, if she had to disappear, why not to-morrow, just as well as in a hundred years!... All these tales of separate races, and of native lands were simply the patter of disastrous phrase-makers.... Let all those who believed them go and get killed for them. There could be nothing more just! To the frontier with the enthusiasts, the convinced—the imbeciles—who could not bear the idea of changing their names. But as for us, for me, who did not care a blow about it all...!

"Talk away!" said Guillaumin.

"What?"

"You won't take me in!"

"How do you mean?"

"You want to get a rise out of me!"

"I?"

"You'll fight as well as the best of them!"

"Well, what will that prove?"

He did not answer me. There was no need. I was at a loss for words. I was pinked.

Recall to reality. The time was past for weighing the reasons for and against. The philosophic juggling. The superior sphere of action, offered itself, nay imposed itself upon us.... Fortin, Guillaumin, I myself; we were all in uniform, we were going to fight.... Then there was only one thing to be done, to strain our muscles and our soul, to stake our fate on hope and on faith in our cause. What folly to be both judge and suitor. What grandeur in belief, even when absurd!

If only I had been sure that I should fight as well as he said I should!

CHAPTER XVI

CAVILLINGS

As it was my day on duty it fell to me to march the men who had reported sick to the M.O. that morning.

I should have liked to have time to cast an eye over my men's equipment before the captain came to take kit inspection. My mind was not entirely at ease on the subject, when, in passing, I had asked Corporal Bouguet if he thought it would go all right, he had curtly replied that he couldn't see everything, he hadn't got eyes all over his head.

Sick parade naturally promised to take longer than usual. Captain Ribet had made searching enquiries the day before and consulted the sick lists. He had told of about twenty weaklings to report themselves to the chief Medical Officer. I had not been surprised to catch sight of De Valpic's name on the list which I had been told to hand over.

Surgeon-major Bouchut, a stout, apoplectic-looking man, arrived in a state of perspiration, and swearing hard began to sound the men's hearts and lungs. He was not very ferocious to-day. He must have had instructions to strike out the good-for-nothings. Whenever it was a case of enteritis, rheumatism, or bronchitis he jerked out at me:

"Oh, he'd better stay at the depôt!"

Then, turning to the man, he would growl:

"You'll have to stay behind my lad!"

A well-set-up fellow out of my section came and announced:

"I'm an old trooper, I am!"

"Well, what about it?"

"And so I shan't march."

"Oh, you think so, do you?"

"I never have marched."

"A good opportunity to learn!"

"It's on account of a slight rupture...."

"Let's have a look!"

Bouchut felt his groin.

"You wear a truss, do you?"

"Yes, sir-r!"

"In that case you can walk round the world!"

"But...."

"Off with you! Brr! Next man now!"

The next one on the list was De Valpic. I considered his thin body with all the ribs showing.

"What's the matter with you?" Bouchut asked.

"Nothing much, sir, but the captain told me to...."

Bouchut bent down over him:

"Take a deep breath...."

Just then a hubbub arose, an orderly was slating a man who had just upset the bottle containing the tincture of iodine.

"Can't you keep quiet, confound you!"

But Bouchut's attention was again distracted by the arrival of a surgeon-lieutenant. They gossiped for a moment and then returning at last to De Valpic, he said:

"Then you don't cough at all?"

"Hardly at all, sir."

"Do you want to go to the front?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Very well, then. Must not be overdone," he dictated to me.

The examination came to an end. When I went out I came across the man with the rupture again. He was cursing and swearing! "Well, if that wasn't a shame! To make an old dragoon, with an illness like that, walk! They were a set of bullies, that's what they were!..." But he'd be even with them yet! He knew a thing or two. The first time they were under fire, he would stagger, and let himself fall. But first, he was going to write to Sembat, who was a pal of his.

"Switch off Loriot!" somebody warned him. "Here come the N.C.O.'s!"

I wondered whether I should pack him off to the defaulters' room.... Perhaps it would raise my prestige, but I let the opportunity slip by, and finally decided to have heard nothing.

Guillaumin came up to me. He was bringing the letters from the barracks and good-naturedly drew my attention to the fact that I was the one who ought to have gone to fetch them. He agreed in addition to be responsible for their distribution. He was rummaging in his pockets.

"There's a post card for you."

A post card really! I was not expecting anything. A few lines from my father and a note from Laquarriére, in answer to one I had written him, was all I had received since the beginning.

I looked at the post mark; illegible. I did not recognise the handwriting, it was feminine. I turned to the signature: "Jeannine!"

The little Landry girl!

What does she think of it all? I wondered, amused. She, who would not hear of war! I remembered our trifling on that railway platform.... What a short time ago it was ... and yet it seemed so long. She had written very closely. I noted her graceful attempt to write me something beyond the usual commonplace remarks. She gave a short description of their railway journey. On hearing the great news, they had gone to Geneva (a reassuring atmosphere), and on to Paris the day after. Since then they had settled down again as well as might be, and without a maid, at St. Mandé. But what about me? I was far more interesting! In barracks, no doubt? Or perhaps already on my way to the front? They were counting on my being able to let ... friends, know how I was getting on. The card ended with these words, "We think of you a great deal."

I re-read it; I was touched. I would certainly answer this delightful girl very soon! I should have liked to do so at once; but a stupid feeling of bashfulness forbade my seeming in too much of a hurry.

We assembled for the inspection. The men came on to parade, one by one, staggering under their packs, which were continually slipping and having to be hoisted up again, with a jerk of their shoulders. All at once they realised that the inspection was not a mere matter of form. Beginning with the first platoon the captain stopped in front of each man.

Guillaumin whispered to me:

"His eyes are skinned right enough."

Corporal Bouguet continued to look at me sourly. Donnadieu, sandy-haired and stolid, when I questioned him, shook his head, and did not seem to want to be answerable for anything either.

We had half-an-hour's wait, which was distinctly unnerving. Our turn came at last.

Bouguet was examined first and passed as impeccable. Thank Heaven! And his neighbour, Siméon, too. I was beginning to breathe more freely. The captain escorted by the company quartermaster-sergeant stopped in front of Paquette, a villager with a blank expression.

"Take off your valise. That's right! Now open it. Let's see your housewife ... and the inside...."

The man cautiously emptied the contents, consisting of three old buttons and some rusty pins, into his hand.

"No needles? Or thread?"

"We haven't been given any, sir."

"What's this? They were given out yesterday. What's the meaning of this, sergeant?"

"That's right, sir!" I said.

The captain raised his voice.

"Hands up! in the 11th and 12th those who've got no needles or thread."

Three or four arms, then seven, eight, ten, were raised.

"Extremely important! Tears are not rare occurrences in the field, nor are burst buttons. And if you've nothing to mend them with! A pair of trousers which won't keep up, means a man out of action!"

He went on to the next man, Judsi!

"Got your body belt?"

Judsi shook his head grotesquely.

"Don't wear one, sir!"

"Did you draw one?"

"Yes, sir!"

"What's become of it?"

Judsi made a movement expressive of ignorance.

"Someone probably nabbed it, sir! Seein' as I don't wear one."

The captain turned to me.

"So, you don't see to all this?"

I protested that I had told him....

"Told him! Told him!... You see the result! When you have ten or fifteen men down with dysentery...!"

He went on to the next. It was done on purpose. Here, a shoulder strap had come unsewn, there one or two buttons missing, this képi had no chin-strap, that bayonet was rusty, a certain rifle was not properly cleaned. Where was the lantern belonging to No. 11 half-section? And the camp gear! It was quite clear that it had been badly distributed. The captain dropped straight on to the weak spot and emphasised it coldly.

When the non-commissioned officers were collected afterwards, he gave vent to his feelings.

"It's lucky we're not going off this evening! That would be a nice state of affairs! No. 3 platoon is a positive disgrace! I am speaking of section No. 2! Sergeant Dreher, at one o'clock I shall inspect your half-sections and I can assure you that if anything goes wrong this time!" He twirled his long moustache. I was frightfully annoyed. What irritated me above everything was the ironical satisfaction shown by several of my fellow N.C.O.'s; I tried to excuse myself.

"It was my day on duty, sir!"

But Ravelli interrupted:

"Oh, it was you, was it? I wondered who it could be.... You never turned up."

I was filled with a wild desire to fall upon my corporals, but Bouguet was waiting for me, bristling with rage. Ready to bite his head off I turned upon Donnadieu, who put on a vexed, sheepish expression.

I swore at the men roundly, in the approved N.C.O. style. Did they think they could snap their fingers at me? Getting me cursed like that! So they weren't even capable of appearing in service marching order? So jolly difficult, wasn't it?

"Such humbug from a blooming plug!" Judsi muttered.

I told them about the supplementary inspection, and moderated my tone in view of their obvious bad temper.

"Come along, let's look alive. Everyone must do his bit!"

Cook-house door had gone. Lamalou exclaimed:

"Arf a mo'. Carn't work on an empty belly."

A long hour elapsed before any one deigned to start work again and even then they did not put their backs into it. I was horrified at the number of dirty mess-tins and water-bottles, of uncleaned boots, and above all, of the fittings missing; sets of "pull throughs" had to be complete in groups of four! Stores orders must be got and signed by the company sergeant-major, and the things drawn ... and the time was being frittered away in dawdling and gossiping. I think the knaves did it on purpose. My remarks all fell on deaf ears, whatever tone I adopted—I tried them all! I felt a sort of jeering hostility rising against me which infuriated me, though I did not let them see it.

Bouillon luckily lent a hand. Having once had the rank of corporal, he still retained a certain hold over his comrades.

He laid himself out and was here, there, and everywhere, lavishing rebukes and fisticuffs.

When Captain Ribet reappeared at the time arranged everything went well. The inspection was even more minute than it had been in the morning, but this time he found only a few infinitesimal details to criticise.

When he left he said to me:

"Aren't you more satisfied?"

I did not answer, but met his remark with the regulation coldness.

CHAPTER XVII

SUSPICIONS OF EMOTION

The presentation of the Colours was announced for three o'clock. We would willingly have dispensed with climbing up to the parade-ground! Goodness knows I was not looking forward to the ceremony.

Our company was the last to arrive. A major wearing an eye-glass, urged his horse past us. He was an insolent, bloated-looking creature, with a sallow complexion, and greeted our company officer with a bitter-sweet remark which the latter, to my delight, acknowledged in the same tone.

The colonel appeared. He was quite white, although still young, a cavalier of imperious bearing. With his manly face and his moustache he reminded one strongly of "Dumény" in La Flambée.

He rode slowly up and down among our ranks. Chests were thrown out at his approach. He made a few remarks in a firm but kindly tone. Then the order was given to the two battalions to close up into a semi-circle.

Controlling his mount, the colonel looked round on us proudly, and began to harangue us.

I listened. I had come in a sarcastic frame of mind. What could he say that would not be stale or commonplace?

Indeed I had foreseen this issue of ready-made phrases on the decisive importance of the struggle upon which we were embarking; it was a question of safeguarding our country and our lives against a nation which was becoming a menace to the human race.... But the inflections of a manly voice conferred a certain grandeur on the hackneyed theme.

"A fine actor," I repeated to myself. "More and more like Dumény!"

I tried, like this, to avoid being carried away, then I began to give in. I admitted that a certain beauty resulted from the perfect harmony between his words and their object. I read in the men's face the revelation of a virtue, until now unknown even to them. For the first time I had the intuition that these peasants and working-men and bourgeois, for the most part doltish, narrow-minded beings, would, if certain chords in them were touched, be capable of great things....

And what about me? Oh! I should be an on-looker as usual! That would be quite enough for me.

The colonel concluded:

"Now, my friends, you are about to march past your Colours. They are new, they have not been under fire, they do not bear the names of glorious victories in their folds like their seniors of the 1st.... Well, it is for us to dower them."

A thrill ran through the ranks, then the whole mass stood like stone. The bugles sounded the vehement, tragic call which always shakes me physically.

We marched rapidly in column of fours up towards the bugles which called and guided us with their heroic flourish. I suddenly wished I could shed my egoism and vibrate in unison with the two thousand men, who, in this hour, were being consecrated my brothers in arms. I flogged my imagination. The Colours. The word echoed within me, awakening a procession of sacred memories and emotions. I could see myself as a child at the window with my mother leaning over me, clapping my hands to salute the standard of the "8th Cuirassiers" in front of which rode my father, very upright on his big black horse. At that time I used to revel in the many tales of heroes who let themselves be killed rather than abandon the staff, or expended a prodigious amount of cunning in order to save the remnants of it.

Were not these Colours the emblem of the country we had risen to defend, the symbol of everything that could raise our soldiers' hearts? My bosom swelled at these thoughts. We were drawing nearer to it; I fixed ardent eyes on it....

It was certainly beautiful, half unfurled in the breeze, with its rich fresh tints and fringe of gold. A sub-lieutenant, looking very pale and proud, was holding it firmly against his hip.

The din of the bugles increased, filling our hearts.... We passed by....

And yet no! No! My ... irreverence rebelled. To become excited over this tinsel, these few yards of painted stuff! Had I hoped for this thing? I had not yet got so far!

Our last evening—strict confinement to barracks.

I had retired to my hay-loft. I leant my elbows on the window-sill overlooking the garden.

I was surprised to hear the murmur of voices below me. I leant out and saw a couple there.

When I recognised little Frémont and his wife, sitting side by side on a stone bench, my first feeling was one of vague impatience. The separation of husband and wife! A touching subject for the pen!

How had they managed to slip in there? A chance word which reached my ears explained it. The principal's wife had had pity on them and had given them the key. The little wife had contrived that; she had not been able to bear the idea of being deprived of her Marcel on the last evening.

I considered her sardonically. "Let's have a look at this woman in love!"

I have already said what my opinion of her was. I never thought I should change it. This evening, however, though her features were already merging with the growing twilight, it seemed to me that her face shone with a rarer radiance. Was it her love that transfigured this child?

She had taken off her hat and was leaning her brown head on her husband's shoulder, while he held her close, his arm round her waist. Their foreheads and eyes and lips caressed each other. They were talking below their breath. No other sound but the rustle of the wind disturbed the deep silence.

I was indiscreet enough to play the eavesdropper.

She was the one who spoke the most, in little, plaintive, tender phrases, like the twittering of birds. I could only follow the general trend of her remarks, but it was enough for me to see that she was not bemoaning herself lest she should rob him of his courage. She only dwelt in retrospect on the happy weeks they had spent together. Many injunctions followed. They would be sure to write to each other every day, and think of each other all the while.

I found it easier to catch his grave, reassuring replies. The tone of his voice baffled me. Here was Frémont, the retiring little man, with shy manners, who liked to keep in the background and always asked advice, appearing in the rôle of comforter! His protecting fondness enfolded his beloved.

I continued to lean out above them, my elbows on the stone window-sill, my hands joined. My malevolence gradually subsided.

That this was merely the repetition of a scene which had been enacted all through the ages, no longer seemed to me a sufficient reason to smile at it. On the contrary, I was stirred by the thought of the eternal chain of loves and partings.

Night had fallen. The trees in the orchard seemed so many phantoms. Not a light to be seen. Some birds flew silently across the night air. I could hardly distinguish the two lovers now, but it seemed to me that their lips had sought and found each other. There was silence for a short space. Then a sentence was breathed softly. A voice trembled into tears. I gathered from certain allusions that she was afraid, though she did not say so, that he might never see their little child.

Sitting there motionless, I dedicated my pitying sympathy to them and thought how few men there were among all the thousands I had seen marching past this afternoon, who were not leaving some woman at home, wife or lover, and some child of their flesh.... Poor souls! How terrible their grief must be! I ought to have congratulated myself on the fact that I was leaving nothing behind me. Why did I now so poignantly regret my solitude; did I envy the farewells uttered amid tears and the sealing of vows?

There was a noise behind me: Guillaumin. I left the window, an instinctive delicacy of feeling prevented me from drawing his attention to the presence of the couple in the garden.

We went down into the yard again. My companion was in tremendous form. He held forth on a hundred and one subjects, and I agreed with him absent-mindedly. My thoughts were wandering capriciously. I thought of my brother Victor for whose safe return someone was praying.... A strange insistent idea kept recurring to my mind, of writing to the girl who had thought of me yesterday.

CHAPTER XVIII

A RETURN OF EGOISM

The last distribution of stores had just taken place—biscuits, haversack rations, and iron rations. Cartridges too, fifteen packets a head; a pretty tough load, in addition to everything else. A lot of men were grousing about where they should put them.

The worst of it was that there was some surplus. The company commander who was passing said:

"You're not going to leave those behind, mind!"

I took two extra packets, and Guillaumin four. He remarked:

"This is the most necessary part of your equipment, you chaps, don't you make any mistake about that!"

He had few imitators. Playoust, who was prowling round, jeered.

"For the Bosches? But my dear fellow you won't see any for six weeks!"

It was not at all encouraging. Lamalou happened to turn up, and as an old stager, at once exclaimed:

"Shove one along, and let's 'ave a look!"

He had formerly been in one of the flying columns in Morocco where the replenishment of ammunition was a difficulty. Guillaumin threw him a packet.

"Catch!"

The other caught it in mid air, then another, and another, five, ten, fifteen. That doubled his load and he went on shouting.

"Another! And another! Just to make 'em dance!"

His example was decisive. Five minutes later there was nothing left of the heap.

"The creature knows how to make himself useful!" I thought. It was a pity he drank so much! He had just got into new and serious trouble. A scandal in a pub, as usual—the officer on rounds had reported him—he had been imprisoned—and the company sergeant-major was innocently congratulating himself upon having got rid of him!

But the captain got him out, and made a point of having a heart-to-heart talk with him. What could he have threatened him with? With leaving him at the depôt I think. The other had to promise to be good, he reappeared triumphant.