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diff --git a/old/68774-h/68774-h.htm b/old/68774-h/68774-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0f487e8..0000000 --- a/old/68774-h/68774-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8348 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - Civilisation, by Georges Duhamel—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - font-weight: normal; - clear: both; -} - - h2 { - margin-top: 4em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} -.p11 {margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - - - -hr.tb { - width: 30%; - margin-left: 35%; - margin-right: 35%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - -hr.full { - width: 98%; - margin-left: 1%; - margin-right: 1%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - -.big1 { - font-size: 110% - } - -.big2 { - font-size: 130% - } - -.big3 { - font-size: 140% - } - -.small1 { - font-size: 80% - } - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - - - -table.autotable { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} -table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } -table.autotable td, -table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } - -.tdl {text-align: left;} -.tdr {text-align: right;} -.tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - visibility: hidden; - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} /* page numbers */ - - - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} - - - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: 1px dashed; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em; } - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ - .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%;padding-bottom: 1em; padding-top: 1em; - padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 4em; } - -/* Illustration classes */ -.illowp46 {width: 46%;} -.x-ebookmaker .illowp46 {width: 100%;} - </style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Civilisation, by Georges Duhamel</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Civilisation</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Georges Duhamel</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: T. P. Conwil-Evans</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 17, 2022 [eBook #68774]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Andrés V. Galia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CIVILISATION ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp46" id="cover" style="max-width: 57.8125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="tnote"> - <p class="center big1 p2">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>In the plain text version text in italics is enclosed by underscores -(_italics_) and small capitals are represented in upper case as in -SMALL CAPS.</p> - -<p>A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept.</p> - -<p>Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>The book cover was modified by the transcriber and has been added to -the public domain.</p> - -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>CIVILISATION<br /> -<small>1914-1918</small></h1> - -<p class="center">BY</p> - -<p class="center big3">GEORGES DUHAMEL</p> - -<p class="center p2">TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH<br /> - -BY</p> - -<p class="center big2">T. P. CONWIL-EVANS</p> - -<p class="center p6 big1">THE SWARTHMORE PRESS LTD<br /> - -(<span class="smcap">formerly trading as Headley Bros. Publishers Ltd</span>)</p> - -<p class="center">72 OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W. 1</p> - -<p class="center">1919</p> - -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">TRANSLATOR’S NOTE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>With the exception of, perhaps, “Le -Feu” by Henri Barbusse, no book -made such a stir in the France of -1914-1918 as Georges Duhamel’s<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> “Civilisation.” -Its success was as immediate as -its appeal was universal. Like “Le Feu,” -it was awarded the Prix Goncourt, and ran -to an enormous circulation.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt, too, that posterity -will acclaim it as a remarkable work. For it -is something more than a human document -of the war. One feels in the poignant -experiences of the few French soldiers, depicted -by M. Duhamel, the tragic fate of -twentieth-century man—the Machine Age -man—in the grip of the scientific monster -he has created for himself. These intimate -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>pictures have the cumulative effect of an -epic in which the experiment of humanity -is menaced by man’s own inventiveness and -heroism.</p> - -<p>This impression is the creation of the -particular style of M. Duhamel. It is not -by the vigorous simplicity of a Guy de -Maupassant that he achieves his effects, nor -by the exact observation which one might -expect of him as a doctor of medicine. His -strength lies in the violent imagery with -which he intensifies his descriptions, giving -the impression of life and feeling to inanimate -objects. He thus often produces the effect -of a monstrous dream or nightmare.</p> - -<p>Emile Zola was a past master of this -method; but, in his case, too often, the -subject did not lend itself to such treatment. -M. Duhamel does not lay himself open to -this objection. No style could be more -appropriate than his for expressing the cold -precision of the machinery by means of -which this so effectively organised war has -ruined our world.</p> - -<p>Like Emile Zola, M. Duhamel does<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> -not shirk any detail however unpleasant. -Differences in language and point of view -make it impossible to reproduce all of these. -But with the exception of “Les Amours de -Ponceau” all the tales comprising “Civilisation” -are included in the translation.</p> - -<p>I am much indebted to Miss Eva Gore-Booth -for kindly reading the proofs.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 2em;">T. P. C.-E.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">London</span>, <em>October 1919</em>.</p> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="footnotes"> -<p class="center big1 p11">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Georges Duhamel, born 1884, poet, dramatist, and -doctor of medicine. His poems include “Des Légendes,” -“Des Batailles” (1907), “L’homme en Tête” (1909), -“Selon ma loi” (1910), “Compagnons” (1912); and -plays: “La Lumière” (played at the Odéon, 1911), -“Dans l’ombre des Statues” (Odéon, 1912), “Le Combat” -(Théâtre des Arts, 1913), “La plus grande joie” -(Théâtre du Vieux Colombier); and several critical works -on poetry. “Vie des Martyres,” 1917; “Possession du -Monde” (Essays), 1918.</p> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> -<p class="center big2 p4">CONTENTS</p> -</div> - - - -<table class="autotable" summary="toc"> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"> </td> -<td class="tdr"><span style="margin-left: 13em;"><small>PAGE</small></span></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">A FACE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7">7</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">REVAUD’S ROOM</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_10">10</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">ON THE SOMME FRONT</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">RÉCHOUSSAT’S CHRISTMAS</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_61">61</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">LIEUTENANT DAUCHE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_68">68</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">COUSIN’S PROJECTS</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_101">101</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">THE LADY IN GREEN</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">IN THE VINEYARD</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116">116</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">THE RAILWAY JUNCTION</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_123">123</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">THE HORSE-DEALERS</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137">137</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">A BURIAL</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_150">150</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">FIGURES</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_167">167</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">DISCIPLINE</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177">177</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CUIRASSIER CUVELIER</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_212">212</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl">CIVILISATION</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_231">231</a> </td> -</tr> - -</table> - - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">A FACE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>A commanding and almost gracefully -shaped brow, a look that was -at once childish and profound, a -dimpled chin, a rather flaunting moustache, -a bitter expression about the laughing lips: -that French face I shall never forget, though -I saw it only for a second in the flickering -light of a match.</p> - -<p>It was an autumn night in 1916. The -train which runs from Châlons to Sainte-Menehould -was making its return journey, -with all lights out. The Champagne front, -on our left, was then calm, sunk in volcanic -sleep: a sleep of nightmares, sudden alarms, -and sharp flashes. We pierced the darkness, -slowly crossing the wretched country, which -seemed in our mind’s eye to be even more -wretched and distorted by the hideous -machinery of war. The little train, with -cries of weariness, hobbled along with a -rather hesitating gait, like a blind man -traversing an accustomed road.</p> - -<p>I was going back, my furlough being -over. Feeling rather ill, I lay on the seat.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -Opposite me, three officers were chatting. -Their voices were those of young men, but -in military experience they were veterans. -They were rejoining their regiment.</p> - -<p>“This sector,” said one of them, “is -fairly quiet at present.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, there will be nothing doing -until the spring,” replied the other.</p> - -<p>Silence followed, broken by the restless -clatter of the wheels running on the rails. -Presently we heard a young, laughing, satirical -voice saying, almost in a whisper:</p> - -<p>“Oh! we shall be compelled to do some -mad thing before spring.”</p> - -<p>Then, without any connecting remark, -the same man added:</p> - -<p>“It will be my twelfth attack. But I -have always been lucky. I have only been -wounded once yet.”</p> - -<p>These two phrases were still echoing in -my ears when the man who had uttered them -lighted a match and began smoking. The -light gave a furtive glimpse of a handsome -face. The man belonged to an honoured -corps. The insignia of the highest awards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -that can be given to young officers gleamed -on his yellow tunic. A quiet and discreet -courage emanated from his personality.</p> - -<p>Darkness once more enfolded us. But -would there ever be a night black enough to -extinguish the image which then flashed -before me? Would there ever be a silence -so complete as to stifle the echo of the two -little phrases murmured amid the rattle of -the train?</p> - -<p>Since that time I have often thought of -the incident whenever, as on that night, I -have turned, with love and anguish, towards -the past and towards the future of these men -of France—my brothers who, in such great -numbers, have given themselves up to die -and are not ashamed to utter the thoughts -that lie nearest the heart; whose nobility of -soul, and unyielding intelligence and pathetic -simplicity, the world appreciates too little.</p> - -<p>How could I not think of it at a time -which saw the long martyrdom of a great -people, who, across a night without bourne, -search solely for the paths along which they -may at last find freedom and peace?</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">REVAUD’S ROOM</h2> -</div> - - -<p>One never got tired in Revaud’s room. -The roar of the war, the rumbling -of transport waggons, the spasmodic -shocks of the gunfire, all the whistling and -gasping sounds of the killing machine beat -against the windows with a spent fury, -as in the shelter of a creek resound the -echoes of a storm raging in the open sea. -But this noise was as familiar to the ear as -the heart-beats of the miserable world, and -one never got tired in Revaud’s room.</p> - -<p>It was a long, narrow apartment where -there were four beds and four men. It -was, notwithstanding, called Revaud’s room, -because the personality of Revaud filled -it from wall to wall. It was just the size -for Revaud, exactly fitting like a tailor-made -coat. In the beginning of November -there had been all kinds of nasty intrigues -hatched by Corporal Têtard to get Revaud -removed elsewhere; and, the intrigues -succeeding, the poor man was taken up to -another storey and placed in a large dormitory -of twenty beds—a bewildering desert,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -no longer homely, but ravaged by a raw, -cruel light. In three days, by an involuntary -decision of his body and soul, Revaud had -got worse to such an alarming extent that -he had to be carried down with great haste -and placed behind the door in his own room, -where the winter light came filtering in, full -of kindliness.</p> - -<p>And thus things remained; whenever a -seriously wounded man, an extraordinary -case, was brought to the division, Mme. -Baugan was asked to go and see Revaud -at once and “sound him on the question.”</p> - -<p>Revaud pretended to make things rather -difficult at first, and ended by saying:</p> - -<p>“Very well; I am quite willing. Put -the man in my room....”</p> - -<p>And Revaud’s room was always full. -To be there, you had to have more than a -mere bagatelle of a wound: a broken foot, -or some trivial little amputation in the -arm. It was necessary to have “some -unusual and queer things”—a burst intestine, -for example, or a displaced spinal cord, or -yet cases in which “the skull has been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -bent in or the urine doesn’t come out where -it used to before the war.”</p> - -<p>“Here,” Revaud used to say with pride, -“there are only very rare cases.”</p> - -<p>There was Sandrap, “who had to have -his needs satisfied through a hole in his -side”—Sandrap, a little man from the north, -with a round nose like a fresh apple, with -beautiful eyes of a delicate grey colour of -silk. He had been wounded three times, and -used to say every morning: “They’d be -surprised, the Boches, if they could see -me now.”</p> - -<p>There was Remusot, who had a large -wound in the chest. It made a continual -Faoo aoo ... Raoo aoo ... Faoo ... -Raoo ...; and Revaud had been asking -from the first day:</p> - -<p>“What a funny noise you’re making! -D’you do it with your mouth?”</p> - -<p>In a hoarse voice he wheezed:</p> - -<p>“It is my breath escaping between -my ribs.”</p> - -<p>And lastly there was Mery, whose spine -had been broken by an aerial torpedo, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> -who “no longer felt the lower part of his -body, as if it didn’t belong to him.”</p> - -<p>All this little world was living on its -back, each in his place, in a promiscuous -atmosphere of smells, of sounds, and sometimes -of thought. The men recognised each -other by their voices rather than by their -faces; and there was one great week when -Sandrap was seen by Revaud as he was -being carried to the dressing-room in a -stretcher on a level with the bed, and the -latter exclaimed suddenly:</p> - -<p>“Hallo! is that you, Sandrap? What -a funny head you have got! And your hair -is even funnier.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Baugan came at eight o’clock, and -at once she began scolding:</p> - -<p>“There’s a nasty smell about. Oh! Oh! -my poor Revaud, I’m sure you have -again——”</p> - -<p>Revaud avoided the question:</p> - -<p>“Very fine, thanks. I’ve slept very well. -Nothing more to report. I’ve slept quite -well.”</p> - -<p>Then Mme. Baugan drew back the sheets,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -and, overcome by the sad and ignoble smell, -she muttered:</p> - -<p>“Oh! Revaud! you are unreasonable. -Will you never be able to control yourself!”</p> - -<p>Revaud could no longer dissemble. He -confessed phlegmatically: “Ah, it’s true -enough! But whatever you say, nurse, I -can’t help myself.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Baugan came and went, looking for -fresh linen and water. She began to wash -him and dress him as if he were a child.</p> - -<p>But suddenly overcome with shame and -a kind of despair, he moaned:</p> - -<p>“Madame Baugan, don’t be cross with -me. I wasn’t like that in civil life.”</p> - -<p>Mme. Baugan began to laugh, and Revaud -without more ado laughed too, for -all the lines of his face and his whole soul -were made for laughing, and he loved to -laugh even in the midst of the most acute -pain.</p> - -<p>This reply having pleased him, he trotted -it out often, and, when confessing to his -little infirmity, he used to tell everyone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -“I wasn’t like that, you know, before I -joined up.”</p> - -<p>One morning, in making Mery’s bed, -Mme. Baugan startled the room with an -exclamation. The paralytic lad had not -been able to restrain himself.</p> - -<p>“What! Mery! You, too, my poor -friend!”</p> - -<p>Mery, once a handsome country lad with -a splendid body, looked at his dead limbs -and sighed:</p> - -<p>“It is quite possible, Madame. I can’t -feel what’s going on.”</p> - -<p>But Revaud was delighted. All the -morning he cried, “It isn’t only me! It -isn’t only me!” And no one grudged him -his joy, for when you are in the depths of -despair you are glad to have companions in -your misery.</p> - -<p>The most happy phrases have only a -short-lived success. Revaud, who had a -sense of humour, soon felt the moment -coming when he would no longer find comfort -in the remark that “he wasn’t like that -before he joined up.” It was then he received<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -a letter from his father. It came unexpectedly -one morning. Revaud’s face had -just been washed, and his great Gallic -moustache had been cut—from caprice—according -to the American pattern. All the -hospital filed past at the corner of the door -in order to see Revaud who looked like a -very sick “English gentleman.”</p> - -<p>He turned the letter over with his fingers -that were deformed by misery and toil; then -he said uneasily, “What does the letter -mean? Do they still want to kick up a -row?”</p> - -<p>Revaud was a married man; but during -the six months in which he had remained -without news from his wife he had got used -to his loneliness. He was in his room, behind -the door, and sought no quarrels with anyone. -Then why had a letter been sent to him?</p> - -<p>“It must be they want to make a row,” -he repeated; and he handed the letter to -Mme. Baugan, for her to read.</p> - -<p>The letter came from Revaud’s father. -In ten lines written in a painstaking hand, -with thick downstrokes and fine upstrokes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -with flourishes and a dashing signature, the -old man announced that he was going to -visit him one day in the near future.</p> - -<p>Laughter came back again to Revaud, -and with laughter a final justification for -living. All day he toyed with the letter, and -used gladly to show it and say:</p> - -<p>“We are going to have a visit. My father -is coming to see us.”</p> - -<p>Then he began to be rather confiding.</p> - -<p>“My father, you know, is a fine fellow, but -he has had some hard knocks. You will see -my father—he’s a fellow that’s up to a few -tricks, and, what’s worse, he wears a shirt -collar.”</p> - -<p>Finally he ended by restricting his comments -on his father’s character to this -statement:</p> - -<p>“My father!—you’ll see—he wears a shirt -collar.”</p> - -<p>The days passed, and Revaud spoke so -often of his father that in the end he no -longer knew whether the visitor had come -or was yet to come. Thus, by a special providence, -Revaud never knew that his father<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -did not come to see him; and afterwards, -when wanting to make allusion to this remarkable -period, he had recourse to a very -ample phrase, and used to say:</p> - -<p>“It was the time of my father’s visit.”</p> - -<p>Revaud was spoiled: he never lacked -cigarettes or company, and he used to confess -so contentedly: “I’m the pet of this -hospital.”</p> - -<p>Besides, Revaud was not difficult. Tarrissant -had only to appear between his -crutches for the dying man to exclaim, -“Here’s another who’s come to see me. I -told you I was the pet here.”</p> - -<p>Tarrissant had undergone the same operation -as Revaud. It was a complicated -business, taking place in the knee. Only, -in the case of Tarrissant the operation had -been more or less a complete success, and -in the case of Revaud, more or less a -failure, because “it depends on one’s blood.”</p> - -<p>From the operation itself Revaud thought -he had learned a new word: “His knee had -been ‘dezected.’” He used to look at -Tarrissant, and, comparing himself with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> -convalescing young man, he came to the -simple conclusion:</p> - -<p>“We are both ‘dezected’ men, except -that my old woman has left me; and, too, I -have been overworked.”</p> - -<p>It was the only allusion that Revaud -ever made to his conjugal misfortune and -to his toiling past.</p> - -<p>But really, why think of all these things? -Hasn’t man enough to do with a troublesome -leg, or this perpetual need which he -cannot control?</p> - -<p>Every evening each one prepared to -face the long night with little preparations, -as if they were about to set out on a journey. -Remusot was pricked in the thigh, and at -once he was in a dreamland bathed in -sweat, in which the fever brought before his -eyes things he never would describe to anyone. -Mery had a large mug of some decoction -or other prepared for him, and he had only -to stretch out his arm to get it. Sandrap -smoked his last cigarette, and Revaud asked -for his cushion. It was a little cotton pillow, -which was placed against his side. Only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -when this was done was Revaud willing to -say, “That’s it, boys! That’ll do.”</p> - -<p>And from that moment they went off -into a sleep that was horrible and teeming -like a forest waylaid with snares, and each -of them wandered in the pursuit of his -dreams.</p> - -<p>While the mind was beating its wings, -the four bodies remained still. A little -night-light relieved the darkness. Then, in -slippered footfalls, a night attendant came -and put his head through the door and -heard the four tortured respiratory movements, -and occasionally surprised the open -but absent look of Remusot; in contemplating -these patched-up human remains, -he suddenly thought of a raft of shipwrecked -men—of a raft tossed by the waves of the -sea, with four bodies in distress.</p> - -<p>The window-panes continued to vibrate -plaintively with the echoes of the war. -Sometimes, in the course of the long night, -the war seemed to stop, as a woodcutter -pauses to take breath between two blows -of his axe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<p>It was then that, in the deep and sudden -silence, they awoke with queer painful -sensations; and they thought of all the -things that happen in battle—they thought -of these things when not a sound could be -heard.</p> - -<p>Dawn broke reluctantly, those days of -winter. The orderlies scrubbed the floor. -They blew out the spluttering night-light -which stank of burnt fat. Then there were -the morning ablutions, and all the pains -and screams of wound-dressing.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, in the middle of the trivial -duties of the day, the door was solemnly -opened and a general entered, followed by -the officers of the staff. He paused at -first on the threshold, overcome by the -unwholesome air, then he made a few steps -into the room and asked who were these -men. The doctor used to whisper in his -ear, and the general replied quite simply:</p> - -<p>“Ah, good! Excellent!”</p> - -<p>When he had gone, Revaud always used -to assure us:</p> - -<p>“The general wouldn’t think of coming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -here without seeing me. He’s an old -pal.”</p> - -<p>After that, there was something to talk -about the whole day.</p> - -<p>Many officers used to come as well—of -the highest rank. They read the papers -pinned on the wall. “Frankly,” they said, -“it’s a very fine result.”</p> - -<p>One of them began one day to examine -Mery. He was a doctor, with a white-bearded -chin, very large and corpulent, his breast -decorated with crosses and his neck pink -with good living. He seemed a decent fellow -and disposed to show sympathy. He said, -in fact:</p> - -<p>“Poor devil! Ah, but you see the same -sort of thing might happen to me.”</p> - -<p>More often than not, nobody came, -absolutely no one, and the day was endured -only by being taken in small mouthfuls, like -their meat at dinner.</p> - -<p>Once a great event happened. Mery -was taken out and placed under the X-rays. -He came back, well content, remarking:</p> - -<p>“At least, it isn’t painful.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> - -<p>Another time Revaud’s leg was amputated. -He had murmured when giving his -consent: “I’d done my best to keep it, -this old leg of mine! Well! well! So -much the worse, so get on with it. Poor -old thing!”</p> - -<p>He burst out laughing once again; and -no one has laughed, and no one will laugh -again, as Revaud did that day.</p> - -<p>His leg then was to be amputated. The -noblest blood in France flowed once more. -But it took place between four walls, in a -little room white-washed like a dairy, and -no one heard of it.</p> - -<p>Revaud was put back to bed behind the -door. He awoke, and like a child said:</p> - -<p>“They’ve set me back quite warm and -‘comfy’ with this leg.”</p> - -<p>Revaud had rather a good night, and -when, on the next day, Mme. Baugan came -into the room, he said to her, as he now -was in the habit of saying:</p> - -<p>“Fine, Madame Baugan. I’ve had a -good night.”</p> - -<p>With this, his head dropped on one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -side, his mouth opened little by little, and, -without further remark or movement, he -was dead.</p> - -<p>“Poor Revaud!” exclaimed Mme. Baugan. -“Oh! he is dead.”</p> - -<p>She kissed his brow, and at once began -to lay him out, for a long day faced her -and she could not afford to waste time.</p> - -<p>As Mme. Baugan dressed Revaud, she -grumbled and scolded good-naturedly because -the corpse was difficult to manage.</p> - -<p>Sandrap, Mery and Remusot said nothing. -The rain streamed down the panes, which -never stopped rattling because of the gunfire.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">ON THE SOMME FRONT</h2> -</div> - - -<p>I hadn’t the heart to laugh, but sometimes -I felt vaguely envious. I thought -of the men who were carrying on the war, -in the newspapers—those who wrote: “The -line has been pierced; why hesitate to throw -in fifty divisions?” Or: “we have only to -bring our reserves right up to the line. A -hundred thousand men must at once fill the -gap.”</p> - -<p>I longed to see that brave set compelled -to find between Fouilly and Maricourt a little -corner as secure as their little heaps of paper -plans, on which a purring cat might find -repose. I swear they would have found it -rather difficult.</p> - -<p>I thought abstractedly about my work as -I went along; from time to time I glanced -round at the scene, and I assure you one -hit upon some queer things.</p> - -<p>Beneath the rows of poplar trees that -stretched along the valley a huge army had -taken cover, with its battalions, its animals -and wagons, its iron and steel, its faded -tarpaulins and leather trappings that stank,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -and its refuse heaps. Horses nibbled at -the bark of large decaying trees, that were -stricken with a premature autumnal disease. -Three meagre elm trees served as a shelter -for a whole encampment: a dusty hedge threw -its protecting shadow over the ammunition -train of a regiment. But the vegetation -was scarce and the shelter it afforded most -scanty, so that from all parts the army overflowed -right on to the bare plain, tearing up -the surface of the roads and leaving a regular -network of tracks, as if great hordes of wild -beasts had made their passage along it.</p> - -<p>There were roads that marked off the -British from the French. There you could -see marching by the splendid artillery of -the British, quite new and glistening, fitted -with light-coloured harness and nickel-plated -buckles, with special rugs for the horses, -that were well fed and gleaming like circus -mounts.</p> - -<p>The infantry were also filing past—young -men, all of them. They marched to the wild -negro music of the flutes and gaily-coloured -drums. Then cars fitted with beds, tier upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -tier, came slowly along, jolting as little as -possible, carrying the wounded fair-haired -boys with wondering eyes, looking as placid -as a touring party of Cook’s.</p> - -<p>Our villages were packed to suffocation. -Man had got everywhere, like a plague or a -flood.</p> - -<p>He had driven the cattle from their -shelter and fixed his abode in hutches, stables -and cowsheds.</p> - -<p>The shell depôts seemed like pottery -fields full of earthenware pitchers. Barges -floated on the slimy water of the canal. -Some carried food and guns: others served -as hospital-boats.</p> - -<p>From the movements of this heaving -mass of beings and the creaking of their -machinery, the panting of a giant seemed to -issue forth and fill the silence. The whole -scene suggested a sinister fair, a festival of -war, a gathering of Bohemian clans and -dancers of evil repute.</p> - -<p>The nearer you got to Bray the more -congested the country appeared to be. The -motor-riding population held tyrannic sway<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -over the roads, forcing the lowlier horse-wagons -to drive across the fields. Little -trollies running on rails clanked along pompously, -showing great independence, hugging -the ground with their small wheels, and their -back loaded with millions of cartridges: in -amongst the boxes some fellows were squatting, -half asleep, proclaiming to the world in -general the pleasure of being seated on something -which does all the walking for you.</p> - -<p>When I got above Chipilly, I beheld -an extraordinary scene. An immense plain -undulated there, covered with so many men, -things and beasts, that over vast stretches -the ground was no longer visible. Beyond -the ruined tower which looks upon Etinehem -lay land of a reddish-brown colour. I saw -later that this colour was due to a great -mass of horses closely pressed against each -other. Every day they were brought to -the muddy trough of the Somme to slake -their thirst. The tracks were turned into -sloughs, and the air was filled with an overpowering -smell of sweat and manure.</p> - -<p>Then, towards the left, stood a veritable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -town of unbleached tents, whose top coverings -were marked with large red crosses. -Farther on, the ground sank down, only to -curve up again suddenly towards the battlefield -quivering on the horizon in a black -fog. From different points a burst of discharging -shells sent up white clouds, side -by side, in quick succession, like rows of -trees on the roadside. In the open sky -more than thirty balloons formed a ring, -giving one the impression of spectators -interested in a brawl.</p> - -<p>The Adjutant, pointing out the tents, -said to me, “That’s Hill 80. You will see -more wounded passing there than there are -hairs on your head, and more blood flowing -than the water in the canal. All those who -are hit between Combles and Bouchavesnes -are brought to Hill 80.”</p> - -<p>I nodded, and we relapsed again into -silence and reflection. The day gave out -in the unclean air of the marshes. The -English were firing their big cannon not -far from us, and their roar crashed along -the alignment like an enraged horse dashing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -blindly away. The horizon was so thick -with guns that you could hear a continuous -gurgle as of a huge cauldron in the tormenting -grip of a furnace.</p> - -<p>The Adjutant turned again to me. -“Three of your brothers have been killed,” -he said. “In one sense you are out of the -business. You won’t be very badly off as -a stretcher-bearer. In another it is unfortunate, -but a good thing for you. It’s -hard work, stretcher-bearing, but it’s better -than the line. Don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p>I said nothing. I thought of that -devastated little valley where I had spent -the first few weeks of the summer in front -of the Plémont hill—the deadly hours I -spent looking at the ruins of Lassigny -between the torn and jagged poplars, and -the apple-trees blighted with the horror on -the edge of the chaotic road, and the repulsive -shell-holes full of green slime and swarming -with life, and the mute face of the Château -de Plessier, and the commanding hill which -a cosmic upheaval alone had made capable -of giving rise to grim forebodings. There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -during long nights I had breathed the fetid -air of the corpse-laden fields. In the most -despairing loneliness I had been in turn -terrified of death and longing for it. And -then some one came along one day to tell -me that “You can go back behind the -lines. Your third brother has been killed.” -And many of the men looked at me, seeming -to think with the Adjutant, “Your -third brother is dead. In a sense you -are lucky.”</p> - -<p>Those were my thoughts as I entered -upon my new duties. We were walking -along the plateau, which stood out before -heaven, erect as an altar, piled with millions -of creatures ready for the sacrifice.</p> - -<p>It had been dry for several days, and we -lived under the rule of King Dust. The dust -is the price we pay for fine weather: it -attacks the fighting pack, intrudes upon its -work, its food and its thoughts; it makes -your lips filthy, your teeth crunch, and your -eyes inflamed. But when it disappears the -reign of mud begins, and then we passionately -desire to stagnate again in the dust.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> - -<p>Far away, like idly moving rivers, large -columns of dust marked all the roads in the -district, and were filtered by the wind as -they flowed over the countryside. The light -of day was polluted with it, as the sky was -ravaged by great flights of aeroplanes, and -the silence violated and degraded, and the -earth with its vegetation torn and mutilated.</p> - -<p>I was not that day by any means disposed -to be happy, but all this plunged me into -the deepest gloom.</p> - -<p>Looking all around me I found the only -places where I could rest my eyes were in the -innocent looks of the horses or on some -unfortunate timid men who worked on the -roadside. Everything else was nothing but -a bristling gesture of war.</p> - -<p>Night had fallen when we arrived at the -city of tents. The Adjutant took me to a tent -and found me a place on some straw which -was strongly reminiscent of the pigsty. I -took off my knapsack, lay down and fell -asleep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I got up with the dawn and, wandering -through the mist, tried to find my bearings.</p> - -<p>There was the road leading from Albert—worn, -hollowed, and terribly overrun. It -bore the never-ending stream of wounded. -Alongside of it stood the city of tents, with its -streets, its suburbs, and its public squares. -Behind the tents, a cemetery. That was all.</p> - -<p>I was leaning on a fence and I looked at -the cemetery. Though it was overflowing, -its appetite was insatiable. A group of -German prisoners were occupied in digging -long dark pits that were like so many open -and expectant mouths. Two officers went -by: one was fat, and looked as if at any -moment he would be struck with apoplexy. -He was gesticulating wildly to the other. -“We have,” he said, “got ready in advance -200 graves and almost as many coffins. No, -you can’t say that this offensive has not -been planned.”</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, a large number of -coffins had been already completed. They -filled the tent where the corpses were to be unceremoniously -laid out. Outside in the open,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -a large gang of joiners were engaged in cutting -up planks of pinewood. They were whistling -and singing innocently, as is usual with those -who work with their hands.</p> - -<p>I realised once again how a man’s opinion -of great events is determined by his vocation -and aptitudes. There was a sergeant there -whose views of Armageddon varied with the -quality of the wood which he had to use. -When the wood was bad he used to say, -“This war is damned rot.” But when the -wood was clear of knots his view was: -“We’ll get them licked.”</p> - -<p>The heavy and responsible task of running -the hospital was entrusted to a nervy and -excitable young man. He appeared at every -moment, his fingers clutching bundles of -papers, which he passed from one hand to the -other. I had few opportunities of hearing -him speak, but, when I did, each time I caught -the same words: “That’s not my business—I -am getting crazy with it all. I have enough -worries of that sort.”</p> - -<p>I knew then that he had to think of -many things. Almost all day a procession<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -of motor cars, heavily laden with a groaning -mass of wounded, came along the winding -road which was being hastily metalled, looking -like the ravenous gullet of this vast organism. -On the top of the bend the lorries were -unloaded under a porch decorated with -flags, bearing no small resemblance to the -festooned arch which on wedding days is -erected at church doors.</p> - -<p>From the first day I was ordered on -night duty to deal with the ambulance cars -as they arrived. A dozen of us were grouped -under the porch for this purpose.</p> - -<p>Up to that time it was only in the trenches -that I had seen my comrades, wounded -beside me, starting out on a long and -mysterious journey of which little was -known to us. The man who was hit -appeared to be spirited away—he vanished -from the battlefield. I was going to know -all the stages of the suffering existence he -was then only beginning.</p> - -<p>The night I went on duty there had been -a scrap towards Maurepas or Le Forest. -Happening between two days of tremendous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -fighting, it was one of those incidents which -seldom call for a single line in the communiqués. -Yet the wounded streamed in -all night. As soon as they were lowered from -the cars, we got them into a large tent. -It was an immense canvas hall lit with -electricity. It had been pitched on ground -covered with stubble, and its rough soil -was bristling with anæmic grass and badly -pressed clods. Those among the wounded -who could walk were directed along a passage -railed off on both sides, as is done at theatre -entrances to make the crowd line up into -a queue. They seemed dazed and exhausted. -We took away their arms, knives and -grenades. They let you do anything to -them: they were like children overcome -with sleep. The massacre of Europe cannot -proceed without organisation. All the -acts of the play are based on the most -detailed calculation. As these men filed -past, they were counted and labelled; clerks -verified their identity with the unconcerned -accuracy of customs officials. They, -on their part, replied with the patience of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> -eternal public at government inquiry offices. -Sometimes they even ventured to make a -remark.</p> - -<p>“Your name is Menu,” one cavalryman -was asked. “Isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>And the cavalryman replied in a heart-rending -tone:</p> - -<p>“Alas! it is, unfortunately.”</p> - -<p>I remember a little man whose arm was -in a sling. A doctor was looking at his -papers, and said:</p> - -<p>“You have a wound in your right arm?”</p> - -<p>And the man replied so modestly:</p> - -<p>“Oh! it is not a wound. It is only a -hole!”</p> - -<p>In one corner of the tent they were -giving out food and drink. A cook was -carving slices of beef and cutting up a round -of cheese. The wounded seized the food -with their muddy and blood-stained hands; -and they were eating slowly and with evident -relish. The inference was plain. Many were -suffering primarily from hunger and thirst. -They sat timidly on a bench like some very -poor guests at a buffet during a garden party.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> - -<p>In front of them there were a score of -wounded Germans who had been placed -there indiscriminately. They were dozing -or throwing hungry glances on the food and -the pails of steaming tea. Hitting on a -popular slang expression, a grey-haired -infantryman, who was munching large pieces -of boiled beef, said suddenly to the cook:</p> - -<p>“Hang it all! Why not give them a -piece of bully-beef?”</p> - -<p>“Do you know them then?” said the -cook jocularly.</p> - -<p>“Do I know them! The poor devils! -We have been punching each other the -whole blessed day. Chuck them a piece -of meat. Why not?”</p> - -<p>A frivolous young man, short-sighted, -with a turned-up nose, added in a tense voice:</p> - -<p>“Ought to be done, you know—our -honour....”</p> - -<p>And they went on gravely chatting and -gulped down cupfuls of a hot brew which -was poured from a metal jug. From another -angle in the tent the scene was very different. -The men were lying down: they had grave -wounds. Placed side by side on the uneven<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -ground, they made a mosaic of pain stained -with mud and blood, the colours of war; -reeking with sweat and corruption, the smells -of war; noisy with cries, moans and hiccups -which are the sounds and music of war.</p> - -<p>I shivered at the sight. I had known -the bristling horror of the massacre and the -charge. I was to learn another horror, that -of the <em>tableau</em>—the accumulation of prostrate -victims, the spectacle of the vast hall -swarming with human larvæ, in heaps, on the -floor.</p> - -<p>I had finished my work with the stretcher -and hastened to make my round of the -wounded. I was so deeply moved that I -was rather hindered in my work. Some of -the men were vomiting, suffering unutterable -agony, and their brows streaming with perspiration. -Others were very quiet and could -be more or less rational: they seemed to be -following the internal progress of their illness. -I was completely upset by one of them. He -was a fair-haired sergeant with a slight -moustache. His face was buried in his hands -and he was sobbing with despair and what -seemed like shame. I asked him if he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -suffering pain. He scarcely replied. Then, -gently lifting his blanket, I saw that he had -been terribly hit by grape shot in his virility. -And I felt a deep pity for his youth and his -tears.</p> - -<p>There was also a boy who used to utter -a queer plaint, current in his locality. But -I could only catch these syllables: “Ah! -mon ... don....” A doctor who was passing -said to him:</p> - -<p>“Come, come! a little patience! Do not -cry out like that.”</p> - -<p>The child paused a moment before replying: -“I’d have to lose my voice first if I’m -not to cry.”</p> - -<p>His neighbour was a big, rough, good-natured -fellow with a powerful jaw, strong -and massive features, with the peculiar shape -of the skull and growth of hair that characterise -the folk of Auvergne.</p> - -<p>He looked at the boy who was groaning -at his side, and, turning to me, commented, -with a shrug of the shoulders:</p> - -<p>“Rotten luck being hit like that, poor -child!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> - -<p>“And what’s the matter with you?” I -said to him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think I have lost my feet; -but I am fairly strong and my body is -solid.”...</p> - -<p>It was true! I saw that both his feet had -been torn away.</p> - -<p>Round the electric arcs, luminous rings -were formed by the sickening vapour. On -the sides of the tent, in the folds, you could -see the flies sleeping in big black patches, -overcome by the cold freshness of night.</p> - -<p>Large waves rolled on the canvas, passing -like a shudder or violently flapping, according -as the wind or gunfire was the cause.</p> - -<p>I stepped carefully over some stretchers -and found myself outside, in a night that -roared, illuminated by the aurora borealis of -the battlefield.</p> - -<p>I had walked, with my hands held out in -front of me, until I came upon a fence. -Suddenly I knew what it was to be leaning -against the parapet of hell!</p> - -<p>What a human tempest! What explosions -of hatred and destruction! You<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -would have said that a company of giants -were forging the horizon of the earth with -repeated blows that filled the air with countless -sparks. Innumerable furtive lights gave -one continuous great light that lived, throbbed -and danced, dazzling the sky and the land. -Jets of iridescent light were bursting in the -open sky as if they fell from the blows of the -steam-hammer on white-hot steel. To me -who had only recently left the trenches, each -of these firework displays meant something—advice, -commands, desperate calls, signals -for slaughter; and I interpreted this furnace -as if it had expressed in words the fury and -distress of the combatants.</p> - -<p>Towards Combles, on the left of Maurepas, -one section above all seemed to be raging. -It was just there that the junction was -made between the English and the French -armies; and it was there that the enemy -concentrated a tumultuous and never-slackening -fire. Every night, during many -weeks, I saw this place lighted up with the -same devouring flame. It was at each instant -so intense that every instant appeared to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -be the decisive one. But hours, nights and -months went slowly by in the eternity of -time, and each of these terrible moments -was only one intense outburst out of an -infinity of them. Thus often the agony -of wounds is such that you would hardly -think it could be endured any longer. But -death comes not willingly at the desire of -men: it strikes at will, when it likes, where -it likes, and hardly permits itself to be -directed or coaxed.</p> - -<p>Morning came. Those who have seen -the daybreaks of the war, after nights spent -in fighting, or in the bloody work of the -ambulance, will understand what is the most -ugly and mournful thing in the world.</p> - -<p>For my part, I shall never forget the -green and grudging light of the dawn, the -desolating look of the lamps and the faces, -the asphyxiating smell of men attacked by -corruption, the cold shiver of the morning, -like the last frozen breath of night in the -congealed foliage of large trees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>My work as a stretcher-bearer was over. -I could return to carpentry. I made heavy -planks of green wood and thought of all sorts -of things, as the mind does when robbed of -sleep and overwhelmed with bitterness.</p> - -<p>Towards eight o’clock in the morning -the sun was hailed by a race of flies as -it was emerging painfully from the mist; -and these animals began to abandon themselves -to their vast daily orgy.</p> - -<p>All those who were on the Somme in -1916 will never forget the flies. The chaos -of the battlefield, its wealth in carrion, the -abnormal accumulation of animals, of men, -of food that had gone bad—all these were -factors in determining that year a gigantic -swarm of flies. They seemed to have -gathered there from all parts of the globe -to attend a solemn function. Every possible -kind of fly was there, and the human world, -victim of its own hatreds, remained defenceless -against this horrible invasion. During -a whole summer they were the absolute -monarchs and queens, and we did not dispute -the food with them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> - -<p>I have seen, on Ridge 80, wounds swarming -with larvæ—sights which, since the battle -of the Marne, we had been able to forget. -I have seen flies dashing themselves on -the blood and the pus of wounds and feeding -themselves with such drunken frenzy that, -before they could be induced to leave their -feasting and fly away, they had to be seized -with pincers or with one’s fingers. The -army suffered cruelly from them, and it is -amazing that, in the end, victory was not -theirs.</p> - -<p>Nothing had a more lugubrious and -stripped appearance than the plateau on -which stood the city of tents. Every morning -heavy traction engines went up the -Etinehem hill and brought water to the -camp. Several casks placed in amongst -the trees were filled with water of rather a -sweet taste, and this provision was to suffice, -for a whole day, to slake the thirst of the -men and clean away the impurities and -emissions of disease.</p> - -<p>Except on the horizon line, not a bush -was to be seen. Nowhere a tuft of fresh<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -grass. Nothing but an immense stretch of -dust or mud, according as the face of the -sky was calm or stormy. To relieve this -desolate scene with a little colour, someone -had had the happy idea of cultivating a -little garden between the tents. And the -wounded, on being lowered from the cars, -were astonished to see, in the midst of the -ghastliness of military activity, the pale -smile of a geranium, or juniper trees uprooted -from the stony ridges of the valley and -replanted hastily in the style of French -gardens.</p> - -<p>I cannot, without being strangely moved, -recall the tent in which about twelve soldiers -were dying of gaseous gangrene. Around -this deathly spot ran a thin little border of -flowers, and an assiduous fellow was calmly -trying to bring into bloom crimson bell-flowers.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the earth, torrid with the -month of August, seemed to reel with the -satiating deluge of a storm. At such moments -the tents used to crackle furiously and -seemed, like great livid birds, to cling to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -the earth in order better to resist the blast -of the south wind.</p> - -<p>But neither the gusts of rain nor the -galloping thunderclaps, none of these tumults -of Nature, interrupted man from his war. -The operations and the dressing of wounds -continued on Hill 80 as, on neighbouring -hills, the batteries ploughed up the disputed -ground. Often it seemed that man insisted -on speaking more loudly than Heaven, and -the guns and the thunder seemed determined -to outbid each other.</p> - -<p>Once, I remember, the thunder had the -last word: two sausage-shaped balloons took -fire, and the artillery, stricken blind, stammered -and then became mute.</p> - -<p>In a few days, I was given the job -of furnishing the tents with little pieces of -joinery, benches and tables. I worked on -the spot, taking my tools with me, and I -did my best not to disturb the patients, -who were already exhausted by the din of -battle. This was very painful work, because -it made me a helpless spectator of unutterable -misery. I remember being greatly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -touched on one occasion: a young artilleryman, -wounded in the face, was being visited -by his brother, a cadet in a neighbouring -regiment. The latter, very pale, was looking -at the face of the wounded man, of which -only an eye could be seen and a stained -bandage. He took his hands, and bent -down quite naturally to kiss him; then he -shrank back, only to come near again, victim -of an emotion of mingled horror and pity. -Then the wounded man, who could not speak, -had an inspiration that was full of tenderness: -with outspread fingers he began to -stroke the hair and face of his brother. This -silent affection told how willingly the soul -gives up the spoken word and yields to its -most intimate gestures.</p> - -<p>In the same tent Lieutenant Gambin -was dying.</p> - -<p>He was rather a crude, simple-hearted -man, who had been engaged in some obscure -civilian employment, and who now, solely -by dint of his stubborn courage, had gained -a commission. His large frame lay exhausted -from hæmorrhage, and for two days he lay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -dying. The breath of life took two days -to quit his ice-cold limbs, from which exuded -large beads of glutinous sweat. From time -to time he sighed. At last, leaving my -screw-driver and iron nails, I asked him if -he would like something. He looked at -me with wide-open eyes, full of memories -and sadness, and said:</p> - -<p>“No, thank you. But oh, I’ve got the -hump!”</p> - -<p>I was almost glad to see him die: he was -too conscious of his long, dragging, terrible -death.</p> - -<p>Little Lalau who died the same day was -at least unconscious, though delirious, to -the last.</p> - -<p>He was a country lad, and had been -struck in the spinal cord by a piece of shell. -A kind of meningitis ensued, and, at once, -he lost his reason. The pupils of his eyes -swung to and fro with sickening rapidity; -he never ceased moving his jaw, apparently -chewing like a ruminant. One day I found -him devouring a string of beads which had -been hung round his neck by a chaplain.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> -An orderly kept his mouth open while we -removed several pieces of wood and steel. -The poor wretch laughed softly, repeating: -“It’s a bit hard. It’s a bit hard to chew”; -and the lines of his face twitched with innumerable -spasms of pain.</p> - -<p>Delirium upsets and wounds the spirit. -For it constitutes the uttermost disorder—that -of the mind. But it perhaps betrays -benevolence on the part of Nature when it -deprives man of the consciousness of his -misery. Life and death have it in their -power to confer these mournful blessings. -Once I saw a soldier struck in so many places -that the doctors decided he was beyond the -resources of their skill. Among other wounds -there was a long splinter of steel driven like -a dagger through his right wrist. The sight -was so cruel and revolting that an attempt -was made to remove the steel. A doctor -gripped it firmly and tried to loosen it with -sharp, short pulls.</p> - -<p>“Is it giving you pain?” he said from time -to time.</p> - -<p>And the patient replied:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> - -<p>“No; but I’m thirsty!”</p> - -<p>“How is it,” I asked the doctor, “that he -can’t feel the pain you are giving him?”</p> - -<p>“It’s because he is in a state of shock,” -replied the surgeon.</p> - -<p>And I understood how the very extremity -of pain sometimes obtains for its victims a -truce which is, in a way, a foretaste of the -sweets of death—the prelude to extinction.</p> - -<p>At each end of the large marquees one -of those small bell tents had been erected to -which the soldiers had given the name of -“mosques.” They served as death chambers. -There were placed the men who were lost to -human succour, in a loneliness that presaged -the tomb. And some of them were aware of -this. There was a soldier with a riddled -abdomen who asked, on entering the tent, -to be dressed in clean linen.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let me die,” he pleaded, “in an -unclean shirt. Give me something white. -If you are too busy, I’ll put it on myself.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes, unutterably wearied by so -much suffering, I asked for work outside the -camp, in order to sort out my ideas and renew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -the theme of my reflections. It was always -with a sigh of comfort that I got away from -the city of tents. I contemplated, from a -distance, this sinister agglomeration, which -certainly bore comparison with an itinerant -fair. I tried to distinguish amid the white -canvas and red crosses the tops of these -little “mosques.” I gazed also at the cemetery -where hundreds and hundreds of bodies -had been buried; and, realising the sum of -the misery, despair and rage accumulated -on that spot of the earth, I thought of the -people who, far away in the heart of France, -were crowding the concert cafés, the drawing-rooms, -the cinemas, the brothels, finding -brazen enjoyment in themselves, in the -world, in the weather; and, sheltered by -this quivering rampart of the sacrificed, -will not share in this universal anguish. -I thought of these people with more shame -than resentment.</p> - -<p>The excursions in the open freshened me -a little, and I found some comfort in the sight -of healthy men spared by the battle.</p> - -<p>Sometimes I went as far as the English<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> -sector. Masses of long-range artillery were -to be seen there. The guns were served by -soldiers in shirt-sleeves and long trousers -stained by oil and cart-grease. They looked -more like factory workers than soldiers. You -felt then how war has become an industry—an -engineering business devoted to mechanical -slaughter and massacre.</p> - -<p>One night, walking along the Albert road, -I overheard the conversation of some men -who were sitting on the upturned earth of -a pit. By their accent they were peasants -from the north and must have belonged -to the regiments which had just been -under fire.</p> - -<p>“After the war,” said one of them, -“those who are going to dabble in politics, -they’ll have to say they had a hand in this -confounded war.”</p> - -<p>But this frank opinion, caught in passing -one night along a road in the front—this -inconsequent, unanswered comment was lost -in the tumult of the gunfire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I gained much by being stretcher-bearer. -I came to know the men better than I -had ever done until then—to know them -bathed in a purer light, <em>naked</em> before death, -stripped even of the instincts which disfigure -the divine beauty of simple souls.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the greatest trials our -race of peasants has remained vigorous, -pure, worthy of the noblest human traditions. -I have known them—Rebic, Louba, Ratier, -Freyssinet, Calmel, Touche, and so many -others whom I must not name if I am not -to mention the whole country. It cannot -be said that pain chose its victims, and yet, -when I used to pass by their beds where -their destiny struggled—when I looked at -their faces, each one of them, they all seemed -to me good, patient, energetic men, and all -of them deserved to be loved.</p> - -<p>Did Rebic, that grey-haired sergeant, not -richly deserve that a loving family waited -longingly for him at home? One day we -came to dress the big gash in his side, and -we hastened to bring him white linen and -made him a warm bed; he began to weep,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -good and simple man, and we asked him -why, and he made this sublime answer:</p> - -<p>“I cry because of the agony and misery -I am giving you.”</p> - -<p>As for Louba, we could not expect to -hear him speak: a shell had smashed in -his face. There remained nothing of it -except one immense cruel gash; an eye -displaced, twisted; and forehead—a humble -peasant forehead. Yet one day, as we -whispered some brotherly words, Louba -wished to show how pleased he was, and -he smiled to us. They will remember, -those who saw the soul of Louba smiling -faceless.</p> - -<p>Freyssinet, child of twenty, often lapsed -into delirium, and was aware of it in his -conscious moments, and asked pardon of -those whom it might have disturbed. The -hour came when he sank into the peace -everlasting. A much-decorated personage -was making the round of the wards attended -by an imposing suite. He stopped at the -foot of each bed and uttered, in a fitting -voice, words conferring whatever honour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -which they represented in the minds of the -patients. He stopped before Freyssinet’s bed -and began his speech. As he was an important -and methodical man, he said what he -had to say without noticing the many signs -that were being made to make him desist. -Having spoken, he nevertheless asked those -who were looking on:</p> - -<p>“You wanted to tell me something?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied someone; “it is that the -man is dead.”</p> - -<p>But Freyssinet was so modest, so timid, -that the very attitude of his corpse betrayed -respect and confusion.</p> - -<p>It is there, also, that I made the -acquaintance of Touche.</p> - -<p>He came to us, poor Touche! his head -broken, having had to leave a temporary -hospital owing to its catching fire. I saw -him turning out with his groping hands a -bag which contained all his possessions.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he was saying, “they are -all lost, and I’ll never find them.”</p> - -<p>“What are you looking for?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I am looking for the little photos of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -my two boys and of my wife. Unfortunately, -they are lost. I shall miss them.”</p> - -<p>I helped him in his search, and then I -saw that Touche was blind.</p> - -<p>Poor Touche! He easily recognised me -by my voice and always had a smile for -me. He was awkward at table, as a man -would naturally be who is not yet accustomed -to his infirmity. But he tried to manage -by himself, and used to tell us in a quiet -voice:</p> - -<p>“I am doing my best, you see: I scrape -my plate until I feel there is nothing -more.”</p> - -<p>Could I forget the name of the man -who was brought in, one night, with his -two legs smashed, and who murmured -simply:</p> - -<p>“It’s hard to have to die! But come! -I’ll be brave.”</p> - -<p>But Calmel, Calmel! No one who knew -him will ever wish to forget him. Never -did a man more passionately desire to live! -Never did a man attain greater nobility by -his endurance and resignation! He suffered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> -mortal wounds which at every moment the -light of the life within him repudiated. It -was he who, during a night bombardment, -addressed his hospital comrades, exhorting -them to be calm, with his authoritative -moribund voice.</p> - -<p>“Come, come!” he used to say; “we are -all men here, are we not?”</p> - -<p>Such is the strength of the spirit that -these words alone, uttered by such a man, -were capable of restoring order and confidence -in the hearts of everyone.</p> - -<p>It was to Calmel that a plump civilian, -entrusted with some business or other with -the armies, said one day with jubilant -conviction:</p> - -<p>“You appear to be badly hit, my brave -man. But if you knew what wounds we -inflict on them, with our 75! Terrible -wounds, old boy, terrible!”</p> - -<p>Each day brought visitors to Hill 80. -They came from Amiens in sumptuous -motor cars. They chatted as they traversed -the great canvas hall, as if at a prize -exhibition of agricultural produce: to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -wounded they addressed a few words that -were in keeping with their personal station, -their opinions and dignity. They wrote notes -on memorandum-books and sometimes -accepted invitations to supper from the -officers. There were foreigners, philanthropists, -politicians, actresses, millionaires, -novelists, and “penny-a-liners.” Those who -were looking for strange sensations were -sometimes admitted to the “mosque” or the -operation-room.</p> - -<p>They went away, well content with their -day when the weather was fine, in the sure -knowledge that they had seen some queer -things, heroic fighters, and a model establishment.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But silence! I have pronounced their -names—Freyssinet, Touche, Calmel—and the -memories which they leave in my heart are -too noble to be mingled with bitterness.</p> - -<p>What has become of Hill 80 deserted? -The battle has advanced towards the east. -Winter has come; the city of tents has furled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -its canvas, as a fleet of sailing ships which -must prepare for new destinies.</p> - -<p>Often, in imagination, I see again the -bare plateau and the immense burial ground -left derelict in the fields and the mists, like -the wreckage of innumerable ships down in -the depths of the sea.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">RÉCHOUSSAT’S CHRISTMAS</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Réchoussat repeated in a shrill, -strained voice: “I tell you, they’re -not coming after all.”</p> - -<p>Corporal Têtard turned a deaf ear to -this. He was sorting out his stock on a -table: lints, oil, rubber gloves reminiscent -of the fencer, probes enclosed in a tube like -vanilla cornets, a basin of enamelled sheet-iron -resembling a big bean, and a bulging vase -with a wide gaping mouth, looking like anything -at all.</p> - -<p>Réchoussat affected an air of indifference. -“They needn’t come if they don’t wish to. -Anyway, I don’t care.”</p> - -<p>Corporal Têtard shrugged his shoulders. -“But I tell you they will come,” he said.</p> - -<p>The wounded man obstinately shook his -head. “Here, old boy! nobody’ll come here. -All those who visit downstairs never come up -here. I’m only telling you. I don’t really -care, you know.”</p> - -<p>“You may be sure they will come.”</p> - -<p>“Really, I don’t know why I have been -placed here alone in the room.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span></p> - -<p>“Probably because you must have quiet.”</p> - -<p>“Whether they come or not, it’s all one -to me.”</p> - -<p>Réchoussat frowned to show his pride, -then he added, sighing:</p> - -<p>“You can begin now with your bag of -tricks.”</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact Corporal Têtard was -ready. He had lighted a candle-end and in -one movement drew back the sheets.</p> - -<p>Réchoussat’s body was revealed, extraordinarily -thin, but Têtard scarcely noticed it, -and Réchoussat had for three months now -been fairly accustomed to his misery. He -knew quite well that to have a piece of shell -in the back is a serious matter, and that, when -a man’s legs and abdomen are paralysed, he -is not going to recover quickly.</p> - -<p>“Feeling better?” asked Têtard in the -course of his operation.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied. “Now it’s six o’clock -and they haven’t come. Good thing! I don’t -mind.”</p> - -<p>The corporal did not reply; with a weary -expression he rubbed together his rubber<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -gloves. Riveted to the wick, the candle-flame -leaped and struggled, like a wretched -prisoner yearning to escape and fly up alone -in the blackness of the room, and beyond, -higher, higher, in the winter sky, in regions -where the sounds of the war of man are no -longer heard. Both the patient and the -orderly watched the flame in silence, with -wide-open vague eyes. Every second a gun, -far away, snapped at the panes, and each -time the flame of the candle started nervously.</p> - -<p>“It takes a long time! You’re not cold?” -asked Têtard.</p> - -<p>“The lower part of my body does not -know what cold means.”</p> - -<p>“But it will, one day.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it will. It’s dead now, but it -must become alive again. I am only twenty-five; -it’s an age when the flesh has plenty -of vigour.”</p> - -<p>The corporal felt awkward, shaking his -head. Réchoussat seemed to him worn out; -he had large sores in the places where the -body rested on the bed. He had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> -isolated in order that his more fortunate -comrades should be spared the sight of his -slow, dragging death.</p> - -<p>A long moment went by. The silence -was so oppressive that for a moment they -felt their small talk quite inadequate. -Then, as if he was continuing a mental -discussion, Réchoussat suddenly remarked:</p> - -<p>“And yet, you know, I’m so easily -satisfied. If they came for two minutes -only.”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Têtard. “Hush!”</p> - -<p>He leaned, listening, towards the door. -Obscure sounds came from the passage.</p> - -<p>“Ah, here they are!” said the orderly.</p> - -<p>Réchoussat craned his neck. “Bah! No, -I tell you.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly a wonderful light, rich in reflections -of gold and crimson—a strange -fairy light—filled the passage. The wall in -front stood out; ordinarily as pale as -December woods, now it suddenly exhibited -the splendour of an eastern palace or of a -princess’ gown. In all this light there was -sound of happy voices and of laughter. No<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -one could be heard singing, yet the light -itself seemed to be singing a magnificent song. -Réchoussat, who could not move, stretched -his neck the more vigorously, and raised his -hands a little above the sheets, as if he -wanted to feel this beautiful sound and -light.</p> - -<p>“You see, you see,” said Têtard. “I -told you they would come.”</p> - -<p>Then there was a big blaze. Something -stopped before the door: it was a tree—a -real fir-tree from the forests, planted in a -green box. There were so many Chinese -lanterns and pink candles hanging from its -branches that it looked like an enormous -torch. But there was something grander -to come: the wise and learned kings now -entered. There was Sorri, a Senegalese gunner, -Moussa and Cazin. Wrapped in cloaks from -Adrianople, they wore long white beards made -of cotton wool.</p> - -<p>They walked right into Réchoussat’s room. -Sorri carried a little packet tied with ribbon. -Moussa waved aloft two cigars, and Cazin a -bottle of champagne. The three of them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -bowed punctiliously, as they had been told, -and Réchoussat found himself suddenly with -a box of chocolates in his right hand, two -cigars in his left, and a glass of foaming -wine on his little table.</p> - -<p>“Ah, boys! No, no; you’re joking, -boys.”</p> - -<p>Moussa and Cazin laughed. Sorri showed -his teeth.</p> - -<p>“Ah! boys,” repeated Réchoussat, “I -don’t smoke, but I’m going to keep the -cigars as a souvenir. Pass me the wine.”</p> - -<p>Sorri took the goblet and offered it as -if it were a sacred cup. Réchoussat drank -gently and said:</p> - -<p>“It’s some wine! Good stuff!”</p> - -<p>There were more than a score of faces at -the door, and they all smiled at the gentle -naïve Réchoussat.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, a veritable sunset! The -wonderful tree receded, jolting into the -passage. The venerable kings disappeared, -with their flowing cloaks and their sham -beards. Réchoussat still held the goblet -and gazed at the candle as if all the lights<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> -existed there. He laughed, slowly repeating, -“It’s some wine!” Then he continued -to laugh and never said a word.</p> - -<p>Quite gently the darkness entered the -room again, and lodged itself everywhere, -like an intimate animal disturbed in its -habits.</p> - -<p>With the darkness, something very sad -insinuated itself everywhere, which was the -odour of Réchoussat’s illness. A murmuring -silence rested on every object, like dust. -The face of the patient ceased to reflect -the splendour of the Christmas tree; his -head sunk down, he looked at the bed, at -his thin ulcerated legs, the glass vessel full of -unclean liquid, the probe, all these incomprehensible -things, and he said, stammering -with astonishment:</p> - -<p>“But ... but ... what is the matter -then? What is the matter?”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">LIEUTENANT DAUCHE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>It was in the month of October 1915 that -I made the acquaintance of Lieutenant -Dauche.</p> - -<p>I can never recall that time without deep -emotion. We had been living, before Sapigneul, -through weeks of fire. The Champagne -offensive had for long been rumbling on our -right, and its farthest eddies seemed to break -on our sector, as the waves scattered by a -hurricane that spends itself in the open sea. -For three days our guns had made reply to -those of Pouilleuse, and we had waited, rifles -at hand, for an order which never came. Our -minds were uneasy and vacant, still reeling -from that kind of resonant drunkenness which -results from a prolonged bombardment. We -were glad at not having to make a murderous -attack, and at the same time we worried over -the causes which had prevented it.</p> - -<p>It was then that I was wounded for the -first time. Some chance evacuation took -me to the Château de S——, which is, for -the Rheims country, an indifferent piece of -architecture. It stands in the midst of soft<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -verdure and looks, across the slope of the hill, -upon the delicate valley of the Vesle.</p> - -<p>My wound, though not serious, was painful -enough. It made me a little feverish and -long for silence and solitude. It gave me -pleasure to remain, for long hours, in the -presence of a pain which, while endurable, -made me test my patience and reflect on the -vulnerable nature of an organism in which, -up till then, I had placed an unshakable -confidence.</p> - -<p>I occupied a bright room, decorated with -Jouy tapestry and delicate paintings. My -bed was placed there together with that of -another officer, who walked silently up and -down the room, and who respected my -reticence. The day came, however, when I -was told to take solid food, and that day we -began chatting, no doubt because the most -ancient human traditions dispose those who -eat together to enter into conversation.</p> - -<p>In spite of the moods which I then experienced, -this talk was a pleasure and gave -me what I must have needed.</p> - -<p>I was absorbed in melancholy reflections,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -and brooded over the misery of the times. -Lieutenant Dauche from the first appeared -to me to show a serenity of mind and a quiet -cheerfulness of spirit. Later, I saw that he -deserved to be greatly admired for maintaining -such an attitude in the face of an -unending misfortune which had not spared -him any trials.</p> - -<p>We were both natives of Lille; it gave -us a point of contact. The event of an -inheritance, and the requirements of his -position, early led Dauche to settle in the -Meuse district and set up a home there.</p> - -<p>His marriage was happy, and his young -wife was mother of two fine children. A -third was about to be born when the German -invasion swept over the face of France, -unsettling the world, ruining a prosperous -industry, violently separating Dauche from -his children and his pregnant wife, of whom, -since, he had only heard uncertain and -disquieting news.</p> - -<p>I, too, had left in the invaded country -those I loved, and also my possessions. I -felt, therefore, in the presence of Dauche<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> -the effect of that solidarity which is aroused -by a common misfortune. I ought, however, -to admit that my comrade had suffered more -terrible calamities than mine with greater -fortitude, though he was more sensitive, as I -observed on several occasions.</p> - -<p>Of pleasing height, Dauche had the pink -complexion and the fair hair characteristic -of my country. A delicate beard adorned and -prolonged a face full of gentleness and life, -like those young men whom Flemish artists -have portrayed, often so happily, wearing -a frilled collar and a heavy golden chain -gleaming on a waistcoat of dark velvet.</p> - -<p>A light bandage passed over his forehead. -He seemed so little disturbed by -it that I did not trouble for some time to -talk to him about his wound. Besides, he -never referred to it himself. I saw him once -change the dressing, and it was then that -he explained to me in a few words how a -piece of grenade had struck him during a -skirmish. He seemed to treat the incident -with the most perfect indifference.</p> - -<p>“Nothing draws me away from the front,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -he added, with a melancholy smile, “and I was -intending forthwith to return to my corps; -but the doctor is flatly opposed to it.”</p> - -<p>He confessed it was not without pleasure -that he looked forward to spending the -period of convalescence in the Château de -S——, which autumn adorned so nobly.</p> - -<p>From the second week, in spite of the -state of my wound on my shoulder, I was -given permission to walk a little. Dauche -helped me with a brotherly tenderness, and -it was through his encouragement that I -was able soon to venture in the avenues of -the park.</p> - -<p>The doctor who looked after us both -said to me in rather an embarrassed tone:</p> - -<p>“You are going out with Lieutenant -Dauche? See that you don’t go too far.”</p> - -<p>This doctor was of a reticent nature. -I did not ask for explanations; I was confident -in my recovered strength. It never -struck me—naturally enough—that the doctor -was in fact thinking of Dauche.</p> - -<p>Several days went by, blessed with all -that is warm, young, affectionate in a growing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -friendship. The war, among a thousand -other miseries, has compelled us to live occasionally -in the company of men whom in time -of peace we should have carefully avoided. -It was, then, with a trembling joy that I -recognised in Dauche those qualities which -would move my nature to love and affection—a -nature which had ever perhaps been unduly -difficult and uneasy. I thought that a deep -predestined purpose operated there: the men -of this age who can become my friends are -marked, and determined, in the universe -with the same mysterious sign; but I may -not know them all, and perhaps I shall never -be fated to meet my best friend.</p> - -<p>The times when it did not rain we passed -in long conversations on the hillside, under -a plantation of pines and beech trees. My -young friend perceived and judged natural -objects with the innocence, freshness and -originality of a child. He spoke of his -scattered family with a stubborn faith in -their safety—a faith that usually is found -only in religious fanatics or in men unbalanced -by fame or success.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<p>In the evening, when the approach of -darkness tended to bring back to the mind the -awful things one had experienced and made -one withdraw into oneself, he used cheerfully -to ask me to have a game of chess, and this -game of skill took us on to the threshold of -sleep.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The pleasure I had in the company of -Dauche led me one day to tell the doctor -how much I admired his character.</p> - -<p>The doctor, who was ceasing to be -young, was tall, rather bent and bald, with -a sad, timid, and kind smile on his face half-hidden -by a straggling beard.</p> - -<p>“Fate,” I said, “is no respecter of -victims. It is terrible to find it striking -down natures so generous, and it is a marvel -that it has failed to produce worse effects -than it has.”</p> - -<p>We began chatting as we walked with -measured steps along a narrow pathway -hidden away among the hazel trees.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> - -<p>My companion made a queer little movement -with his shoulders and looked round -to make sure that we were alone.</p> - -<p>“You appear to take great pleasure in -Dauche’s company,” he said to me, “and -it is very natural. But I have already -begged you never to prolong your walks -with him too far from the Château, and I -must repeat the warning.”</p> - -<p>The tone of his voice at once made me -rather anxious, and I did not hide my amazement.</p> - -<p>“Dauche,” I began, “seems to me to -be convalescing slowly but surely. Can -there be anything serious in that scar on his -forehead?”</p> - -<p>The doctor had stopped. He was trying -to dislodge, with the tip of his boot, a stone -embedded in the road.</p> - -<p>“This scratch,” he said very quickly, -still looking down, “is very much more -serious than you imagine.”</p> - -<p>A painful silence ensued, and as I remained -quiet, the doctor went on, with frequent -pauses:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> - -<p>“We are beginning to understand these -injuries of the skull. Your friend does not -know, and must not know, how serious his -condition is. He doesn’t even know that we -have failed to extract the projectile which -struck him. And even if the thing was -possible....”</p> - -<p>Then suddenly the doctor went off into a -philosophical dissertation in which he seemed -to be both at his ease and at a loss, as in -a familiar labyrinth.</p> - -<p>“We have accomplished much—very -much. We have even restored the dead to -life; but we cannot restore all the dead -to life. There are a few very difficult -problems.... We think we have solved -them.... I do not speak of God. The very -idea of God seems to be detached from this -immense calamity. I do not speak of God, -but of men. They must be told quite -simply: there are wounds which we cannot -cure. Therefore, let them stop inflicting such -wounds, and the question will not arise -again. That is a solution; but the members -of my profession are too proud to make that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -suggestion to the world, and the world is -too mad to listen.”</p> - -<p>My respect for this digression prevented -me from interrupting; when, however, he -had finished, I whispered:</p> - -<p>“Really, you say this missile——?”</p> - -<p>“You can’t get at it, you understand. -Beyond reach! It’s rather degrading for -a proud man to admit it, but at least it’s -honest. And, besides, it’s a fact. Man -placed it there; and it is beyond his power -to remove it.”</p> - -<p>Though embarrassed by the presence of -the doctor, I was deeply moved by his -words.</p> - -<p>“Yet, in spite of it, one can live——”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said in a grave voice, “one -can only die.”</p> - -<p>We walked as far as the edge of the -wood. The clear light of an open meadow -seemed to bring the doctor back within the -bounds of professional etiquette; for he said -in a different tone:</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, sir, for having made you -consider things which must seem strange to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -a man with your point of view. I do not -regret having taken this opportunity to -speak to you about Dauche. He hasn’t, I -believe, any near relations in uninvaded -territory. You are interested in him, and -I must warn you: he is lost. I’m going -to add, since you seek his friendship, that -at any moment something will happen to -him, bringing death rapidly in its train.”</p> - -<p>I had only known Dauche for a short -time, but I was overwhelmed. Some meaningless -words came to my lips. I said something -like “How terrible!” But the doctor, -with a pale smile, ended by saying:</p> - -<p>“Alas! sir, you will do as I and many -others have done: you will get used to living -in the presence of men who yet share our -world, but of whom one knows without a -shadow of doubt that they are already dead.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I could not get accustomed to such a thing. -The conversation had taken place towards -noon. I spent the rest of the day in avoiding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -the sight of Dauche—cowardly conduct which -found justification in my inability to conceal -my thoughts.</p> - -<p>Night found me deprived of sleep, but it -was doubly useful: it gave me time to get -the better of certain impressions, and enabled -me to plead sickness for my changed disposition.</p> - -<p>As I was getting out of bed, Dauche -suggested that we should both go for a walk -in the woods. I was on the point of refusing; -but his smile was so affectionate and engaging -that I hadn’t the courage to pretend -illness. Besides, the weather was radiant.</p> - -<p>The brilliant sunshine in which some -vigour still remained, the delicate tints of a -landscape rich in the mists of early morning, -and perhaps a healthy desire to be cheerful -and forget—all that suddenly led my thoughts -away from the depths into which they had -sunk.</p> - -<p>Dauche began running amid the tall -grass, which was slowly fading to a pale -amber. His laughter, you would have said, -was that of a boy. Recounting all kinds of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -anecdotes and sayings, he played the games -loved by his own children, and sometimes -he used to stop suddenly and speak with -respect and affection of the child he did not -yet know, and of the mother who waited for -him in exile.</p> - -<p>No natural thing seemed too trifling or -unworthy of attention: he delighted in the -scent of the flowers, spared a momentary -glance for every object, rubbed the fragrant -herbs between his fingers, and tasted the -blackberries and hazel nuts from the thickets.</p> - -<p>He made me notice a thousand things -whose existence until then, I blush to think, -I was scarcely aware of. He dragged me -after him through an endless series of adventures, -and I could only follow him, awkwardly -and grumbling, like an old man forced -to dance a <em>ronde</em>.</p> - -<p>We were returning to the Château, congratulating -ourselves on our appetite and on -the good time that we had had, when, in the -bend of a path, the words and the warning -of the doctor burst with a shock upon my -consciousness. It was like a sharp imperious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -rap of the knuckle against a door. I was -aware then that I had never ceased thinking -of it in my subconsciousness. But looking -once again at Dauche, sturdy and blond like -an ear of corn in the splendour of noon, I -shook my head, saying decidedly, “This -worthy doctor is mistaken.”</p> - -<p>And, during the whole of that day, I -remained happy.</p> - -<p>The next day, as I took a long time getting -up, and, musing idly, counted the gay flowers -on the curtains, I caught, not far from -me, the regular breathing of Dauche, who -was still sleeping. Immediately a voice -whispered in my ear, “That man is going -to die.”</p> - -<p>I turned over on my other side, and the -voice repeated, “That man over there is a -dead man.”</p> - -<p>Then I was seized with a desire to go away,—far -away from Dauche and from the -Château, and to bury myself in the noise and -activity of civilian France.</p> - -<p>I was completely awake, and began to -reason the matter out with cold deliberation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> - -<p>“After all, I’ve known this man for so -short a time and can do nothing to help him. -He has been in the hands of skilled surgeons -who have exhausted all the resources of their -art for him.... I would forget his terrible -fate, as I had every right to in view of the -fact that it was shared by a large number of -young men equally worthy of attention. My -presence could be of no use to him, and to -be with him must indeed often draw upon -those reserves of moral energy of which I was -strongly in need.”</p> - -<p>These arguments ended in my asking the -doctor, when I found myself alone with him -that same morning on some pretext or other, -to hasten my removal to another hospital.</p> - -<p>“From the present state of your wound,” -he said to me, “I see no objection to it. I’ll -see the thing is done.”</p> - -<p>This ready assent, though so gratifying, -caused me some surprise. But my eye -meeting the doctor’s, I found him looking so -sad and perplexed that I was ashamed.</p> - -<p>I was, indeed, so upset by my weakness -that at the end of a quarter of an hour I went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -again to the doctor and asked if it wasn’t -possible for me to change my mind, and to -remain at the Château de S—— until I had -completely recovered.</p> - -<p>He smiled with a queer satisfied expression -and assured me I could stay as long as I -liked.</p> - -<p>My decision, arrived at after so much -delay and evasion, brought calm to my mind. -I passed most of the day in my room and -found diversion in reading. Towards evening -a soldier from a regiment stationed near us, -taking French leave, came to see us and -invited us to hear two musicians of his -regiment who were giving a concert in an -orange garden.</p> - -<p>Though I had no precise intellectual -understanding of music, I highly appreciated -it. And at that time I was, surely, in a -position to remark how a succession of notes -and chords can interpret one’s prevailing -mood and quicken its emotions.</p> - -<p>A violin sonata of Bach was being played -with piano accompaniment. Several times -I felt as if an invisible and unknown person<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -touched me on the arm and whispered, “How -can you forget he is going to die?”</p> - -<p>I got up as soon as the concert ended and -went quickly away, suffering veritable torture.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” asked Dauche, -running after me. “You seem ill or unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“Both,” I replied, in a voice I could no -longer control. “Didn’t you hear the music -of the violin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said musingly; “it was pure -joy.”</p> - -<p>I looked at him furtively and withdrew -nothing. But that evening, alone with my -thoughts in the dark, I understood that -chance had reserved for me a strange rôle to -play in the fate of my friend—Dauche was -doomed: he had to die: he was about to die; -but some one else, in some kind of way, had to -suffer his death-agony....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I am not, I protest, different from other -people. The war had severely tried me, but -my imagination remained unclouded, and my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -wound was not of such a kind as to impair -the normal working of a healthy average -brain.</p> - -<p>I am, therefore, thoroughly persuaded that -the tense experience I was to undergo, from -that day, would have equally afflicted any -man confronted with the same calamitous -circumstances.</p> - -<p>In spite of the sinister life of the -battlefield, I was to be in the presence of a -form of death new and terrible in its duration. -It is hardly possible to live without -at every moment visualising what is going -to happen at the next; and it was tragic to -bear in one’s consciousness a certainty which -froze, at birth, every plan and intention. -Illness creates, in ordinary life, like conditions; -but their misery is tempered by hope, or even -by the relief which comes from resignation. -On account of the war I was to undergo -an agonising experience that was unique, -and to live by the side of a man to whom I -knew the frightful day of reckoning would -suddenly come, and who had no future except -that which existed in hope and ignorance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<p>This ignorance of ourselves is extremely -precious, and makes us envy that sovereign -ignorance of the beasts and plants. It enabled -Dauche to live cheerfully on the edge -of the abyss. I was there to assume the -burden of the tragedy, as if it were alien to -the human rightness of things that so much -suffering should take place without a conscious -victim.</p> - -<p>The first days of November had come. -Autumn was growing less resplendent. We -had not given up our walks. I was forced to -continue them in spite of myself, for dying -Nature seemed to be giving intense expression -to our tragic friendship.</p> - -<p>We often climbed the hill which looked -over the plain of Rheims. Military life -seemed, like the sap of the plants, to be -getting stiff and cold and withdrawing into -the earth. The armies were preparing for -their winter sleep. The guns boomed wearily -and without vigour. The bareness of the trees -revealed the signs of war which during -summer were hidden beneath the foliage.</p> - -<p>Autumn made me feel more acutely the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> -fate that was to strike down my friend, -and Dauche himself made me realise with -a cruel relentlessness the fate of all men. -The thought that this man was going to die -weighed so much on my mind that I was left -without courage, weak and useless. And, in -fact, it was the helplessness of man which -seemed to me to be solely evident as I gazed -at the curtain of poplar trees lit up with an -elusive glory.</p> - -<p>Then I was powerless before the terrible -thought which haunted me: “He will never -see all this again.”</p> - -<p>There is in the memoirs of Saint-Simon -a frightful page on the death of Louis XIV. -The historian cannot describe any of the -gestures of the dying monarch without repeating, -with a persistence inspired by hate: -“And it was for the last time.”</p> - -<p>In the same way I constantly thought, -when I saw my friend admiring the beauty -of autumn: “It’s for the last time....” -But my thoughts, on the contrary, were full -of pain and compassion.</p> - -<p>After long hours at our outpost on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -hill, we used to make up our minds to return -when the light of the rockets began to adorn -the twilight with pale constellations.</p> - -<p>Dauche appeared calm, cheerful, almost -happy, as if he were having continual -glimpses of hope.</p> - -<p>He used to make plans: that was unendurable, -and I felt so irritated that I once -said:</p> - -<p>“How happy you must be to dare to make -plans at such a time as this!”</p> - -<p>The phrase was quite vague and general; -but as soon as it was uttered it appeared to -me cruel and malevolent. I was trying to -think how to re-say it when Dauche replied:</p> - -<p>“As long as your heart beats isn’t that an -adventure in itself? And, besides, you must -defy the future if you are not to fear it.”</p> - -<p>These words, so full of wisdom, perplexed -me without affording me any comfort. They -only gave rise to another cause for anxiety. -Did Dauche have any inkling of his position?</p> - -<p>My mind was at that time so acutely -affected by the secret that haunted me that, -for several days, the question tortured me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> - -<p>To-day, when the lapse of time enables me -to look at things with the necessary perspective, -I can state that Dauche was unaware -of the calamity awaiting him. In fact, I -never saw anything which made me suppose -he ever felt a twinge of uneasiness. I cannot -recall any word, allusion or weakness which, -had he been aware, would not have failed -to escape him and reveal to me the depths -of his consciousness.</p> - -<p>But on one occasion I was again assailed -by doubt. A fellow-soldier in my regiment, -rescued by the Red Cross, lay dying, fatally -wounded in one of these numerous little -scraps which have made Hill 108 the open -wound of our sector. We went to see him on -his death-bed, and at once I hastened to get -Dauche away from the room, in which he was -inclined to linger.</p> - -<p>“He is, after all, better so,” I remarked, -to break a painful silence.</p> - -<p>“D’you think so? Do you really think -so?” the young man replied.</p> - -<p>A mysterious impulse, which was not -mere chance, made us look into one another’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -eyes; and in those of my friend, usually so -clear, I was aware of something that quivered, -elusive, frantic, like a wreck of a ship lost in -the desolate wastes of the sea.</p> - -<p>I endeavoured to change the conversation, -and I succeeded. Dauche turned back towards -life, breathing deeply, and soon breaking -into shouts of laughter, in which I joined -quite genuinely.</p> - -<p>In spite of this alarming incident, I had -to recognise that Dauche suspected nothing. -What I saw in his eyes that day I would have, -without a doubt, surprised in every human -look. Moreover, the flesh is aware of things -of which the mind is not, and the sharp -anguish behind that look was perhaps like -one of those mute cries of the animal, which -are uttered without the inspiration or recognition -of consciousness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dauche’s wound was now healed over. -Mine required very little attention. There -was no difficulty about my recovery. I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -waiting for something else. I understood -that perfectly when one day Dauche asked -me why I remained so long in the fighting -zone. I hit upon a reply in which I pleaded -our great friendship and that I had few -attachments within the country. But when -I faced the question myself I saw quite well -what was the real motive of my stay at S——. -Always I was waiting for that something to -happen.</p> - -<p>In spite of these moods, the affection -I had for Dauche continued to grow. It -had deepened with my pity, and the certainty -that death would shortly claim him -contributed not a little to exalt it. I was -by nature inclined to be emotional, and I -became passionately devoted to him. I experienced -all the apprehensions of a woman -who tends a sick child, and is filled with -despair on the slightest symptoms or movements.</p> - -<p>There was in the park a tennis court, -on which a few worm-eaten wickets were -lying. Dauche hit them often with some -worn bowls which the moisture was fast<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> -rotting. One morning, as he was throwing -one of these bowls, it crumbled into pieces -between his fingers, causing him to turn and -stumble. At once he raised his hand to his -brow, and I thought he staggered. Already I -was upon him, and I caught him in my arms.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with you?” he said, -seeing my discomposed features.</p> - -<p>“I thought your head was giving you -pain.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he replied smiling; “not at all. -I was readjusting my bandages.”</p> - -<p>Another time, when I dropped a book I -was running through very abstractedly, he -bent down, with his usual alacrity, to pick it -up. I thought he was slow in rising again, -as if he was trying to master an attack of -giddiness. Leaning forward, I at once took -the book from his hands. His eyes were -veiled with a thin reddish film. Perhaps I -imagined that, for it did not last a moment.</p> - -<p>“I forbid you,” I said, making a painful -effort to be jocular—“I forbid you to play -any other part than that of a convalescent.”</p> - -<p>He looked at me, amazed, and asked:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you want me to believe that I -am ill?”</p> - -<p>This reply showed me how tactless I had -been, and I saw that I must carefully take -myself in hand if I were to hide the anxiety -which obsessed me.</p> - -<p>Henceforth I was never free from it. -I noticed everything my friend ate or drank, -not daring to advise him, and itching sometimes -to do so.</p> - -<p>I got clear away by myself and read -in secret some medical treatise which tended -rather to lead me astray than instruct me. -I made a thousand resolutions and plans -and rejected them in turn. They would all -have been ridiculous, or even comic, if death -had not been at hand, sacred and solemn.</p> - -<p>That night I awoke startled several -times, and I listened to the breathing of -my companion, convinced, with the slightest -pause, the slightest change in the rhythm, -that he was dying—that he was dead.</p> - -<p>We had not given up our walks, but I -had abruptly shortened them, without saying -why. I discovered a thousand round-about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -ways in order to avoid a rocky or slippery -road; I pushed aside the branches that -grew across the paths with a care that could -not fail to arouse suspicion. Sometimes, -in the course of a little excursion, feeling -that we had gone far from the village, I -suddenly experienced an overpowering terror -which made me silent and stupid.</p> - -<p>I had given up chess, excusing myself -on the ground of fatigue, which soon indeed -was no longer feigned. A time came when -all these emotions seriously affected my -health. I kept my bed for several days -without being at all rested. I would rather -have been left to myself absolutely; but -the thought of Dauche going out alone and -not able to take care of himself was unendurable. -I could not imagine that the -fatality was to take place without my being -present, because I was always expectant, -waiting....</p> - -<p>So he always stayed with me, and used -to pass the time by reading out to me. -I often wished to stop him and, being -unable to say that I felt anxious on his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -account, I complained of my head. The -thing is unbelievable. It was I who looked -like the man who was doomed, and it was he -who seemed to be in full possession of his -strength. I was right in what I said: I -was undergoing on his behalf the pangs of -death.</p> - -<p>One night, during his first sleep, he uttered -a kind of moan so strangely animal in quality, -that at once I was on my feet, and I gazed -at him for a long time in the glow of the -night-light.</p> - -<p>The emotion I felt that night was mingled -with something like an intense desire for -freedom. I was horrified to discover that -my sick soul not only waited for the inevitable -thing, but was dominated by a -longing for the end.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I got up about the beginning of December, -and our first walk was in the pinewoods that -clustered on the sandy hills south of the main -road from Rheims to Soissons.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> - -<p>The afternoon was coming to a close. -A wild west wind raged through this war-scarred -valley which, from ancient times, -had borne the ravaging ebb and flow of -invasion.</p> - -<p>We were walking side by side, feeling -rather chilled and silent, given up to those -formless thoughts that find no expression -in the spoken word and which are of the -very colour and fabric of the soul.</p> - -<p>We got rather warm in climbing a hill, -and when we got to the top I suggested -we should sit and rest ourselves on the -trunk of a beech tree that lay mutilated on -the ground, and from which oozed a yellow -liquid streaked with purple.</p> - -<p>I was worn out, without hope, without -courage, having lost all interest in my doings, -in the condition of a man whose will fails -him and who gives up the agonising struggle.</p> - -<p>Is it possible that there can be, between -two beings, relations so mysteriously intimate? -Is it true that it was I who on -that day gave up the struggle?</p> - -<p>Overwhelmed with misery, I stood up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -quite involuntarily, and, with unseeing eyes, -I gazed towards the horizon at the leaping -flight of hills bristling with trees.</p> - -<p>Was it really a queer noise that made me -turn round? Wasn’t it rather a shock or a -lacerating sensation taking place within me? -The fact is that, all of a sudden, I knew that -behind me something was happening. And -then my heart began to beat violently, for -it could only be the thing—the frightful and -expected thing....</p> - -<p>It was!</p> - -<p>Dauche had slipped from the tree-trunk. -It was some time before I recognised him; -his whole body was shaken by convulsions—hideous, -inhuman, like an animal struck down -by the butcher’s mallet. His feet and his -hands were contracted and twitching. His -face was purple and forced round towards the -right shoulder. He foamed at the mouth and -showed his white eyeballs.</p> - -<p>I feel a kind of shame in describing this -scene. I had often been in the presence of -death, and the war had made me live in -horrible intimacy with it; but I had never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -seen anything so frightful and so bestial. I, -in my turn, began to tremble, as if the shiver -of the victim was contagious, and my feeling -of despair and nausea grew more intense.</p> - -<p>That lasted for an eternity of time, during -which I never moved. I let death do its work -and I waited until it had finished. Gradually, -however, I became aware of a lull, and the -grip on the victim seemed to relax.</p> - -<p>Dauche’s body remained rigid, inert. A -feeble moan escaped his lips.</p> - -<p>At the same moment I recovered from -my stupor and, in spite of my paralysed will, -I set about removing from this place what -had once been my friend.</p> - -<p>In raising him from the ground I suffered -terrible pain. His muscles were contracted -and he was terribly heavy. I caught hold -of him with my arms round his body and -carried him with his breast on mine, like a -sleeping child. A thin stream of frothy -saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth, -as from the snouts of cattle in harness. His -head began to sway heavily.</p> - -<p>Night was falling. I had to put my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -burden down every few yards, then take it -up again.</p> - -<p>My wound caused me acute suffering, but -my mind was benumbed and my movements -almost involuntary.</p> - -<p>I do not know how I came within sight -of the Château. On reaching the foot of the -hill, suddenly, in the bend of an avenue, I -met the doctor, who had been taking a -solitary walk. It was almost dark; I did -not see the expression on his face.</p> - -<p>I placed the body on the ground, kneeled -down beside it, my face streaming with perspiration, -and said, “Here he is.” Then I -began to weep.</p> - -<p>There were cries, shouts and lights. They -carried away Dauche’s body, and I was carried -too.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was really two days later that Dauche -died. I did not wish to see him again. I -had been placed in a room far removed from -him, where I lived in a kind of semi-delirium,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -asking from hour to hour, “Has the end -come? Has it ended?”</p> - -<p>But I knew when the end came before I -was told, and I let myself fall into a dark -dreamless sleep, of which I still retain the -most despairing impression.</p> - -<p>It appears that Dauche was buried in the -little cemetery skirted by the birch and dead -fir trees that are to be seen at the village of -C.... in an arid field of white sand. I -never could get myself to visit him there. -But I carried away with me a more sombre -grave that time will not efface.</p> - -<p>I left the Château de S—— towards the -middle of December. I was weak and enfeebled, -weary with the thought that it was -now my own life I must live, and undergo for -myself the struggle of my own life and death.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">COUSIN’S PROJECTS</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Whenever I had a minute to spare -I went and sat at the foot of Cousin’s -bed. He said to me:</p> - -<p>“See, there’s room for you now that -they’ve cut my legs off. One would think -they’d done it on purpose.”</p> - -<p>This man of forty had a young and -delicate face. On “shaving days,” when -the razor had done its work, it did one -good to see the everlasting, trustful smile of -Cousin. It was a wonderful smile—rather -delicate, rather ironical, rather candid, rather -convulsive; the very smile of the race, -made with lips discoloured by the loss of -blood, and features drawn by long and -weary effort. In spite of everything, Cousin -had a confiding look—the air of one who -trusted absolutely the whole world, and -especially himself, because he lived, because -he was Cousin.</p> - -<p>One leg remained to him which, to speak -frankly, was worth nothing at all. The -joint of the knee had been smashed by -the explosion of a torpedo. It was a bad<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -business, of which people spoke in low voices, -shaking their heads.</p> - -<p>But, what matter? Cousin did not put -his trust in his legs. Already he had -abandoned one; he did not seem to care -much about a leg more or less. Cousin, -I think, did not put his trust in any particular -part of his chest, or his head, or his limbs. -With or without legs, he was himself, and -in his clear green eyes burnt a generous flame -that was the expression of a pure soul.</p> - -<p>Whilst I was sitting on his bed Cousin -told me all about himself. He always took -up the thread of events at the point where -the war had broken it off, and he had a -natural inclination to unite the happy past of -Peace to a future not less delicious. Across -the troubled and bloody abyss he loved to -stretch the life of yesterday until it touched -the life of to-morrow. Never a verb in the -past tense, but an eternal and miraculous -present.</p> - -<p>“I am a dealer in <em>objets d’art</em>,” he told -me. “It’s a profitable business when one -understands it. I trade mostly in candelabras<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -and chandeliers. I work with Cohen -and Co., with Marguillé, with Smithson, with -all the great houses. Now, I have my own -special way of working: I keep my client -to myself, and I undertake to make him -understand what he wants and to deliver -the goods.</p> - -<p>“Suppose that a M. Barnabé comes and -asks me for a drawing-room chandelier. -I say, ‘Right! I see what you want’; and -I jump into a taxi. I get to Messrs. Cohen’s. -‘It’s 25 per cent. commission. Is that -understood?’ Let us imagine that Cohen -makes difficulties. Right! I run downstairs, -jump into the taxi again, and go to -Smithson’s.... Certainly it can be an expensive -game. Supposing that Barnabé goes -back on me—well, then, I am left with the -taxi to pay for.... But it’s interesting! -It’s a trade that keeps you going; it amuses -you; you need to have discrimination.”</p> - -<p>Looking at the animated face of Cousin, -I smiled. His cheeks were like imitation -marble, not very good; he had the swollen -eyes of a man who had lain too long in bed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -with fever, and whose “inside” was not -very healthy. At forty one may feel one’s -heart young, but one’s flesh does not react -from the effects of a torpedo as it does at -twenty. I looked at the legless Cousin with -astonishment while he explained to me how, -in his trade, one rushed upstairs at Cohen’s; -how one jumped about at Marguillé’s; how -one ran down Smithson’s stairs.</p> - -<p>A day came when Cousin’s leg began to -bleed. The blood filtered through the bandage -in great drops, like scarlet sweat, or like -morning dew on the leaves of a cabbage. -During four or five days Cousin’s wound -bled nearly every day. Every time he was -carried away in haste; they put all sorts -of things into his wound, and the blood ceased -to flow. Every time Cousin came back to -his bed a little paler, and he said to me as -he passed:</p> - -<p>“There, you see ... one never gets any -peace.”</p> - -<p>One morning I went to sit beside Cousin, -who was making his toilette. He was out -of breath. In spite of the puffiness of his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -face, one felt it had grown thin, formless, -devoured by an internal malady. Really, it -reminded one of a fruit rotten with vermin.</p> - -<p>“I have,” he told me, “good news of -my boys—twelve and thirteen years old. -They’re getting on! Didn’t I tell you? I -am thinking of taking on, as well as the -candelabras, clocks and chimneypieces. With -the connection that I have, I mean to do -great things. One must always aim high. -<em>Dame!</em> I shall have to get a move on. But -I’ll manage, I’ll manage. What one needs -is to know the styles....”</p> - -<p>I tried to smile, without being able to -control a contraction of the heart. Cousin -seemed uplifted by a sort of lyrical ecstasy. -He brandished his towel in one hand, and his -soap in the other. He described his great -future career as if he saw it spread out, -written in big letters on the whiteness of the -sheets.</p> - -<p>On the sheet, which I was just looking at, -there appeared suddenly a blot—a red blot -which enlarged itself rapidly into a terrifying -and splendid stain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!” murmured Cousin, “it’s -bleeding again. One never gets any -peace.”</p> - -<p>I had called for help. A waterproof -sheet was folded round Cousin’s thigh.</p> - -<p>He said, “It’s all right; it’s all right. No -need to worry.”</p> - -<p>He said this in a voice that was emphatic -but very weak—a voice made with the lips -alone.</p> - -<p>The blood ceased to flow, and they -carried Cousin once again to the operating-table. -There, he had a moment’s peace. The -surgeons were washing their hands. I heard -them consulting in low voices on Cousin’s case, -and this made my heart beat and dried the -tongue in my mouth.</p> - -<p>Cousin saw me a long way off, and made -me a little sign with his eyelids. I came close -to him. He said to me:</p> - -<p>“One never gets any peace. Ah! what was -it I was saying to you? Yes, I was talking to -you about styles. My strong point is that I -understand the different styles—the Louis XV, -the Empire, the Dutch, the Modern, and all the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -others. But it’s difficult. I want to explain -to you——”</p> - -<p>“Go to sleep, Cousin,” said the surgeon -softly.</p> - -<p>“I will explain all that to you when these -gentlemen have done with me, when I wake -up.”</p> - -<p>Then, submissively, he began to breathe -in the ether.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It is now a year since all this happened. -I often think of the explanations that Cousin -never gave me—that he will never give me.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE LADY IN GREEN</h2> -</div> - - -<p>I do not know why I loved Rabot. -Every morning as I went to and -fro at my usual work in the ward, I -saw Rabot, or rather Rabot’s head, or less -still Rabot’s eye, hiding in a hurly-burly of -sheets. He was a little like a guinea-pig -that rubs its nose in the straw and watches -you anxiously.</p> - -<p>Every time I passed I made a familiar -sign to Rabot. This sign consisted in shutting -the left eye energetically and pressing -the lips together. At once Rabot’s eye shut -itself, digging a thousand little wrinkles in -the withered face of the sick man. And that -was all; we had exchanged our salutations -and our confidences.</p> - -<p>Rabot never laughed. He had spent his -babyhood in a foundling hospital and had not -had enough milk. This under-feeding in infancy -can never be made up for afterwards.</p> - -<p>Rabot was sandy-haired, with a pale -complexion splashed with freckles. He had -so little brain that he looked like a rabbit -or a bird. Directly a stranger spoke to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -him his underlip began to tremble and his -chin wrinkled all over like a walnut. You -had first of all to explain to him that you -were not going to beat him.</p> - -<p>Poor Rabot! I would have given anything -to see him laugh. Everything, on -the contrary, seemed to conspire to make -him cry: there were the terrible endless -dressings that had to be renewed every day -for months; then he was compelled to lie so -quiet and motionless that he was never able -to play with his comrades. And after all, -the fact remained that Rabot had never -learned to play at all, and really was not -much interested in anything.</p> - -<p>I was, I think, the only one who became -at all intimate with him; and, as I said -before, this intimacy consisted chiefly in -shutting my left eye when I passed near -his bed.</p> - -<p>Rabot did not smoke. When cigarettes -were handed round he would join in with -the others and play with them for a moment, -moving his great thin fingers, deformed and -emaciated. Long illness seems to rob the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -fingers of manual labourers of all beauty -and significance: directly they lose their -hardness and their healthy appearance they -look like nothing at all in the world.</p> - -<p>I think that Rabot would have willingly -offered his good cigarettes to his neighbours; -but it is so difficult to talk sometimes, -especially to give something to some one. -The cigarettes got slowly covered with dust -on the table, and Rabot lay flat on his -back, quite thin and straight, like a bit -of straw carried away by the torrent of -war, and understanding nothing of what was -happening all around him.</p> - -<p>One day a staff officer came into the -ward and went up to Rabot.</p> - -<p>“That is the man,” he said. “Well, -I have brought him the Military Medal and -the Croix de Guerre.”</p> - -<p>He made Rabot sign a little paper and -left him alone with his playthings. Rabot -did not laugh. He put the case out on -the bedclothes in front of him, and he looked -at it from nine o’clock in the morning till -three in the afternoon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - -<p>At three the officer returned, and -said:</p> - -<p>“I made a mistake. The decorations -were not for Rabot, but for Raboux.”</p> - -<p>Then he took the jewel-case, tore up the -receipt, and went away.</p> - -<p>Rabot cried from three o’clock in the -afternoon till nine o’clock in the evening. -Then he went to sleep. The next morning -he began to cry again. M. Gossin, who is -a good Director, went to Headquarters and -came back with a medal and a cross just like -the last; he even made Rabot sign another -paper.</p> - -<p>Rabot stopped crying. But his face was -still haunted by a shadow—the shadow of -a constant dread, as if he feared that one day -or other they would come and take away all -his treasures.</p> - -<p>Some weeks passed. I often looked at -Rabot’s face, and I tried to imagine what -laughter would make of it. I imagined and -looked in vain; it was obvious that Rabot -did not know how to laugh, and that his face -was not made that way.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> - -<p>It was then that the lady in green arrived.</p> - -<p>She came in one fine morning through one -of the doors, like everybody else. On the -other hand, she was not like everybody else: -she was more like an angel, a queen, or a doll. -She was not dressed like the nurses who -worked in the wards, or like the mothers and -wives who came to visit their wounded -husbands and sons. She was not even like -the women one meets in the streets. She -was much more beautiful, much more majestic. -She made one think of the fairies of -one’s childhood, or of those splendid forms -one sees on great coloured calendars under -which the artist has written “Reveries,” or -“Melancholy,” or “Poetry.” She was surrounded -by well-dressed, good-looking officers, -who attended to her slightest word, and -who lavished on her the most extravagant -compliments.</p> - -<p>“Come in, then, Madame,” said one of -them, “since you wish to see some of our -wounded.”...</p> - -<p>She made two steps into the room, stopped -short, and said in a deep voice:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> - -<p>“The poor things!”</p> - -<p>Every one in the ward opened his eyes -and pricked up his ears. Mery put down -his pipe; Tarrissant changed his crutches -from one hand to the other, which, with him, -is a sign of emotion; Domenge and Burnier -stopped playing and pressed their cards -against their bodies to hide them. Poupot -did not move, because he is paralysed, but -one could easily see that he was listening -with all his might.</p> - -<p>The lady in green went first to Sorri, the -negro.</p> - -<p>“Your name is Sorri?” she asked, reading -his card.</p> - -<p>The negro moved his head; the lady in -green went on in a voice as sweet and -melodious as an actress:</p> - -<p>“You have come to fight for France, -Sorri; and you have left your beautiful -country—the fresh and smiling oasis in an -ocean of burning sand. Ah, Sorri! how -beautiful are the African evenings, at the -hour when the young woman returns along -the avenue of palm trees, carrying on her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -head an aromatic pitcher full of honey and -cocoanut milk!”</p> - -<p>The officers murmured their appreciation, -and Sorri, who understands French, repeated, -nodding his head, “Cocoa! cocoa!”</p> - -<p>Already the lady in green was gliding away -over the tiled floor. She came to Rabot, and -sat down on the end of his bed, like a swallow -on a telegraph wire.</p> - -<p>“Rabot,” she said, “you are a brave -man!”</p> - -<p>Rabot did not answer; but in his usual -way he blinked his eyes, like a child who fears -a blow.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Rabot!” said the lady in green, -“what gratitude do we not owe you, who -have guarded safely for us our dear France! -But, Rabot, you have already gained the great -reward. Glory! The joy of battle! The -exquisite agony of plunging forward, your -bayonet shining in the sun! The pleasure -of plunging the iron of vengeance into the -bleeding side of the enemy! And then the -suffering—divine suffering to be endured for -the sake of all; the sacred wound which,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -of a hero, makes a god! Ah! wonderful -memories, Rabot!”</p> - -<p>The lady in green ceased, and a religious -silence reigned in the ward.</p> - -<p>Then something unexpected happened.</p> - -<p>Rabot stopped looking like himself. All -his features contracted, changing in an almost -tragic way. A hoarse noise burst forth in -spasms from his fleshless chest, and all the -world realised that Rabot was laughing.</p> - -<p>He laughed for over three-quarters of an -hour. Long after the lady in green had gone, -Rabot was still laughing—in fits, as one -coughs, with a rattling noise.</p> - -<p>After that the life of Rabot changed a -little. When he was on the verge of tears -and misery one could sometimes distract his -attention and get a little laugh out of him if -one said at the right moment:</p> - -<p>“Rabot! they are going to bring the -lady in green to see you.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">IN THE VINEYARD</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Between Epernay and Château-Thierry, -the Marne flows through an -exquisite valley, whose gay hills are -rich in orchards and vine plantations, and -crowned with verdure like woodland goddesses, -and abundantly adorned with those -plants which have made France a country -without price, beautiful and noble.</p> - -<p>It is the valley of rest. Jaulgonne, -Dormans, Châtillons, Œuilly, Port-à-Binson—those -old smiling villages can never be repaid -for lavishing such hours of forgetful repose, -that refresh like spring water, on the exhausted -troops leaving Verdun for the once -quiet sectors of the Aisne.</p> - -<p>During the summer of 1916 the —— -Corps was once again concentrated on the -Marne, ready to take its share in the -immense and bloody sacrifice on the Somme -front. Our battalion was patiently waiting -the word which would send them up the -line; as they waited, they passed the time -in calculating, from the top of the hills, the -number of waggons that could be seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -struggling along far down in the valley, and -as usual they made all sorts of conjectures.</p> - -<p>Most of the time we passed in the fields -with our friends, avoiding serious thought -as much as possible, and letting the body -enjoy to the full the repose which offered -itself far from the murderous struggles on -the front.</p> - -<p>There had been a few days of dazzling -heat, then the storm had come with a -thundering sky, the clouds wildly charging, -and a wide sweeping wind carrying along -with it the dust or the mist.</p> - -<p>Late one afternoon we happened to be on -the road which rises gently from Chavenay -to the copses of the south.</p> - -<p>There were three of us. Conversation -flagged, and, imperceptibly, we had each -fallen back on our secret thoughts—thoughts -that were full of pain, and which the climbing -road seemed to make harder to bear.</p> - -<p>“Let’s sit down on this bank,” said a -voice softly.</p> - -<p>Without replying, we found ourselves -all at once lying in the silver-weed. We<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -tore it up abstractedly, like men who are -obliged to work their muscles in order to -think more freely.</p> - -<p>A little grape-vine was growing at our feet -and reached, with two graceful efforts, a -ridge of earth gleaming with the freshness -of wet grass. It was a neat, pure little -vine of Champagne, bursting with juice, -cared for like a divine and sacred thing. -No wild plants; nothing but the stubbly -vine-stock and the soil—that rich soil which -the rains wash away and which, each season, -the peasants carry up again, on their backs, -right to the summit of the hills.</p> - -<p>From amid this blend of green herbage -we saw suddenly emerging an old thin -woman, with a rusty complexion and hair -white and disordered. In one hand she -held a pail full of ashes, and with the other -scattered handfuls of it on the feet of the -vines.</p> - -<p>On seeing us, she stopped, and adjusted -with a dusty finger a coil of hair blown about -by the wind. She stared at us. Then she -spoke:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - -<p>“What’s your regiment, you others?”</p> - -<p>“The 110th line, Madame.”</p> - -<p>“Mine did not belong to that regiment.”</p> - -<p>“You have boys in the army?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I had once.”</p> - -<p>There was silence, broken by the cry of -animals, the gusts of the high wind, and the -hissing murmur of the shaken foliage. The -old woman scattered a few handfuls of the -ashes, and then came near and began in a -stumbling voice that often lost itself in the -wind:</p> - -<p>“I once had boys in the army. Now I -have none. The two youngest are dead. I -have one remaining—a poor wretch, who is -hardly a soldier now.”</p> - -<p>“He is wounded, perhaps?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is wounded. He has lost both -arms.”</p> - -<p>The old woman put her bucket of ashes -on the ground, removed some grass from her -waist-belt and tied a wayward vine branch to -a supporting stick, and, standing erect again, -she exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“He has been wounded as few have been.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -He has lost his two arms, and in his thigh -there is a hole big enough to contain a small -bowl of milk. For ten days he was on the -verge of death. I went to see him, and I -said to him:</p> - -<p>“‘Clovis, you are not going to leave me all -alone?’—for I must tell you they had been for -a long while without a father.</p> - -<p>“And he always used to reply:</p> - -<p>“‘I’ll be better to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>“No one was gentler than this boy.”</p> - -<p>We remained silent. One of us at length -murmured:</p> - -<p>“Your boy is brave, Madame!”</p> - -<p>The old woman, who was looking at her -grape-vine, turned her dim eyes towards us -and said in an abrupt tone:</p> - -<p>“Brave! of course! My boys could not -be anything else!”</p> - -<p>A laugh escaped her—a laugh almost of -pride, a strangled laugh that lost itself at -once in the wind. Then she appeared to talk -absently:</p> - -<p>“My poor unfortunate son will some day -be able to look forward to marriage, for there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> -is no one so gentle as he is. But my two -youngest, my two little ones! It’s too much! -Oh, God, it’s too much!”</p> - -<p>We could find nothing to say. There was -nothing to say. With hair flying in the wind, -she began again to scatter the ashes, like a -sower of death. Her lips were compressed, -and in her face there was a mixture of despair, -bewilderment and defiance.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing this for, Madame?” -I asked, somewhat at random.</p> - -<p>“You see, I’m mixing the ashes with -the sulphate. It’s the season. I shall never -finish: I’ve too much to do, too much to do.”</p> - -<p>We had got up, as if we felt ashamed of -disturbing this tireless worker in her task. -Moved by a common impulse, we took off -our hats to her.</p> - -<p>“Good-night,” she said, “and good luck, -too, you others.”</p> - -<p>We climbed up the hill to the very edge -of the wood without saying a word. Then -we turned round and had a last look at the -valley.</p> - -<p>There on the hillside, in a mosaic of plots,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -as it were, the vine plantation could be seen, -with the old woman, ever so small, who was -still sowing the ashes in the wind heavy with -rain clouds. The gentle country maintained -in face of the stormy heavens an attitude of -innocence and resignation. Here and there, -humble villages that glistened seemed to be -set like coloured jewels in the earth. And -right in the fields that were dressed for the -needs of August, small specks that moved -could be seen: a race of old men were at grips -with the soil.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE RAILWAY JUNCTION</h2> -</div> - - -<p>To die is simple enough; only you -should have the good taste to die in -some selected spot—unless, of course, -you are in China, where the dead are supreme -and exercise almost more authority than the -living. But in our country you have got -to die properly, otherwise the living will -look askance at you and say, “What does -this corpse want? There’s no room for it -here.”</p> - -<p>In 1915 I was going through a kind of -probation period at the railway junction of -X., and I went on duty two or three times -a week. Going on duty meant being on -the spot and doing small insignificant jobs, -being on guard or making a note of what -was passing. Usually the man in charge -used to be found in some gloomy place -leading to the lamp-room. There he endured -the long weary hours without interruption, -and watched the military trains passing, -full of men who had undergone six months’ -campaigning. They sang while they journeyed -from one hell to another, because in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -war men do not let their thoughts travel -far; as soon as they have got away from -the guns they abandon themselves without -restraint to the joy of being alive.</p> - -<p>One Saturday night I was lying on a -thick mattress which served as a bed. It -was alive with mice. I felt these amiable -little beasts at a finger’s length from my -ears, and I listened with wandering attention -to the noises coming from the junction. -They were the sounds of a great railway -station: whistles, shrieks, puffing engines, -cries of the winches and the cranes, the -vibrations of the taut iron rails, the sharp -clatter of the signals, the repeated clash of -the buffers of colliding trucks; and in the -midst of it all, the clamour and the rhythm -of military movements, the swing of a -detachment on the march, the challenges -of the sentries, commands, bell-ringings—all -those things which indicate the forcible -possession by armed might of the industrial -organism.</p> - -<p>My thoughts were running along these -lines when I saw Corporal Bonardent entering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -my dug-out, blinding me with the flare of -his acetylene lamp.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant!”</p> - -<p>“I’m all attention, Bonardent.”</p> - -<p>“Some poor devil in the food transport -has just got himself done in, on the semi-permanent -way 17. I’m told it’s a dreadful——”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go there at once, Corporal!”</p> - -<p>Two men were waiting for me outside with -a stretcher. It was a glorious night, upon -which the pale and flickering lights of the -station hardly made an impression.</p> - -<p>“It’s at La Folie,” said Bonardent: “it’s -rather far from here.”</p> - -<p>La Folie is a road-crossing, about a mile -off. I asked a porter how to get there, and -we started.</p> - -<p>What is really amazing, in a large station, -is that the organising imperative will which -directs the rush of moving things lies hidden -behind an apparent state of chaos and -entanglement. We began to walk along -lines of trucks that never ended. They -seemed to have been left there and forgotten<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -since the beginning of the war—rolling-stock -that appeared to have had its day, with -stiffened axles and couplings devoured by -rust; but suddenly our lamp would light -up an open door, and some soldiers were -seen in a heap, sleeping on the straw, or -there were cattle with stupefied looks. A -few compartments had been turned into -travelling offices, where clerks drudged -through a mass of papers in a light reflected -from a drawing-room lamp-shade; one felt -that the terrible grasp of the administration -had closed over the railways, just as its -monstrous grip was in possession from the -deep-dug trenches to the outfitting shops -far away in the Pyrenees. Sometimes, crossing -wide, dark spaces, we slipped between -two trains that seemed petrified with eternal -sleep; but all at once, though no one could -be seen, the trains began to move towards -each other, their ends clashing with a terrific -clatter. Farther on we had to stop while -hospital trains were passing. They afforded -little comfort then, and there came to us, -as the trains went by, a broadside of heart-rending<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -coughs and puffs of the saturated -chloride air with which the hospitals reeked. -In addition, there were masses of fat mortars -lashed on trucks, heaps of kitchens on wheels, -and machinery whose uses one could not -possibly guess, and all sorts of munitions of -war, which night made fantastic. Heavy -circular armour protected the cowering -engines snorting in the pale light of the arc -lamps. There were also, reminding one of -former times, suburban trains that bore -along drowsy passengers and express trains -that swept over the intricate lines swift as -a lash of the whip. In a word, a tumultuous -roar, in which military movements clashed -with the routine of civilian life.</p> - -<p>At last we arrived at La Folie. It was -an inextricable network of railways, discs, -switches and metal cables. Three aged railway -workers were living there in a shed. -They were in shirt sleeves, and were turning -the cranks, pulling the switches, directing -with an orderly calm born of experience all -the whirling forces which accumulated in that -spot. They made me think of the foremen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> -in past times who used to carry on when -the managing directors were indulging in -the pleasures of social life.</p> - -<p>Above the rumbling noises a telegraph -bell could be heard patiently ringing.</p> - -<p>“We have come for the A.S.C. man,” -said Bonardent.</p> - -<p>“Oh! for that poor devil. He is there, -under the sack and all around. My God!”</p> - -<p>We entered the zone occupied by the -corpse. I say “zone” deliberately, for the -poor wretch had been cut up and scattered -like a handful of grain at seed-time.</p> - -<p>“God in Heaven!” said a railwayman -with white hair; “why did the poor man -come off the truck without looking round -first? He made a terrible mistake. Here -there is too much traffic for anyone to leave -one’s post.”</p> - -<p>The face of the dead man was intact, -but sixty trucks had passed over his body, -splitting it diagonally from the feet to the -shoulders. We picked up, in one place and -another, the remains—bleeding pieces of flesh, -intestines, and, as I well remember, a hand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -clutching a piece of cheese. Death had struck -the man as he was eating.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary thing was that his overcoat -remained whole: it concealed from view -the hideous annihilation of the body. Lifting -it slightly, I saw his discipline book, on which -one could decipher the name Lamailleux.</p> - -<p>“I think,” I said, “we’ve got him all -now.”</p> - -<p>An electric lamp, perched high up, gave -a fitful light and seemed to be suffering -from irritating twitches.</p> - -<p>I decided that we should take a short cut -back across “The Artillery”—a huge siding -where munition trains had been shunted. -But, as we got near the railways, a sentry -appeared:</p> - -<p>“Halt! Who goes there?”</p> - -<p>None of us had thought of the password. -The territorial barred the way with his rifle. -He was adamant:</p> - -<p>“I am sorry, Lieutenant, but you must -go another way: those are my orders.”</p> - -<p>A long turning brought us before another -sentry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> - -<p>“The password, please! You can’t go -through ‘The Artillery’ without it.”</p> - -<p>“My friend, we are taking away a dead -body.”</p> - -<p>I raised the corner of the sacking and -uncovered the bluish face. In the light of -the acetylene a portion of the pale skin -with some tattooed marks could be seen -through the chaotic heap of clothes that -were saturated with blood. A look of horror -passed over the guard’s face, but he said -again:</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, go along the main line! -It’s not possible this way.”</p> - -<p>We plunged back again along the network -of rails, disturbed by the clatter of the signals -and the rumbling convoys. Sometimes the exhausted -stretcher-bearers stopped and placed -their burden on the stony embankment and -carefully spat on their hands. Trains went -by, and we could see, in the bright compartments, -women reading, tightly clasping -beautiful children who had fallen asleep.</p> - -<p>At last the station lights came into -view.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - -<p>“Where are we taking the corpse?” I -asked Bonardent.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, sir.”</p> - -<p>I finally decided to present myself at the -<em>Petite Vitesse</em>. A room there had been taken -to receive the wreckage cast off from the -swirling activity of the railway station—lost -trunks, unemployed men, riderless beasts, -stores with no destination, and, when necessary, -corpses. A gendarme was smoking a -cigarette in front of the door.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, there’s no room here to-day. -It’s full of fugitives from the north, with their -kids and packages.”</p> - -<p>I uttered a few words of encouragement -to my men, and made up my mind to -try the “draft-pavilion.” It was occupied -by detachments that were rejoining their -corps. The men were sleeping in heaps on -the straw.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you must see it’s quite impossible -to put it here with the men,” said an adjutant, -shaking his head. He added, as if to excuse -himself:</p> - -<p>“Put yourself in my place, Lieutenant. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -have no authority.... I can’t take charge -of a corpse without orders....”</p> - -<p>I sat down on a stone. The stretcher-bearers, -worn out, mopped their brows and -uttered the word “Drink!” I looked at the -shapeless mass of Lamailleux, which seemed -quite indifferent to this last cross it had to -bear, and it waited for its eternal resting-place -with the sovereign patience of death.</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose you are well acquainted -with the station,” said the Adjutant to me; -“but there’s a guard-room there for the -transport men stationed here. I’ll go and -see.”</p> - -<p>I let him go and began to smoke, contemplating -the night, which was warm and -glorious. The tranquillity of the objects -seemed, like the agitation of the men, to say -distinctly: “Why is this man upsetting us all -with this useless corpse?” And an insect, -ecstatic in the rare grass, emitted a sharpening -crescendo of sound like a little being who -imagines that the whole earth exists and was -made for him.</p> - -<p>The Adjutant emerged from the darkness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s most unfortunate. A man is locked -up there for drunkenness: he has been sick -all over the place.”</p> - -<p>“Well, all right! Let’s go and see the -station-master.”</p> - -<p>He was asleep. His deputy was reading -the illustrated papers. While I stated my -case he asked me to advise him what pictures -he should cut out to stick on the walls from -among the little women of the <em>Vie fantaisiste</em>, -of which he seemed to be an inveterate -reader. As I remained surly, he said, as if in -parenthesis:</p> - -<p>“As for this dreadful business, it is an -awful pity that the hospital is at the other -end of the town. You can’t go there at this -time of night. Put the thing in a truck until -to-morrow morning, old chap!”</p> - -<p>Having, by this wonderful suggestion, -relieved himself of all responsibility, the young -man stuck his nose again into the illustrated -paper.</p> - -<p>At that time they had not erected at the -railway stations those large hospitals of wood -and cardboard which are to be seen everywhere<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> -now. The idea of the truck I did not -entertain for two seconds. In imagination -I saw this improvised mortuary starting out -during the night and taking away the corpse. -It was a mad idea!</p> - -<p>I went to the postmen: they were sorting -out the letters. They were humming: “It -is I who am Nénesse.” There wasn’t room -for a rat in their hutch, and at once they -regarded the question as quite beyond their -jurisdiction....</p> - -<p>I came out overcome with a kind of -annoyance. Really, nobody took the slightest -interest in my dead man. I muttered to -myself: “Why, why, Lamailleux, did you -let yourself die in a place where corpses are -not wanted, and at a moment when no one -has time to deal with them?” But even -as I said that, I felt none the less a kind of -link being established between me and this -wreckage, and I looked at it as at something -which puzzles you, but which belongs to you -in spite of everything.</p> - -<p>“Where shall we put the poor man?” said -Bonardent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> - -<p>Then the simplest solution struck me.</p> - -<p>“Follow me,” I said.</p> - -<p>Quietly we went back towards the lamp-room.</p> - -<p>“There’s no room there, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>“Proceed, Corporal.”</p> - -<p>I got the stretcher carried into the room -reserved for my use.</p> - -<p>“Now, put it there, alongside my mattress, -and go to bed.”</p> - -<p>The men went out, shaking their heads -with amazement. I remained alone with -Lamailleux and lay down on the sheets. War -had already taught me to live and to sleep in -the company of the dead, and I was surprised -that I had not, from the first, thought of so -natural a solution.</p> - -<p>For a long time, in the light of a candle, -I looked at the frightful heap which was my -night companion. There was no smell yet. -I blew out the candle and could think at -leisure.</p> - -<p>From the stretcher there fell softly every -second a drop of something which must have -been blood. For a long time I counted the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -drops, thinking of many things that were as -mournful as the epoch I lived in. Loud -whistles pierced the blackness, and I had -already counted several hundreds of the drops -when I fell into a sleep that was like that of -my comrade—undisturbed by dreams.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">THE HORSE-DEALERS</h2> -</div> - - -<p>They have all been summoned to -report at noon, though many of them -will not be wanted until evening.</p> - -<p>There they stand round the entrance—like -a dark puddle, one would almost say; -others are scattered about in the garden, -gloomily walking up and down.</p> - -<p>It is an afternoon of February. The -heavy and anxious sky is surcharged in one -limitless stretch. It appears to bear no -relation to the little events that happen -down here, so melancholy is its mood. The -wind is surly. It must know what they are -doing far away, but it says nothing; not -even the deepest rumble of the cannon is -borne along the breeze; we are far away, -and must forget....</p> - -<p>The wind swirls in between the buildings, -sweeps back on itself, enraged like a wild -beast caught in a trap.</p> - -<p>The men pay no attention to the sky, -or to the wind, or to the chilling light of -winter; they are thinking of themselves.</p> - -<p>They do not know each other; they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -have been brought here by a cause which -is common to all of them. They are so -bewildered and exhausted that they cannot -even pretend to be indifferent.</p> - -<p>On a closer view, there is about them something -that sets them all into a class apart: a -lack of physical vitality, a sickly look about -the body, too much flesh or too little, eyes -blazing with fever, sometimes an obvious -infirmity, more often a wan skin faintly -coloured with very poor blood. Never a -joyous relaxation of healthy muscles: all -of them have the slow, dragging movement -of the snail.</p> - -<p>Finding themselves herded together an -unendurable thought, some have started a -conversation to satisfy their pride; others -are silent, too proud to talk.</p> - -<p>There are wage-earners there, professional -men, and long-haired intellectuals whose bitter -looks are veiled by spectacles.</p> - -<p>Everybody smokes. Never has it been -so clear that tobacco is an anodyne for soul -sickness.</p> - -<p>From time to time, two or three men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -reach the garden gate and disappear for a few -minutes. They return wiping their mouths, -their breath reeking with wine.</p> - -<p>Every few minutes the door opens. A -gendarme appears and calls out some names. -Those who are called push their way through -the crowd, as if drawn by threads.</p> - -<p>Their mouths twitch a little at the corners. -They affect a detached, bored, or chaffing -expression, and they vanish under the -arch.</p> - -<p>They no longer see the February sky; no -longer do they breathe the cold odorous -wind: they are pushed one against the other -into a filthy corridor, from the walls of -which—painted Heaven knows how!—oozes -a thick, slimy sweat.</p> - -<p>They remain there herded for some time, -until another door opens. A gendarme counts -them off by the dozen, like fruit or cattle, -and hustles them into a large hall where -the Thing is to take place....</p> - -<p>At once a sickening smell of man makes -them gasp. They cannot at first see very -clearly what all the movement going on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -there is about. But they are left no time -to think.</p> - -<p>What indeed is the good of thinking -at a time when an immense lamenting cry -escapes from the entire stricken nation—a -desperate call, the death-rattle of a drowning -people?</p> - -<p>Why think? Does that frenzied, roaring -whirlwind which lays waste the old continent, -does <em>that</em> think? No, it is not indeed the -time for thought.</p> - -<p>The men have to undress quickly and -fall in—in rows.</p> - -<p>The hall is huge and forbidding. Its walls -are decorated with texts, and there are busts -of unknown men; in the centre a table, as -at a tribunal.</p> - -<p>Some big-wig, white-haired and rather -arrogant, is enthroned there; he seems exhausted, -but pertinacious. He is assisted by -some obscure supernumeraries.</p> - -<p>In front of the table, two doctors in white -overalls—one old and wizened, the other -still young, with a preoccupied, listless -look.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> - -<p>The men advance in single files towards -each of the doctors in white: they march one -behind the other like suppliants proceeding -to the altar of an angered God. They do not -know what to do with their arms.</p> - -<p>They are not the flower of the race: for -a long time now the finest men in the land -have been living up to their waists in mud, -alert as cats to the dangers threatening -them. It is long since the farmer found anything -in his winnow except chaff and dust, -and it is there still that he searches with -an avaricious hand for a few scattered -grains.</p> - -<p>The men are not cold: hot blasts of -air come rushing along the floor from a -blazing heating apparatus. Yet many of -the men shiver. Balancing sometimes on -one hip, sometimes on another, they fold -and unfold their arms, then drop them, -failing to strike any attitude. They are -ashamed of their nakedness.</p> - -<p>In the corner, near the door, a gendarme -is pushing and hustling a thin, frail little -worker who is too slow in undressing: he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -thought he need not pull off his socks and -pants. He is forced to do so, however, and -he discloses two unwashed feet.</p> - -<p>The men in overalls work with feverish -haste, like scene-shifters on the stage.</p> - -<p>They ask short, succinct questions, and -at once they feel and press with their quickly -moving hands.</p> - -<p>The victim is rather pale. A warm dew -comes out in beads on his temples. He -mumbles and speaks entreatingly. Then, -examined once again, he replies with more -assurance.</p> - -<p>“You only suffer from that. Do you -cough?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure you suffer from palpitation -of the heart?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, quite sure, quite!”</p> - -<p>“Then you have pain in talking?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; that above all.”</p> - -<p>“Your digestion is not good?”</p> - -<p>“No; it never has been.”</p> - -<p>The man seemed quite reassured. He -replied with a kind of enthusiasm—like some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -one who is at last understood. But, all at -once, the old doctor shrugs his shoulders and -reveals the trap:</p> - -<p>“You’ve got everything wrong with you—that’s -quite clear. Well, you are classed -A1—the fighting line.”</p> - -<p>“But surely you are aware——”</p> - -<p>“You have too many illnesses; there’s -nothing wrong with you. Get out! The -fighting line for you!”</p> - -<p>Sometimes somebody coughs, and at once -a storm of coughing breaks out among the -men gathered there.</p> - -<p>A big grey-haired fellow comes out of -a dark corner. Everybody shrinks away -from him, with a kind of disgust. Then he -remonstrates with his neighbours:</p> - -<p>“Hang it! D’you think that spots on -the skin....”</p> - -<p>Behind him, collapsed almost on a bench, -a tall man who might be anything between -twenty and sixty years of age is carefully -undressing. His face makes you feel very -sorry for him: he seems plunged in the -depths of human despair. He takes off an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> -incredible amount of clothing, knitted vests -and woollen things; and then there appear -some very touching articles: satchels, flannel -fronts, scapularies, objects of devotion. All -these he places on the bench. The men next -to him shift suddenly, and his clothes slip -on the floor and are trodden upon by those -who have just come in. The man is very -pale, as if people were trampling upon his -intimate life and his self-respect.</p> - -<p>A discussion suddenly breaks upon the -silence. The old doctor was exclaiming in -a furious tone:</p> - -<p>“I tell you I can hear nothing!”</p> - -<p>With both hands he was pressing down -the shoulders of a poor weak wretch as thin -as a poker, and who looked terrified.</p> - -<p>With one word the poor devil was ordered -into the fighting forces, and he went away, -more upset, trembling and panic-stricken than -he would ever be in the trenches in front of -the machine-guns.</p> - -<p>But at the other end of the hall something -unusual was happening.</p> - -<p>“I tell you I can walk,” protested a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -rasping voice, eaten away by goodness knows -what disease.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the young doctor, “no; -be reasonable, and go home. We’ll take you -later when you’ve recovered.”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t want me, I shall do myself -in.... But I tell you I have reasons for -going to the front. I am not going to stand -any more insults day after day.”</p> - -<p>A short silence takes possession of everyone -in the room: the echo of a tragedy is -felt. The man is obviously very ill. His -chest is horrible, distorted by violent breathing. -He can hardly stand on his swollen -legs, which are marked with large purple -veins.</p> - -<p>“Rejected!” cries the judge.</p> - -<p>And the unfortunate creature returns to -his rags, with lowered shoulders, his eyes dazed -like a bull that has been felled.</p> - -<p>The man who followed was a fatalist: he -refused to discuss his position.</p> - -<p>“That won’t prevent you serving.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! just as you like.”</p> - -<p>“Then, the fighting line!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> - -<p>“As you wish; I don’t care a damn.”</p> - -<p>And he withdraws immediately, liberated -like a man who stakes his future on a mere -throw of the dice.</p> - -<p>All those who go away leave behind them -something of the heavy smell of unwashed -bodies. Curious thing, they all have a fetid -breath; for that day they have eaten too -quickly, badly digested their food, smoked -and drunk too much. From all these mouths -comes the same warm, sour breath which -betrays the same emotion—the same breakdown -of the machine.</p> - -<p>The atmosphere of the room gradually -thickens. The lamps, which had been lit -quite early, appear to be lined with a heavy -clinging moisture that affects all the objects -in the room. But above all hovers something -more elusive and discordant—the air seems -to be charged with nervous energy, the -fragments of broken wills, the wreckage of -the thoughts abandoned there by men who -had to strip themselves naked, who were -afraid, who yearned and did not yearn, -who measured with anguish their powers of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> -resistance and the sacrifice they had to make, -who fought with all their might against the -forces of destiny.</p> - -<p>The men in overalls continue to move -about among these human bodies. They -do not stop feeling, manipulating, judging. -They sink the ends of their fingers into the -flesh of the shoulders and sides; they press -the biceps with their thumb and middle finger, -move joints, examine teeth and the inside of -eyelids, pull hair, and tap chests as customs -officers do casks. Then they make the men -walk from left to right, and right to left. -They make them bend, straighten themselves, -kneel down, or expose the most secret parts -of their person.</p> - -<p>Sometimes a breath of fresh air seems to -come into the room: two well-built young -men are asking to be enlisted. One hardly -understands why they are there.... The -whole tribunal looks at them with astonishment, -as at pieces of golden ore in a handful -of mud.</p> - -<p>They pass with a proud, rather forced -smile. Again the procession begins of pathetic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -ugliness, terrors, despairs, incurable and ravaged -fears. The tribunal made one think -of a jagged cliff against which persons are -dashed like sea-birds blown by a storm.</p> - -<p>The doctors show signs of exhaustion. -The oldest, who is rather deaf, throws himself -doggedly into his work, like a boar into the -thicket. The young doctor is obviously suffering -and irritated. He has the shrinking and -uneasy look of some one engaged in an odious -task and who finds no relief.</p> - -<p>And always human flesh abounds; always -from the same corner of the room comes the -long row of wan bodies, who walk gingerly on -the floor.</p> - -<p>Sacred human flesh, sacred substance -which serves thought, art, love, everything -great in life—it is now nothing but a vile, evil-smelling -lump of suet which one handles with -disgust to find whether it is yet ready for -the slaughter.</p> - -<p>Everybody begins to suffer from an insistent -headache.</p> - -<p>The work goes on as in a dream, with the -silences, the dragging movements, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -dark gaps of bad dreams. Two hours more -pass in this way. Then suddenly some one -says:</p> - -<p>“Here are the last ten.”</p> - -<p>They come in and undress one after the -other. They have waited so long they seem -exhausted, emptied, crushed. They accept -the verdict listlessly and mechanically, as if -felled by a blow; they go away in haste, -without speaking, without looking round.</p> - -<p>The doctors wash their hands, as once did -Pontius Pilate; they sign some papers ceremoniously -and disappear.</p> - -<p>Night has come. The wind has fallen. -A fog that absorbs the factory smoke still -hangs over the town. Leaning against a -lamp-post one of the last men examined -vomits, after excruciating efforts, the wine -he drank in the afternoon. The road is dark -and deserted.</p> - -<p>The whole place reeks with the stench of -the vomiting and the fog.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">A BURIAL</h2> -</div> - - -<p>As we seated ourselves at the table -M. Gilbert asked:</p> - -<p>“What time is Lieutenant Limberg’s -funeral?”</p> - -<p>“Three o’clock, Doctor,” replied the -faithful Augustus; “an infantry platoon -will come from his own regiment, which is -at the moment leaving the firing line and is -billeted at Morcourt.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right; send for Bénezech.”</p> - -<p>And we began to enjoy the piquancy -of a cucumber salad. September was fading -slowly, but the furnace on the Somme was -getting ever fiercer. The roar of the cannon -seemed to fill the immensity of the heavens, -as if a great tragedy was happening in -the heart of the world. We were slightly -stupefied through having spent many nights -without sleep—nights passed in trying to -stem the torrent of blood, and save some of -the wreckage that swept down with it.</p> - -<p>Lieutenant Limberg was one of the -saddest cases: for two weeks we tried to drag -him out of the swirling eddy, when, all of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -sudden, he sank rapidly, attacked by virulent -meningitis, stammering and uttering aloud -fantastic things, which gave his death a monstrous -atmosphere of comedy.</p> - -<p>Nothing gives greater offence or greater -pain than to witness the torture and delirium -suffered by men injured in the brain. How -many times have I wished, when confronted -with these terrible sights, that our indifferent -rulers should be forced to look at them! But -it is useless insisting on this. If people have -no imagination, they can never learn. I had -better go on with my tale.</p> - -<p>We were struggling with a tough piece of -beef when Bénezech came in.</p> - -<p>The Abbé Bénezech, a second-grade -hospital orderly, combined various functions, -including those of a secretary and chaplain. -He was a plump, slow-witted man, with a -formidable jaw. He grew a large unkempt -beard, and he badly felt the want of those -cares and attentions which a devoted flock -had showered on him. Much too holy a -person to attach any importance to cares of -the toilette, he had gradually degenerated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> -into a slovenly old man. But it was with -patience that he waited for his return to the -sweet amenities of his living.</p> - -<p>“Bénezech,” said M. Gilbert, rather -familiarly, “what time do you bury -Lieutenant Limberg?”</p> - -<p>“Three o’clock, sir.”</p> - -<p>“The body has been taken out?”</p> - -<p>“It should be in the mortuary shed.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Was the lieutenant a Catholic?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! yes; he most certainly was, sir. -Thank God! He took the sacrament yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Then everything is all right. Thank -you, Bénezech.”</p> - -<p>The chaplain went out. Relapsing again -into our somnolent state, we returned to our -unappetising dish of vermicelli. As we were -finishing, an orderly came in and handed a -card to M. Gilbert.</p> - -<p>“The officer,” he added, “insists on -seeing you at once.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert repeatedly looked at the card -with the strained attention of a man who feels -he is falling asleep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh! well,” he sighed; “show him in.”</p> - -<p>And he added, turning towards us:</p> - -<p>“Second Lieutenant David? Do you -know him? You don’t?”</p> - -<p>The Second Lieutenant was already at -the door. Over his frizzly hair he wore the -small cap distinctive of the light infantry. -He had big lips, a faint, twisted moustache, -the magnificent dark eyes of a Jewish trader, -a hint of corpulence, short fat hands.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur,” he said, “my battalion is -going up the line, and I’m taking advantage -of my passing here to get permission to see -one of your patients—Lieutenant Limberg, -a friend of mine.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert, who had rather an expressive -little nose, showed by a convulsive movement -of that organ that he was much -upset.</p> - -<p>“Give the lieutenant a chair,” he began, -with the calm good sense of a man who -knows how to break bad news. Then he -proceeded:</p> - -<p>“My dear friend, the news I have to -give you of Lieutenant Limberg is very sad:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -the unfortunate man had a serious wound -in the skull, and——”</p> - -<p>“He is dead?” asked the officer, in a -strangled voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is dead. We are burying him -to-day at three o’clock.”</p> - -<p>Second Lieutenant David remained for -some time without moving. A nervous twitch -began to work one side of his face. He -looked stunned, and wiped his temples, that -suddenly began to sweat profusely. We -showed our respect for this evident pain. In -a moment or two he got up, saluted, and was -about to take leave of us.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “he was my -best friend....”</p> - -<p>In an absent way he gave each of us -his plump clammy hand to shake, and he -was going out, when he stopped on the -doorstep.</p> - -<p>“One word more, Doctor. My friend -Limberg was a Jew—I am too—I thought it -was better to tell you....”</p> - -<p>He was gone. A short silence intervened, -then M. Gilbert began to strike the table<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -with the handle of his knife—a succession of -rapid knocks.</p> - -<p>“What did he say? Limberg a Jew? -It’s really too much! Call Bénezech.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert was a stubborn, explosive -man, given to violent reactions. He seemed -to forget the heat, his exhaustion, and his -digestion. He began to throw little pellets -of bread-crumbs wildly all over the room. -He had the intense, expectant air of a cartridge -the fuse of which has been set alight. -Bénezech came to an abrupt stop at the door, -overwhelmed by the might of the doctor’s -vocal organs, which left no one in doubt as -to what he felt.</p> - -<p>“Ah! it’s you, is it? A fine mess you -were going to get me in!”</p> - -<p>“Doctor!”</p> - -<p>“Listen! Lieutenant Limberg was a -Jew, and you were going to give him a -Catholic funeral.”</p> - -<p>“A Jew!”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I say a Jew!”</p> - -<p>The priest smiled, supremely incredulous.</p> - -<p>“He was not a Jew, Doctor, because I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -administered the sacrament to him yesterday -again.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert stopped short, like a horse who -shies at a wheelbarrow. Then he whispered -absently:</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t believe a word I -say!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Doctor!” protested the priest, and -he raised his hands, the palms outwards, with -an unction that was surprising in a soldier -who arranged his putties so dapperly in -corkscrew fashion from his ankles.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you may quite well have given him -the sacrament,” said M. Gilbert; “but what -did he have to say in the matter?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what he could -say,” interrupted Augustus, “when, as you -know, for the last ten days he has been quite -delirious.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” remarked M. Gilbert. -“What have you got to say to that, -Bénezech?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to think, Doctor; -but I can’t believe that a young man as -well educated as Lieutenant Limberg was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -not a Catholic. He took the sacrament twice -with me.”</p> - -<p>“That may be; but did he tell you he -was a Catholic?”</p> - -<p>“But, Doctor, how could I insult him by -asking him, especially when he was in such -a sad state. Besides, he came here wearing -crosses on his neck. I gave him several -myself, which he willingly took.”</p> - -<p>“Evidently there is something wrong,” -said M. Gilbert. “You tell me that Limberg -was a Catholic; well, we have just been told -that he was Jewish. You had better send -first for the rabbi of the division. Then, to -make sure, send me a despatch-rider from -Limberg’s battalion. We shall find out from -them.”</p> - -<p>Bénezech went out, raising his hands -several times, his fingers spread apart, looking -perplexed.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go to the mortuary tent,” said -M. Gilbert, getting up from the table.</p> - -<p>It was a disused tent where coffins were -placed on biers ready for burial services.</p> - -<p>Wrapped in an old flag, Limberg’s coffin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -had been placed on two boxes. A ray of -sunlight broke obliquely across the shadow, -revealing a glittering swarm of mosquitos. -Some hens were pecking at the fine gravel. -This place of death seemed like a haven of -rest on the edge of the tempest of war.</p> - -<p>An orderly came in, placed two candles -on the table, lit them, and stood a crucifix -between them.</p> - -<p>“Damn!” muttered M. Gilbert between -his teeth; “it’s very tiresome, all this fuss.”</p> - -<p>As we were coming out of the place, -we saw Bénezech and the despatch-rider. -Bénezech’s beard seemed to bristle with -triumph. With his fingers on his <em>képi</em>, he -saluted as if he were pronouncing the benediction, -and he said in a celestial voice:</p> - -<p>“Information from the battalion, Doctor: -Lieutenant Limberg was a Catholic.”</p> - -<p>“Confound it all!” cried the doctor. -“Have you a written note?”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the cyclist. “The officers -only discussed the matter among themselves, -and they said he was a Catholic. You -will see them yourself presently: they are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> -coming to the funeral with the infantry -platoon.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert stamped on the ground. He -was very red, and the unruly movements -of his nose showed that a decision was about -to be made.</p> - -<p>“Can I get ready for the service?” asked -Bénezech, with the innocent and measured -tone of a man who does not press home his -victory.</p> - -<p>“What!” said M. Gilbert. “The service? -As you please—get ready as much as you like. -I have my own idea now.”</p> - -<p>Our devoted Augustus, who had left us -for a few minutes, came back with a packet -of envelopes.</p> - -<p>“I have been looking into the private -correspondence of the lieutenant. I find -nothing conclusive, except perhaps this postcard, -signed by a Mr. Blumenthal, who calls -Lieutenant Limberg ‘his cousin.’ Blumenthal—that’s -a Jewish name.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps so,” said M. Gilbert; “but I -don’t mind now. I have my own idea.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said Augustus hesitatingly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> -“that you could still—have the coffin -opened.”</p> - -<p>“No! you mustn’t think of it!” M. Gilbert -firmly replied; “and I repeat, I have my own -idea. Let’s go back to our work.”</p> - -<p>We returned then to work; and that -lasted about two and a half hours. Then the -orderly reappeared.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur, the Jewish chaplain wants to -see you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m coming,” he said.</p> - -<p>He put on his four-striped <em>képi</em>, took off -his overalls, and disappeared.</p> - -<p>Looking through the window, I saw the -rabbi of the division arriving. He got out -of a pedlar’s cart drawn by a crook-kneed -mule. With his black skull-cap, his flowing -beard, his long coat, his cross-hilted stick, his -tall bent figure in the distance, he seemed to -me like the Polish Jews one reads of in popular -novels. He appeared a man of mature age, -and got off the step with the dignity of a -patriarch.</p> - -<p>My curiosity was aroused, and I went out -to see what was going to happen. Twenty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -steps from the cart, in the bend of an avenue, -I again saw the rabbi, without at first recognising -him: his beard was black, rather frizzly, -he had a very slight tendency to corpulence, -his smile was that of an Assyrian god, and -there was something in his looks of the Eastern -calm of the Mediterranean Sea.</p> - -<p>I skirted a shed and found myself face -to face with the doctor and the Jewish -chaplain. I saw at once that I had been -twice mistaken. He was a man of the world, -not old at all, wearing pince-nez, with a -studious, attentive appearance, aloof and -erudite—the “distinguished” air of a university -graduate. He spoke the rather cosmopolitan -French of a man who knows six -or seven languages, but who has not perfectly -mastered the correct accent of any of them.</p> - -<p>“Really, Doctor,” he was saying, “we -have many Limbergs in the East. I know -several families.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure you do,” replied M. Gilbert -courteously. “But I have finally decided -what to do. Will you come along now, -sir?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> - -<p>We walked slowly to the tent. As we -got near, the ground vibrated with the rapid -tread of a small company on the march, -and the infantry platoon appeared. Some -officers followed, a little distance off.</p> - -<p>Everybody stopped before the tent, and -we saw Bénezech coming out. Over his -jacket he had thrown an ancient surplice, -which seemed to have seen service not only -in the present war, but in every war of the -past century.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said the doctor rather -emphatically, “an unfortunate thing has -happened. We cannot tell with certainty -what was Lieutenant Limberg’s religion. The -information you have sent us would tend to -show he was Catholic.”</p> - -<p>“A practising Catholic,” added Bénezech, -taking advantage of a pause.</p> - -<p>“May I ask you,” continued the doctor, -“on what you base your judgment?”</p> - -<p>The officers looked at one another, as if -they had been caught unawares.</p> - -<p>“Why!” said one of them, “he never told -us he was a Jew.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - -<p>“But——”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I have definite evidence,” said a -captain: “he went to Mass several times -with me.”</p> - -<p>“But, hang it!” said M. Gilbert to this -obtuse soldier, “that proves nothing. Why! -I go myself to Mass sometimes.... It’s -true,” he added, “I’m not a Jew. As for -Limberg: to-day I saw one of his intimate -friends, who informed me that the lieutenant -held the Jewish faith.”</p> - -<p>Another pause intervened. The soldiers -had piled arms in the avenue. All present -seemed perplexed and hesitating. The two -priests had not looked at one another yet, -and seemed to be examining the uniform of -the officers with the greatest care.</p> - -<p>At that moment two stretcher-bearers -came out of the tent carrying the coffin -draped with the French colours. They took -three paces forward, and the priest and the -rabbi found themselves suddenly one on each -side of the corpse.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, in a voice a -prophet would use when thinking of Solomon—“gentlemen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> -because of the uncertainty, -I have decided that Lieutenant Limberg -shall be buried according to the rites both -of the Roman Catholic and of the Hebrew -Church. There will then be no possibility of -a mistake being made; at most, one superfluous -service. We know that God recognises -his own. These gentlemen will proceed in -turn. I believe I am doing a wise and just -thing.”</p> - -<p>The officers nodded their heads, without -betraying what they thought. The two -priests, for the first time, looked at one -another. They looked at each other over -the coffin, and bowed as if they had only -just arrived. Moved by the same impulse, -they both affected a curious smile; but -their eyes had no share in it. They confronted -each other like two members of a family -who have a feud of centuries behind them, -and who meet in the presence of a man of -the world.</p> - -<p>Between them, the stake was, not a soul, -but a box containing a stiff body, distorted -by a death-agony of ten days—a box wrapped<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -in a symbolic shroud which a light breeze -ruffled.</p> - -<p>The two priests looked at one another -with interest for one long moment. On -one side, the country priest, with an ungainly -peasant build: on the other the cultured and -cosmopolitan rabbi, with the sophisticated -smile, old as the Bible.</p> - -<p>“Really,” whispered Augustus in my -ear—“really, Bénezech has done it often -enough in his time; he might let the other -have a chance.”</p> - -<p>“You be quiet!” said M. Gilbert, who -had overheard him. “You are a fool to talk -like that. This is no laughing matter.”</p> - -<p>Bénezech was just very slightly shrugging -his shoulders; he lowered his eyes and -stammered:</p> - -<p>“Monsieur, if Lieutenant Limberg was -really of the Hebrew faith, I would prefer to -withdraw.”</p> - -<p>“Do as you think best, Bénezech,” said -M. Gilbert.</p> - -<p>The rabbi continued to smile. He had -the patient look of a believer who knows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -that the Messiah once failed to appear at the -appointed time, and that one must continue -to expect him for thousands of years again.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Bénezech, quite low, “I -withdraw, Doctor.”</p> - -<p>He made a few steps, and we heard him -murmur as he withdrew:</p> - -<p>“The chief thing is that he should receive -the sacrament. And he has—twice.”</p> - -<p>The rabbi was still smiling, as if he was -thinking: “As for me, I remain.”</p> - -<p>M. Gilbert made a sign. Commands rang -out, and everybody stood at the salute.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">FIGURES</h2> -</div> - - -<p>No, my dear fellow, the war hasn’t -changed everybody.</p> - -<p>You didn’t know M. Perrier-Langlade?</p> - -<p>He was what we should call a great -organiser—a man who might, for instance, -hit upon a spot where everything was going -on all right, and everyone knew his job and -was busy at it. But to M. Perrier-Langlade, -who had very original views as to what was -practical, everything was going quite wrong. -Objects had at once to be moved from their -places and jobs had to be exchanged. He -walked with a stick in his right hand—<em>his</em> -working tool—which he waved like a fencer -or an orchestral conductor: he tapped everybody -with this annoying stick, and commands -fell from him like hail from a cloud. One -works-section which his genius had reorganised -was several weeks before it could -be set going again with anything like its old -smoothness. M. Perrier-Langlade had ideas: -and that is an event of momentous importance. -For ordinary mortals, you know, can never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -pretend to ideas: these are the preserve -of the great. And the height of M. Perrier-Langlade’s -ingenuity was to think that the -suggestions we had all been wanting to -work out were entirely his own. But that -again did not lead to efficiency; for this rare -mind was ever open to the latest thing in -ideas—showing, let us admit, a very generous -disposition. He bent to every gust of wind. -He was indeed so unpractical that his sense of -the relation between thought and action was of -the haziest. But that of course is the penalty -of an exalted position, and in other respects -M. Perrier-Langlade was a great organiser.</p> - -<p>He loved figures. Let us do him this -justice: he handled them with the freedom of -an expert. He saw in them a deep meaning -which always escaped our unmathematical -minds.</p> - -<p>M. Perrier-Langlade I had only seen -from a distance—and on rare occasions; -but at last I was to talk to him. What am -I saying!—I am presuming a great deal: you -know what my rank is—well, then, I was -at last to be admitted to the presence of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> -M. Perrier-Langlade, to hear him discourse, -to profit by the kind of education which the -most insignificant of his utterances and movements -were able to bestow.</p> - -<p>It occurred last winter, during the weeks -of intense cold. For a fortnight it had been -blowing—a sharp, despairing, cold east wind.</p> - -<p>The cold and the wind had given rise to -an epidemic of fires on the front. The little -stoves had been stuffed to their fullest capacity, -and they crackled and smoked convulsively, -and the corners of sheds sometimes -caught their fever. A flame stuck its nose -outside: the wind snapped at it, twisted, -stretched it, swelled it like a sail, and most -often it cost five or six thousand francs in -wood, paper, canvas, and other materials. -When the Germans saw it happening within -gunshot distance, they despatched a few -explosives with the charitable object of -helping on its sinister designs. It’s what you -must expect, you know. You either make or -you don’t make war. And the miserable -world has made it—there’s no shadow of -doubt about that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> - -<p>We had lost in this way many huts, -which were happily cut off from the others, -and it had been a useful warning to us when, -one night, about one o’clock, a fire—a terrible -fire—broke out in Hut 521, which could be -seen on the plain three or four miles away -from us.</p> - -<p>We had just put on our boots and had -gone out to watch it. What a sight it was! -The huge furnace with its tongues of flame, -the bluish country benumbed with frost, the -wind which seemed to ripple like water in the -moonlight, and the reflections of the fire on -the Siberian landscape, honeycombed with -the old trenches of 1915.</p> - -<p>We were horrified at the thought of what -was happening there; but we did not dare -to leave our post.</p> - -<p>And we did right; for towards 3 <span class="allsmcap">A.M.</span> a -long line of motors came hooting before the -door—some of the wounded rescued from the -fire were being brought to us.</p> - -<p>We got them out of the cars. How -patient they were, poor things! Two with -fractured skulls, one with an amputated leg,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -and another with a broken leg, and several -less seriously wounded. They had lost in -the fire all the possessions which, as soldiers, -they were allowed to have—the linen bag -you see hanging on the bed, containing a -knife, a box of matches, three or four old -letters, and a small lead pencil. I repeat, -they did behave well; but they were pitiful -to look at. They really looked like people -who for one awful moment had lain helpless -in their beds while the flames surrounded -them, and who were conscious of only one -agonising thought: “If help doesn’t come -at once, in five minutes it will be too late.”</p> - -<p>We put them into bed, and got them -warm again: they needed it. I well remember -seeing icicles glistening on the bandages -of the man with the broken leg. It was -a sorry business. The whole night long we -looked after them; and only in the morning -were we able to chat round the coffee-pot. -The wounded were dozing. The hut was -almost warm. We had made them wear -cotton caps and woollen vests, and drink -a cupful of boiling milk. They were in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> -half-dozing, half-waking state and seemed -to be thinking: “Lord! what a narrow -shave! And it’s the second one too. We -had better look out for the third.”</p> - -<p>It was then, old fellow, that M. Perrier-Langlade -arrived on the scene.</p> - -<p>I had gone out—I don’t remember why—and -I was kicking my heels on the frosty ground, -when I saw a sumptuous motor-car come to -a stop on the road. The door clicked open, -and M. Perrier-Langlade came out, staggering -under a heavy, luxurious fur cloak.</p> - -<p>I at once thought: “Ah, good! Here’s -M. Perrier-Langlade coming to cheer up my -poor patients.”</p> - -<p>I had a hundred yards to cover. I leaped -over some dizzy gratings, and I arrived, -rather out of breath, just in time to spring -to attention before the door. M. Perrier-Langlade -stamped with annoyance.</p> - -<p>“What!” he said to me. “There is no -one here to receive me!”</p> - -<p>“I ask your pardon, Monsieur——”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue! You can see for -yourself there is no one here. You have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -to-night taken in some of the wounded from -Hut 521. I went to see the fire myself—at -two o’clock in the morning—risking an attack -of pneumonia. I’m not bothering about that, -though; but it is my wish that some one -should be here to receive me—here—when I -come out of the car. If you hadn’t come -there would have been no one, and I will -not be kept waiting these very cold days. -In future you will have an orderly permanently -stationed here.”</p> - -<p>“But you understand, Monsieur——”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue! How many -wounded did you take in to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Thirteen, Monsieur. It is true that——”</p> - -<p>“Enough! Thirteen! Thirteen!”</p> - -<p>M. Perrier-Langlade began to repeat the -number, presumably for his own benefit. -It was quite clear that this number suggested -to his mind thoughts of a deep and wide -significance. I don’t know what foolish impulse -made me then open my mouth.</p> - -<p>“But note, sir——”</p> - -<p>“Be quiet!” he said angrily. “Thirteen! -Thirteen!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>I felt extremely confused and took refuge -in complete silence. That didn’t last long. -Ravier was approaching as fast as his legs -could carry him: he had seen the motor, -and had galloped.... He stopped dead at -five paces, his two heels stuck in the -crunching snow, and saluted.</p> - -<p>“There you are,” remarked M. Perrier-Langlade—“not -too soon either. How many -wounded have you taken in to-night that -you wouldn’t have ordinarily?”</p> - -<p>Ravier gave me a despairing look. I -showed him my open hand, holding apart -my fingers, and Ravier, in spite of his discomfiture, -replied:</p> - -<p>“Five, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Five! Five!” said M. Perrier-Langlade. -“Then it is not thirteen, but five!”</p> - -<p>I jumped as if some one had stuck a hatpin -in me.</p> - -<p>“But note, sir, that——”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue!” he said, with an -authoritative calm. “Five! Five!”</p> - -<p>And he began to repeat this word, with an -air that was at once Olympian and indulgent,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -like some one who cannot reproach men -who are too ignorant to enjoy the supreme -delights of arithmetic.</p> - -<p>We looked at one another, astounded, -when we heard the tread of a pair of hobnailed -boots, and M. Mourgue appeared, his nose -blue with cold, his little beard quite stiff, -and emitting, as he panted, a cloud of steam.</p> - -<p>“Ah! at last!” cried M. Perrier-Langlade. -“Here you are, Monsieur Mourgue. Will you -be good enough to tell me how many men -you have at present in your huts?”</p> - -<p>M. Mourgue appeared to sink into himself -before replying, in a preoccupied tone:</p> - -<p>“Twenty-eight, sir.”</p> - -<p>M. Perrier-Langlade this time laughed a -bitter, discouraged laugh.</p> - -<p>“Well, well! it is not thirteen, nor five, -but twenty-eight! Twenty-eight! And I -was suspecting——”</p> - -<p>“But, sir——” we cried all together excitedly.</p> - -<p>From beneath the cloak of fur he thrust -out his hand, which, in spite of its velvet -glove, was none the less a mailed fist.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> - -<p>“Be silent, gentlemen! You do not -understand. Twenty-eight!”</p> - -<p>We looked at each other as if we had suddenly -gone mad. M. Perrier-Langlade, carried -away by sublime meditation, walked to and fro -repeating, “Twenty-eight! Twenty-eight!”</p> - -<p>I noticed his voice had almost a provincial -inflection, and was not without geniality. For -a few moments he repeated, first shaking -his head, then with increasing joy, “Twenty-eight! -Twenty-eight!” And I was convinced -that to him figures did not mean the -same thing as they do to you or me.</p> - -<p>Then he abruptly saluted, with a supreme, -imperious courtesy.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, gentlemen! Twenty-eight! -Twenty-eight!”</p> - -<p>And he went off to his car, rubbing his -hands together, with the savage joy of a -man who has got hold of some absolute -truth.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">DISCIPLINE</h2> -</div> - - -<p>Frankly, I do not regret those four -days’ imprisonment. True, they cost -me a terrific cold—and perhaps I -may here be allowed to say that the guard-room -was anything but clean—still, I learnt -some very useful things. Indeed, I can hardly -cry out against the injustice of it in view of -the inestimable benefit I received and the -insight it gave me. No, I am not sorry for -having experienced, at the age of forty-six, -the straw of the prison cell that every one -admits to be damp and unhealthy.</p> - -<p>When the sergeant, who is not at all a -bad fellow, though afflicted with a painful -disease, came and told me, “Monsieur Bouin, -you’ve got four days guard-room,” I was -at first amazed and incredulous. At the -same time, it was early in the day, and the -sergeant, who never joked before his morning -operation, added with a doleful expression:</p> - -<p>“Some one named Bouin ought to have -been on duty last night in the hospital. -But no one turned up. It wasn’t perhaps -you, my poor Monsieur Bouin, who cut your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> -job, but it’s certainly you who have four -days’ imprisonment.”</p> - -<p>The sergeant stopped. I felt something -gripping me in the pit of the stomach, and a -heavy blush added to my discomfort. Right -up to the first weeks of the war, my life had -been peaceful and happy: there were some -emotions I had not until then experienced, -and I could not get accustomed to them, so -that I was acutely conscious of the indignity -I now had to suffer.</p> - -<p>“Sergeant,” I said, “it can’t be true. I -was on hospital duty the day before yesterday, -and I am to-morrow again. It wasn’t my -turn last night, I am quite certain.”</p> - -<p>I must have been very red and trembling, -for the sergeant looked at me for a moment -or two, evidently feeling very sorry. Then -he said, “Just wait a moment. I’ll go and -see the orderly officer”; and he went out.</p> - -<p>I went back to my scrubbing. That is -very tiring work for a man who has spent -his life studying mathematics; but in September -1914 a spirit of determination and of -sacrifice had aroused all Frenchmen worthy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> -of the name. I had volunteered to serve -my country humbly, proudly, within the extreme -limits of my strength; and as it was -upon my physical strength that the demand -was chiefly being made, I used every day to -scrub the floor with enthusiasm. On that -morning I threw myself frantically into the -job, with such a will indeed that heavy drops -of perspiration undid my work. I suffered, -but was quite content: we water our native -soil with what we can. Don’t you think so?</p> - -<p>The sergeant came back.</p> - -<p>“Monsieur Bouin,” he said, “it’s you -all right. You’ve got four days’ clink, and -it’s a dirty trick they are playing on you. -Quite lately a doctor joined up who has the -same name as yours, but he hasn’t yet been -given his rank. As he does the work of a -major, he hasn’t to stick it on night duty. -But the clerks, who never know anything, -put him down for duty, and that’s how no -one turned up. You understand? Then -the colonel ordered four days’ imprisonment. -But the orderly officer got him to -see that he couldn’t punish the doctor,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -who’s got his job to do! But you see the -punishment has been posted under the name -Bouin; and as some one has got to be -punished, I suppose it’s got to be you....”</p> - -<p>I was holding one of those scrubbing-sticks -at the end of which a piece of wax -was usually fixed. I was so astounded that -I let the thing fall. The clumsy clatter -seemed to be cruelly emphasised by the -echoing walls of the room. It sounded like -a smack. I felt so wretched.</p> - -<p>“Go yourself and see the officer,” said -the sergeant, rather touched, shifting from -one leg to the other. “I have now to see -about the signatures....”</p> - -<p>I let him go; for when this good fellow -talks of signatures, he is tortured by a very -necessary need, which he cannot satisfy -without suffering those shooting pains....</p> - -<p>I placed my scrubbing implements in a -corner, and I hastened to the office, buttoning -my little jacket with trembling fingers: my -equanimity was never real, and I felt some -difficulty in controlling my emotions.</p> - -<p>I knew the officer: he was an old Alsatian<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span> -whom the war had dragged out of a <em>mairie</em> -where he was spending the days of his retirement. -He had not, up till then, appeared -to me a difficult person, nor needlessly fussy; -and I did not despair of being able to make -him unbend and to acknowledge himself in -the wrong.</p> - -<p>“Ah! it’s you, Bouin,” he said coolly. -“Well, you’ve got to do four days’ imprisonment. -You begin at noon.”</p> - -<p>“But, sir,” I said, “while my name is -Bouin—Bouin, Léon—and——”</p> - -<p>He cut me short.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t matter what your Christian -name is. There was no Christian name on -the list. You have seen the name Bouin: -you’ve only got to carry out——”</p> - -<p>“But, sir, the times I go on duty have -been definitely fixed for the last two weeks. -I haven’t noticed——”</p> - -<p>The man jumped to his feet, and I saw -he was short—almost ridiculously short. He -came towards me angrily, sputtering into his -moustache.</p> - -<p>“A punishment has been ordered. Some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> -one has got to take it; and it’s you who’ve -got to do so. What is your profession?”</p> - -<p>“A teacher of mathematics, and a -volunteer.”</p> - -<p>He added in a tense voice:</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t follow that because you are -not a conscript you’re going to be cock of -the walk here. Besides, men of education -like yourself ought to be an example to the -others. Follow my advice, and do your four -days, my boy.”</p> - -<p>“But, <em>Monsieur l’officier</em>——”</p> - -<p>“You do as I advise you. This is not -the moment, when the enemy is hammering -at the gates of the capital—this is not the -moment, I repeat, to scatter germs of indiscipline.”</p> - -<p>“But, sir, discipline——”</p> - -<p>Lines appeared on his brow and round -his mouth. Then he muttered in a tone -that was at once arrogant, sad and sententious:</p> - -<p>“Discipline!—why, you don’t know what -it is! You can’t teach me anything about -that. Do your four days.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> - -<p>I understood from the gesture accompanying -these words that I must depart. An -unexpected reply escaped me.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” I said, “I shall send in a complaint -to the colonel.”</p> - -<p>The dwarf brought down his fists on a pile -of documents.</p> - -<p>“Good! good! Another row! And we -think we are going to win with such people! -Get out of my sight, will you!”</p> - -<p>I thought he groaned, and I found myself -in the passage. Midway between the floor -and the ceiling ran a water-pipe, making a -babbling noise. It seemed to have been -installed there in the silence since the days -of Adam.</p> - -<p>I went staggering back to my work.</p> - -<p>The doctor of the third division at that -time was a man named Briavoine. What a -delightful and sympathetic person he was! -He had such a jolly way of feeling convinced -about everything he said. And how I loved -to see him smile, with the wrinkles on his -wide bare forehead and round his eyes!</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine was in his office when I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -arrived; but on that day no smile lit up -his face, which was frowning and majestic.</p> - -<p>“No, no!” he was saying to those -around him. “Dufrêne is a general, but I—I -am mere Briavoine.”</p> - -<p>A silence full of respect greeted this firm -avowal. The reputation of M. Briavoine was -more than European. He had distinguished -himself in the delicate art of making childbirth -a less difficult and painful process, and -many princesses had benefited by his care.</p> - -<p>I was so obsessed with my little affair that -I began to wander over the room without any -real or apparent aim; and, in doing so, I very -clumsily knocked up against M. Briavoine.</p> - -<p>“Be careful, my friend,” said this kind -and courteous man.</p> - -<p>The urbanity of M. Briavoine, the gentleness -of his voice, his correct and exquisite -gesture, soothed my violated self-respect. -I retired gratefully and with modesty to a -corner where papers were being classified. -And I thought: “How very polite he is, -from every point of view!...”</p> - -<p>Gradually I regained my equanimity and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -took an interest in the conversation of the -officers—an interest which soon became very -keen.</p> - -<p>They were expecting, that very day, a -visit from the Chief of the Medical Staff of -the Forces—General Dufrêne. The imperious -and diligent visits which this weighty person -paid to the armies were worthy of the highest -praise, and were, too, occasions for keen -criticism.</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine took off his braided tunic: -gold and silver stripes adorned the sleeves.</p> - -<p>“Give me my overalls,” he said. “Monsieur -Dufrêne wishes to be received by his -subordinates in full-dress uniform; but the -needs of our profession require a coat like -this.”</p> - -<p>A breath of rebellion disturbed the atmosphere. -Those standing round M. Briavoine -were understood to murmur their assent, in -which there was at once something of bitterness, -irony and defiance. Dressed in white, -the great doctor looked at himself contentedly.</p> - -<p>“I am going to receive Dufrêne,” he said, -“as I am now, in overalls, without my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -<em>képi</em>; if he takes it into his head to object, -he may find that though I may be a subordinate, -I am a man who has a right to -some independence. That I serve my country -disinterestedly no one can dispute, and I am -not going to be lorded over. What have I to -gain? My work in civil life is worth all the -honours that I could ever get here.”</p> - -<p>These sensible views were hardly uttered -before Professor Proby came in. He was a -very tall man, with straw-coloured hair, and -a look that expressed a seriousness bordering -on stupidity. He used to bawl in talking, -cutting up his sentences with all kinds of -interjections and expletives which completely -altered the sense of what he wanted to say. -He plunged into a conversation with as much -good manners as a buffalo.</p> - -<p>“What! What are you telling me? -But I don’t care a hang.... Him! Why -he knows quite well that—what! I am -Paul Proby! And I am a member of the -Academy; and I....”</p> - -<p>It was true: Professor Proby honoured -the Academy with his contributions. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -beat his foot on the ground, jingling his -glittering spurs, and the rather showy parts -of an accoutrement that had remained unused -in a cupboard until the outbreak of war.</p> - -<p>“Dufrêne! that man!” he said again. -“I’ve always been on good terms with him. -But one mustn’t ... how annoying it is ... -that man!”</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine, who had tact, thought the -conversation was getting incoherent. With -one turn of the rudder, he brought the ship -back to its course.</p> - -<p>“It’s not a question of personalities, but -a question of principle. We are not, like -our enemies, a race that has been brutally -enslaved....”</p> - -<p>This generalisation seemed to bring an -atmosphere of philosophy into the sunlit -room. Everybody began to listen attentively, -and the spirit of revolt became measured and -serious.</p> - -<p>Since my interview with the orderly -officer, one single word leaped and danced -in my head. I repeated it mechanically. I -dissected its syllables, obsessed and anxious.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> - -<p>Suddenly I felt that the word was going to -be uttered; that it was ripe, fertile, bursting; -that it was going to spring out of my head—escape—and -alight, in turn, on every mouth -that was speaking there.</p> - -<p>“You cannot,” said M. Briavoine, “ask -Frenchmen to accept without question an -authority that has no bounds. I will even -admit without any shame that our race is -the least disciplined in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Authority, like alcohol, is a poison -which makes man mad,” said a spectacled -young man with sharp looks.</p> - -<p>“I thoroughly agree,” cried the doctor. -“As for discipline....”</p> - -<p>A sigh of satisfaction escaped me. It -was done. The word had come out, and I -saw it disporting itself outside of me with a -feeling at once of deliverance and curiosity. -I gazed at the celebrated doctor with a very -real gratitude. My satisfaction was indeed -so great that in spite of my low rank I -vigorously nodded to show how completely -I agreed with Dr. Briavoine. And approval -being always acceptable from any one however<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -insignificant, Dr. Briavoine gave me in -passing one of those generous smiles of -his that were half-hidden away in his -beard.</p> - -<p>“Discipline,” he was saying, “is not perhaps -a French virtue. But, God be praised! -we have others; and our critical spirit alone, -so subtle, incisive and delicate, is worth all -the heavy qualities of our enemies.”</p> - -<p>Doctor Coupé had come in almost unseen -in the midst of the general interest. Taken -to task by his colleagues, this excellent old -man looked like a late-season leaf which -the storm was trying to tear away from -a bough. For a few seconds he hesitated -between his innate terror of authority and -his love of mischief. The vehemence of the -views, however, that prevailed left him no -option; and the dry leaf sped away, swirling -in the gale.</p> - -<p>“We are ready to shed our blood, if -we are called upon,” the doctor said, stating -a principle; “but, in God’s name! they should -ask us politely.”</p> - -<p>“The very least! Manners!” muttered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -Professor Proby. “I am disciplined enough—on -condition ... what?... We ask for -some consideration.”</p> - -<p>“You know what Dufrêne did, the day -before yesterday?” ventured an important-looking -person, who was trying by a clever -adjustment of his collar and movement of -his chin to keep his beard in a horizontal -position, and who acquired in this way -an air of extraordinary majesty. “Listen -then....” And in the middle of a chorus -of protestations and laughter he began to -tell the latest little scandal invented by -imaginations which are not content with the -reading of the communiqués of those glorious -and tragic days.</p> - -<p>There were about a dozen doctors in the -room. Four or five were indeed princes -among doctors. The war had given me a -unique opportunity of knowing these distinguished -personalities, and I assure you -I felt a not unnatural emotion in hearing -them speak freely before me. My conversation -of the morning with my orderly officer -had very much upset me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - -<p>Mathematics impose on the mind stubborn -habits of order. I am unfortunately a bachelor, -but I have quite rational, serious views on -the family and society, as you would expect -from my tastes and my profession. I know -that very learned mathematicians have been -able to imagine triangles which did not have -three sides, or parallel lines which ended in -meeting in a point.... I cannot follow -these masters on such a path: perhaps I -am too old to follow such tracks. Anyhow, -I am satisfied with what I do know. When -looking at my library, and turning over the -pages of my lecture note-books, I always -experienced a pleasant sensation of order -and discipline. Besides, the study of mathematics -makes you logical. And what had -happened to me that morning was not -logical—in other words, was not just. And -the thought that the demands of order -required an illogical action even in the -midst of the chaos of war, appeared to me -the wildest incoherence.</p> - -<p>You can then imagine the relief, even -enthusiasm, I felt on hearing these eminent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> -men justify my rebellious attitude. I listened -to their words, marking them with approving -nods of the head. I felt a keen, almost -trembling enjoyment, mingled with pride and -a kind of superstitious terror.</p> - -<p>Gradually I became aware that the last -emotion was becoming the dominant one. -I feared I was relying too much on reason; -without knowing my position, these gentlemen -were too excited and earnest in their -approval. This verbal exaltation of indiscipline -made me feel an exquisite uneasiness, -almost of pain. Forced to be quiet out -of respect, I nevertheless mentally and repeatedly -begged them to be calm: “Take -care, gentlemen! Be calm, sirs!”</p> - -<p>Such were my thoughts when, in the -general uproar of voices, a bell was heard -ringing: it was the visitors’ office bell. -Immediately the room was strangely quiet.</p> - -<p>“<em>Monsieur le principal!</em>” said a sergeant -who had just appeared at the door; “the -motor-car of the Chief of the Medical Staff -is at the gate.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” said some one whom<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span> -everybody called familiarly Father Coupé. -Then automatically he adjusted his <em>képi</em> on -his head, and stepped towards the door.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” asked Professor -Proby in a voice that was arrogant yet without -much self-assurance.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to receive him at the -entrance,” replied the old fellow.</p> - -<p>“What! There are other people for -that. We can wait for him here while we -work.”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t think of it,” said M. -Coupé. “The custom——”</p> - -<p>“Why, I used to call that fellow Dufrêne, -without the Mr., in civil life,” muttered -Professor Proby. “And I contend that ... -ha! the idea!”</p> - -<p>“It’s a question of courtesy,” commented -M. Briavoine. “Let’s go to the door. Give -me my tunic.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you wish to keep on your overalls, -my dear master?” said the young man with -the sharp look.</p> - -<p>“Of course. But I’m afraid of catching -cold. Give me my <em>képi</em> as well; I can’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> -walk across the garden with nothing on my -head.”</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine turned towards me.</p> - -<p>“My friend,” he said, “look for the -registers, and be so good as to come along -with me.”</p> - -<p>Then he repeated, putting on his hat:</p> - -<p>“There is no point in catching cold.”</p> - -<p>A warm ray of sunlight entered by the -open window! I thought M. Briavoine had -no reason to fear colds, and I took the -registers.</p> - -<p>The group of officers were now going -down the wide stairs, in a tumult of voices -and footsteps.</p> - -<p>A feeling of uneasiness, it seemed to me, -gave a slight chill to the conversation. As -we arrived under the arches, I heard M. -Briavoine saying to M. Coupé:</p> - -<p>“It’s the first time, since the war, that -I meet the Chief of the Medical Staff, General -Dufrêne.”</p> - -<p>He added, not without a certain gravity -of tone:</p> - -<p>“Vernier, go back and see if they have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> -swept the subalterns’ room. Some cotton was -lying about there just now.”</p> - -<p>“Hang it!” mumbled Proby; “he must -not come and interfere with us. And he’s -going to be received like this! We’ll tell -him—what!—we’ll tell him a thing or two.”</p> - -<p>“We will tell him, right enough,” said -M. Briavoine with decision. “We’ll tell him -that the hospital is badly lighted; the gas-pipes -and water-pipes are innumerable; that -the food is not as it should be——”</p> - -<p>“I shall not stick at anything,” interrupted -Father Coupé: “I shall insist on the important -improvements I want for my work.”</p> - -<p>As we got to the steps of the entrance, -Professor Proby became suddenly irascible, -and, taking on one side one of the attendants -who was wearing a white coat, said to him:</p> - -<p>“You, there! Get yourself into uniform. -It looks better.”</p> - -<p>The motor-car of the Chief of the Medical -Staff was coming to a stop in front of the -door. It opened like a dry fruit, and shot out -its contents on the pavement.</p> - -<p>What an impressive personage! He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -tall and, it seemed to me, of enormous -proportions. A typically military face—no -one could mistake it—deep features over -which the fingers and the nails of the sculptor -must have passed again and again; on the -nose, too, the sculptor’s thumb must have -been at work, pressing and moulding delicately -the lumps of flesh; a bristling white -moustache and imperial, of the kind specially -reserved for soldiers advanced in age. He -wore an old general’s uniform, which many -give up with the greatest difficulty, like -old ideas. Gold, jewellery, velvet, and silk -facings adorned his body with such refulgence -that the imagination could hardly conceive -that, beneath this barbarous splendour, there -were lungs, muscles, bones and a shrivelled -skin covered with grey hair.</p> - -<p>A look escaped from beneath his bushy eyebrows, -which was at once violent, questioning, -and suggestive of unutterable pride.</p> - -<p>He came forward in grave silence.</p> - -<p>I expected a scene; but from that -moment what took place has remained -mysteriously veiled in my memory.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> - -<p>In one single movement everybody there -took up a certain position, and they made -a correct military salute according to the -rules taught so patiently in barracks to -recruits from the country.</p> - -<p>Faces imperceptibly became rigid. The -light in one’s eyes became dull and fixed. -Ten centuries of a habit imposed and accepted -petrified tongues, muscles and minds.</p> - -<p>Some thistleseed flew away with the -breeze. As I saw it fluttering, white, woolly, -without weight, I thought—I don’t know -why—of that subtle, fine, delicate, critical -spirit. It vanished in a gust of wind. A -big insect loaded with pollen could be heard -buzzing around.</p> - -<p>I felt stupid! A long pause; then the -white-moustached gentleman decided to let -these words fall from his lips:</p> - -<p>“Good-day, gentlemen!”</p> - -<p>The visit began in the rooms which had -been packed with the wounded from the -Marne front. There young men were lying -who had been face to face with War, and -who had calmly recognised it as the old Devil<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -of the Species. From that time they spoke -of it just as they always will, now that three -years of blood, suffering and torture have -decimated, maimed and broken them.</p> - -<p>But nobody bothered about their thoughts. -Sheets were drawn back, bandages were -undone, wounds were left open to the air. -It was now a question of “cases” and of -lesions.</p> - -<p>A scientific discussion was commencing, -to which I listened with an eager curiosity. -As I have said, doctors were present who -were princes in their profession. They came -on the scene with minds, I thought, which -were profoundly independent—even aggressive. -And I looked forward to an interesting -controversy.</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne was closely examining some -one’s thigh, in which a dark, quivering hole -had been made by a shell.</p> - -<p>“What do you put in it, Proby?” he said.</p> - -<p>Professor Proby began a detailed explanation -of the way in which such wounds -ought to be treated.</p> - -<p>“It has been my habit,” he said, “for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -thirty years to put in some cotton wool—I -lectured to the Academy of Medicine—what! -And nothing gives me such good results, -because——”</p> - -<p>At that point the Medical Inspector-General -struck the sick man’s little table -drily with his pencil.</p> - -<p>“Hurry up, Proby,” he said, in a calm, -cutting voice.</p> - -<p>Proby started a little, and mumbled -again:</p> - -<p>“For thirty years I have always used -cotton wool——”</p> - -<p>“Believe me, Proby, that’s enough. You -will not put any of it in the wounds. You -understand.”</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne turned his back and began -examining the next wounded man.</p> - -<p>I watched Professor Proby’s face. I was -sure the honoured academician was going to -burst in again. The much-expected scientific -controversy was at last about to take place -before my eyes, and ideas would cross to and -fro like glittering swords. I waited, holding -my breath.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> - -<p>In grave silence, the academician replied:</p> - -<p>“Very good, <em>Monsieur le médecin inspecteur-général</em>!”</p> - -<p>I looked at everybody in turn. It seemed -to me that a glove had been thrown down, -and that some one was going to pick it up -with polite audacity. But everybody looked -vague and attentive. Professor Proby went -up to the Medical Inspector-General, and -repeated mechanically:</p> - -<p>“Very good, <em>Monsieur le médecin inspecteur-général</em>!”</p> - -<p>The experience of thirty years’ practice -vanished like a light that went out.</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne went from bed to bed, heavy -and majestic. “You made a mistake in -operating upon this man: you would have -done better to wait,” he said. Sometimes -he approved: “Here is a result which justifies -our theories.” Most often his criticism -was unrestrained: “Why didn’t you use -my apparatus—the Dufrêne apparatus? I -wish to see it used here.”</p> - -<p>Then murmurs of assent and promises -were heard. To everything Proby replied<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -invariably, “<em>Oui, Monsieur le médecin inspecteur-général</em>.”</p> - -<p>Doctor Coupé got red and confused in trying -to express appreciations of the Inspector’s -methods that seemed like excuses for his own.</p> - -<p>I was watching M. Briavoine: he was -nodding his head unceasingly, and murmured -in a dignified way:</p> - -<p>“Obviously, <em>Monsieur le médecin inspecteur-général</em>.... -Of course, <em>Monsieur le -médecin inspecteur-général</em>.”</p> - -<p>These words were always being repeated -by everybody. They were repeated as a refrain -to almost every syllable and pronounced -with a mumbling mechanical promptitude, -so that every sentence, and every reply, -seemed to end with this ritualistic rhythm: -“<i>Mossinspecteurjral</i>.”</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne, more and more, gave expression -to a kind of triumphant lyric. He -spoke of himself, of his works, with a growing -volubility and frequency. I thought he was -disposed to qualify as “quite French,” or -“national,” and sometimes as “a work of -genius,” methods and ideas which were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -strictly his own. But this attempt to -objectify things had a very slight connection -with modesty.</p> - -<p>At one moment this towering personality -came towards me without seeing me with such -vehemence that I nimbly got out of the way, -as I would before a train. I uttered hasty -words, which were:</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, <em>Monsieur le médecin -inspecteur-général</em>.”</p> - -<p>I had never, in the obscure life of a teacher, -had the good fortune to be in the presence of -a military man of high rank and hear him -speak. I had only imagined, or come across -in my reading, the virile outline of the real -old soldier. As I looked at this doctor in his -military boots and listened to his comments, -I repeated to myself: “At last! the real -thing!” I was overwhelmed, crushed, but in -spite of that I was able to enjoy a feeling of -security and confidence, and I always ended -by thinking: “The sheer impudence of it! -Still, it takes some doing to carry it -off like that with such fellows as those -doctors.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> - -<p>The Medical Inspector-General had seized -a fountain pen and was covering the walls -with prescriptions. He explained in emphatic -sentences what decisions ought to -have been made and what action must be -taken. After each diagnosis, those who -attended him chanted the liturgic refrain: -“<em>Oui, Mossinspecteurjral.</em>”</p> - -<p>“You must,” he was saying, “remember -that you are soldiers before everything. -In putting on the uniform, you have put on -responsibilities. The independence of science -has to yield before the necessity of a uniform -method. Personal experience has to give way -to discipline.”</p> - -<p>With this simple injunction, personal -experience yielded to the sway of discipline. -In one voice the least disciplined race in the -world replied:</p> - -<p>“Of course, that is quite understood, -<em>Monsieur le médecin inspecteur-général</em>.”</p> - -<p>The spectacled young man was standing -near me, his arms rigidly at attention and -eyes front. I heard him whisper a strange -thing to his neighbour:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> - -<p>“Times have changed: every dog has -his day.”</p> - -<p>But his neighbour made a slight gesture -of impatience, and the young man took up -again his stiff attitude of respect.</p> - -<p>His remark was quite out of place, I -thought. Yet it got me out of my trance, -and I began to reflect painfully on the -incredible phenomenon which was then -occurring before my eyes.</p> - -<p>And it was now entering upon a critical -phase. The inspector was examining the -room where wounds were dressed.</p> - -<p>“This room,” he said, “is large and well -arranged. It was altered according to instructions -I made in 1895 when I was reorganising -this hospital. In fact, the whole -place seems fairly satisfactory. Have you -any complaints to make, Coupé?”</p> - -<p>Doctor Coupé blushed, was rather upset, -and ended by saying:</p> - -<p>“Nothing at all, <em>Mossinspecteurjral</em>.”</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine, when asked in his turn, -appeared to ponder, and then replied that -everything was as he wished.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> - -<p>Professor Proby, recovering from his -coma, hastened to stammer:</p> - -<p>“Ha! here everything is all right, <em>Mossinspecteurjral</em>.”</p> - -<p>I remembered something M. Briavoine -had said. I seemed to see him again buttoning -his linen coat and saying, “What have I -to gain?” Then I looked, greatly astonished, -at his attentive face and respectful bearing. -In the same way I observed his colleagues -and, thinking of these men who had nothing -to gain from their effacement and who had -given way so completely, so hopelessly, I -experienced a great admiration for them, and -I had an insight into the meaning of discipline. -But the perceptions of the intellect are often -betrayed by other less noble impulses, for at -the very same moment I could hardly restrain -an inclination to laugh.</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne had stopped in the middle -of a dormitory. Fifty wounded men were -lying there: some talked in low voices, others -groaned from time to time, and others -again were delirious. The Inspector-General -clapped his hands: at once the silence was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -complete. The least disciplined race in the -world stopped moaning; they ceased from -their delirium.</p> - -<p>“Soldiers!” he said in a formidable voice, -“the Government of the Republic has sent -me to you to see how you are looked after. -See how the Government of the Republic -cares for you.”</p> - -<p>From one end of the room to the other -heads were raised, necks were stretched, -and all those who had any breath left in -them replied together:</p> - -<p>“Thank you, General.”</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne was going out. Behind him, -the least disciplined race in the world followed -in good order down a staircase leading to the -gardens.</p> - -<p>I followed too, bringing up the rear.</p> - -<p>I was enveloped in the shadows of the -stairs, and before my bewildered eyes interrogation -marks began to dance multicoloured. -They vanished, and I then imagined a theatre -where men appeared in their turn, said -what they had been taught, and arranged -themselves in good and proper order, some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -to speak again, others to dance, some to -carry heavy loads, and others to die. Across -the top of the stage a word was engraved -which I could not make out, but which -suddenly became luminous when I heard the -spectacled young man on my right whisper -to his comrade:</p> - -<p>“It is a convention—a great convention -in the midst of all the other conventions -of life. It’s very queer, but not more so -than that which compels us to arrange the -words of a conversation in such or such an -order.”</p> - -<p>We were now in the garden. The green -and amber glow of late summer put an -end to one’s dreams.</p> - -<p>The inspector had grouped his audience -and was saying:</p> - -<p>“You, Coupé, I congratulate you heartily. -And in so doing I am conscious of the real -pleasure I am giving you.”</p> - -<p>M. Dufrêne was making no mistake, for -the excellent doctor felt so pleased indeed -that he blushed to the roots of his white -hair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> - -<p>There were other congratulations too, -and also criticisms. Those who had been -praised were surrounded by courtiers. Those -who had been blamed were humiliated and -left alone. Thus Professor Proby could be -seen withdrawing, alone and abashed, like a -schoolboy sent into a corner.</p> - -<p>M. Briavoine closed the door of the -motor-car with his own hands. As the -vehicle was about to start, the phenomenon -of the salute was witnessed once more: -left arms to the sides, right arms raised -simultaneously.</p> - -<p>The most undisciplined race in the -world stiffened itself into the regulation -attitude.</p> - -<p>The motor-car started off with a hoot.</p> - -<p>“All the same, he’s a very remarkable -man,” said Doctor Coupé, who seemed to be -still half-asleep. And he repeated: “Yes, -all the same——”</p> - -<p>“He behaved well,” said M. Briavoine.</p> - -<p>I noticed the person with the horizontal -beard. His fine growth seemed to point -down towards his chest, but he readjusted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -it by a voluntary movement of the chin, -and said:</p> - -<p>“Certainly, very well; but I would never -hesitate, on occasion, to tell him exactly -what I thought.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” said M. Briavoine, “obedience -should never go to the length of surrendering -your reasoning powers.”</p> - -<p>Everybody looked as if he had been doped -with a subtle poison, but was gradually getting -back to consciousness.</p> - -<p>The sweet-smelling breeze played over -the grass. I saw fluttering before my eyes -the flighty thistleseed, winged and fleecy. -With a neat little movement M. Briavoine -caught it as he would a fly, and looked at it -absently as he ended his sentence:</p> - -<p>“Discipline,” he said, “does not imply, -with us, the suppression of our critical -spirit.”</p> - -<p>And I saw, in fact, that the critical spirit -had returned.</p> - -<p>The group was disappearing. I was contemplating -the tips of my shoes. The -registers weighed heavily on my arm, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> -I tried to understand—to understand it all, -when a hand struck my shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Well! you are not in the guard-room, -my boy! Good! That’s right!”</p> - -<p>Purple, apoplectic, the orderly officer -looked at me furiously but there was also -in his eyes a sad, pleading expression. He -added:</p> - -<p>“You make your complaint. You’ll see -what’ll happen.”</p> - -<p>I raised my eyes towards the hospital. -A clock adorned its front.</p> - -<p>Then, clicking my heels together, raising -my right hand to the height of my <em>képi</em>, I -replied quite simply:</p> - -<p>“Sir, I am not going to complain. It -is five minutes to twelve. At twelve I shall -be in prison.”</p> - -<p>The bulldog face relaxed. I thought he -was going to thank me. He was finally -content to mumble:</p> - -<p>“That’s a good thing!”</p> - -<p>He went away. I proceeded, without -laughing, to the guard-room.</p> - -<p>You know the rest: I passed four days<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span> -and four nights there. It was in the middle -of September. At that time the flower of -the French army were accomplishing such -deeds of valour that an immense feeling of -gratitude seemed to stir the whole country -from end to end. And it was in a prison -that I was fated to offer these men my -humble thanks.</p> - -<p>During those four days I thought of -many queer things. But of them I will tell -you another time.</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">CUIRASSIER CUVELIER</h2> -</div> - - -<p>The Cuvelier affair made a deep and -lasting impression on me. M. Poisson -is not a bad man—far from it! But -he is too old, you know.</p> - -<p>All these old men ought not to have been -allowed to take part in the war. You know -what it cost us. And the curious thing -was, sir, that everybody admitted it; for -in the end all these old fellows were sent out -of harm’s way to Limousin, one after the -other. But let’s talk of something else: -this is almost politics, and is no business of -mine.</p> - -<p>Talking about M. Poisson, he has one -great fault: he drinks. Apart from that, -as I have told you, he wasn’t a bad sort. -But the stuff a man is made of soon degenerates -by being soaked continually with small -doses, and often large ones too. M. Poisson -drinks, and that’s unfortunate in a man who -fills a responsible post.</p> - -<p>What makes him even more peculiar is -that he is not made as we others. He is -in himself a unique type. The world, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span> -M. Poisson sees it, falls into two classes. -On one side, all those who are above him. -When he is facing that way he salutes and -says, “I understand, <em>mon général</em>; of course, -colonel.” On the other side, all those who -are below him. And when facing them, -he gets purple with shouting, “Silence, -will you!” and things of that kind. At -bottom, I think he is right, and that he -is bound to behave like that in his work. -I repeat he isn’t a bad man—only timid. -He shouts in order to convince himself he is -not afraid.</p> - -<p>But after all, that is a question of army -administration, and it’s no business of mine. -Let us talk of something else. It is a -principle of mine never to speak of these -things: it’s forbidden ground.</p> - -<p>But I have a personal grudge against -M. Poisson for having put me in the -mortuary—I who can write in round hand -or slanting hand, in Gothic or flowing hand, -and a dozen others, and would have made -such a capable secretary.</p> - -<p>Just imagine how I was received: I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> -arrive with my helmet, knapsack, and all -my rig-out. I am shown into a hut, and -am told: “The doctor is in there.”</p> - -<p>At first I see no one. M. Poisson is -buried up to his hair in papers: I can -just hear his asthmatical breathing, like -wind blowing through keyholes. Suddenly he -comes out of his hiding-place, and considers -me. I see a rather heavy old man, short-legged, -not very clean, with black-lined -nails, an excess of skin on the back of the -hand, a freckled skin that overlaps. He -examines me carefully, but behaves as if -he does not see me. I, on my part, look -straight at him and observe him in detail: -on his nose he has little varicose veins, his -cheeks are rather blue, and under his chin -hangs some loose skin, like the snout of -beasts, and beneath his eyes two pouches -that are never still, and brandy-coloured, -which you feel like pricking with a pin.</p> - -<p>He looks at me once again, spits, and -says:</p> - -<p>“Yes....”</p> - -<p>I reply immediately:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> - -<p>“At your service, sir!”</p> - -<p>Then he begins to shout in a hoarse voice:</p> - -<p>“Speak when you are spoken to. Be -quiet, will you! You see I’m up to my -neck with this offensive, the wounded, and -all these things here.”</p> - -<p>What could I reply? I stand at attention -and again say:</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; at your service, sir!”</p> - -<p>He lights a cigarette and begins to wheeze, -as you may have noticed, from the effects of -alcohol on his chest.</p> - -<p>At this juncture an officer comes in. -M. Poisson exclaims:</p> - -<p>“It’s you, Perrin? Oh, my dear fellow, -let me alone, will you, to get on with this -job! You see I am tired out with the work. -Just look at my list: nineteen! I’ll never -get to the end! Nineteen!”</p> - -<p>The officer takes me by the arm and says:</p> - -<p>“Oh! but this is the extra man that has -been sent to us.”</p> - -<p>Then M. Poisson comes nearer, looks at -me closely, and bellows, his breath reeking -with alcohol:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> - -<p>“Send him to the mortuary! Some one -is wanted there. He can help Tanquerelle. -To the mortuary! And no more nonsense!”</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later I am stationed at the -mortuary.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I became, sir, very wretched. I am -fairly cheerful as a rule, but moving corpses -about all day long cannot be called life. -And such dead! The flower of the country, -degraded to a depth which imagination -cannot fathom.</p> - -<p>Tanquerelle is an old butcher’s assistant. -He too drinks. He is always given the -most unpleasant work because he drinks, -and his unpleasant work is an excuse for -giving him more drinks. But I am not going -to expatiate on that. The drink question is -not my business, unfortunately.</p> - -<p>Tanquerelle is no company: he is a -calamity, a scourge, a breed apart, so to -speak. When he is hungry, he never speaks; -but he never is hungry. Usually he indulges<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> -in small talk—the comments of a drunkard, -painful to hear in the presence of these -corpses.</p> - -<p>We are told, sir, that dead bodies mean -very little to one after a time, and that when -you habitually live with them they become -nothing more than stones to you. Well, -that’s not my experience. Every one of -these corpses, with which I pass my days, -ends in being a companion to me.</p> - -<p>I get to like some of them, and I am -almost sorry to see them taken away. Sometimes, -when I carelessly hit up against them -with my elbow, it is with an effort that -I do not say, “I beg your pardon, my -friend.” I look at them, with their blistered -hands, and their feet covered with corns -after long trudging over the roads, and my -heart understands and is touched.</p> - -<p>I note a flighty ring on a finger, a birthmark -on the skin, an old scar, sometimes -even tattoes, and finally one of the things -which man does not leave behind him: -his poor grey hair, the lines of his face, the -relic of a smile around his eyes, more often<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span> -traces of terror. And all that sets my mind -thinking. From their bodies I can read their -history: I imagined how much they had -worked with those arms, the many things -they had seen with their eyes, how they had -kissed with those lips, how proud they -must have been of their moustache and their -beard, on which now the lice were crawling, -away from the cold, dead flesh. I think of -these things as I sew up the corpses in the -sacking; and the emotion I feel rather -startles me, because mingled with my misery -is a feeling of pleasure.</p> - -<p>But I am wandering off into philosophy. -Not being a philosopher, I haven’t the right -to bore you.</p> - -<p>I think I was speaking to you about -Cuirassier Cuvelier. Well, let me return to -the story.</p> - -<p>It takes us back to the May offensives. -I assure you, I wasn’t idle in those days. -What numbers of dead passed through -my hands! The poor unfortunate widows and -mothers need have no anxiety: in my way, -I did my duty. All of them were taken away<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> -with their mouths tightly closed with a -chin-cloth, arms crossed on their bodies—that -is, of course, if they still possessed -mouths and arms—and I carefully wrapped -them in the sacking. I do not mention -their eyes: it was beyond my power to close -them. It is too late, you know, by the time -they arrive at the mortuary. Oh, I took -good care of my dead!</p> - -<p>One day they brought me one with no -identification mark at all. His face was -crushed in; bandages everywhere on his -limbs, but no ticket, no disc on his wrist, -nothing at all.</p> - -<p>I placed him on one side, and the doctor -was informed.</p> - -<p>In a moment the door opened and M. -Poisson came in.</p> - -<p>His deportment was always good after he -had some drink; you could tell it too from -his manner of coughing and spitting and -fingering his cross, for, you know, he was an -Officer of the Legion of Honour.</p> - -<p>“You have one too many here,” he -said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> - -<p>“Sir, I don’t know whether there is one -too many, but there is a body here without -an identification card.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t only that,” replied M. Poisson, -“I see you have eight bodies here. Just -wait a moment....”</p> - -<p>He took out of his pocket a rumpled piece -of paper, looking at it from every possible -angle, then he shouted:</p> - -<p>“Seven! Seven only! You ought only -to have seven! You fool! Who brought -this corpse here? I don’t want it. It’s -not on the list. Where in the world did -it come from?”</p> - -<p>I began to tremble, and replied stammering:</p> - -<p>“I didn’t notice which section brought -it here.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You didn’t notice! And what do -you think I’m going to do with it? Now, -what is the man’s name?”</p> - -<p>“But, sir, that’s just what I want to -know. He hasn’t been identified.”</p> - -<p>“Not identified! Now we’re in for it. -You’ll hear again of this from me. It simply<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> -won’t do. To begin with, come along with -me at once!”</p> - -<p>We go from hut to hut, M. Poisson -asking at each door:</p> - -<p>“Did any of you send us a body without -identification papers?”</p> - -<p>You can well imagine that when asked -in this way all M. Poisson’s men took cover -immediately. Some laughed secretly: others -were alarmed. All made the same reply:</p> - -<p>“A dead body without identification -papers! Certainly not, Doctor; we never -brought it.”</p> - -<p>M. Poisson began to breathe heavily.</p> - -<p>He spat everywhere; he was so angry -that his voice was no longer human—it was -hoarse, ragged and torn. In spite of his -insufferable temper, I actually felt pity for -the old man.</p> - -<p>Back he goes to the office, I following close -at his heels. Dashing to his papers and -documents, he shuffles them about like a -spaniel in the mud. Then, shouting angrily, -he says:</p> - -<p>“Here you are!—1236 came in; 561 have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span> -gone out. Do you understand? Six remain -at present. That’s it: one is missing, and -it must be the one. And nobody knows -who he is! We are in a mess! We are -in a mess!”</p> - -<p>I confess that M. Poisson’s assurance -made a great impression on me. Especially -was I surprised at the accuracy of his figures. -It is wonderful, sir, to note the efficiency -of military organisation. We learn, for instance, -that twenty-three stretchers out of a -hundred have been lost—not one more, not -one less; or 1000 wounded were brought -in; 50 died; therefore 950 are still alive. -To maintain this mathematical order, it is -therefore clearly well worth while taking -the trouble to make a list of everything -that comes in and goes out. Listening to -M. Poisson making his calculation, I saw, -too clearly, how my poor unfortunate corpse -was one too many.</p> - -<p>The doctor repeated, “We are in a -mess,” and added, “Now, you there! Come -along with me.”</p> - -<p>M. Poisson bustled off again in all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span> -directions, to the left and to the right. I -followed him, my head lowered, having -been gradually seized by the fever that -tortured him. He stopped all the officers.</p> - -<p>“I’m fed up with this job! Go and see -if the body wasn’t sent out from your huts.”</p> - -<p>He entered the operating theatres and -asked the surgeons:</p> - -<p>“You didn’t send me an unidentified -dead body?”</p> - -<p>And every time he took out his rumpled -piece of paper and added a cross, a number, -with his pencil.</p> - -<p>Towards evening he fixed me with another -look. There were red patches underneath -his eyes as highly coloured as raw ham.</p> - -<p>“You!—go back to the mortuary! You’ll -hear more of me yet!”</p> - -<p>I went back, and sat down, feeling very -wretched. Three fresh corpses had been -brought in. Tanquerelle was hoisting them -into coffins with the help of the carpenter.</p> - -<p>On the table, temporarily shrouded in -tent material, the unknown dead man was -waiting his fate. Tanquerelle was completely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> -drunk and was singing “The Missouri,”—not -exactly the thing to do in the midst -of corpses. I went and drew aside the -shroud and looked at the ice-cold body. -His smashed face was covered with linen -bandages. A few locks of fair hair could -be seen. As for the rest, just an ordinary -body, like yours or mine, sir.</p> - -<p>Night had fallen. The door opened and -M. Poisson, accompanied by another officer, -appeared with a lantern. He seemed calm -and replete, like a man who has dined -well.</p> - -<p>“You are an idiot,” he said to me. -“Why couldn’t you see that this was the -body of Cuirassier Cuvelier?”</p> - -<p>“But, sir——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up! It’s Cuirassier Cuvelier.”</p> - -<p>Coming up to the table, he noted the -size of the corpse and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Of course! He’s tall enough to be -a cuirassier. You see, Perrin, Cuvelier -was brought in the day before yesterday. -According to the register, he was not taken -out. As he is no longer under treatment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span> -he is dead, and this must be he. That’s -clear.”</p> - -<p>“Obviously,” said Perrin, “it’s he right -enough.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; don’t you agree?” replied M. -Poisson. “It’s Cuvelier; that is quite plain. -Poor devil! Now we can go to bed....”</p> - -<p>Then he turned towards me:</p> - -<p>“You!—you will put him in the coffin, -and stick on the lid: ‘Cuvelier, Edouard, -9th Cuirassiers.’ And then, you mind! no -more pranks of this kind.”</p> - -<p>When the officers had gone, I put Cuirassier -Cuvelier in a coffin, and then I lay -down for a few hours on my mattress.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The next morning I was preparing to -nail down the coffin of Edouard Cuvelier, -when I saw M. Poisson coming up once -again. His face was not so calm as on the -previous evening.</p> - -<p>“Wait; don’t bury that man yet,” he -said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> - -<p>He walked round the coffin, and nibbled -the end of a cigarette; he appeared indeed -so uneasy that I knew at once he had not -yet decided to thrust Cuvelier out into -the abyss. It was not going to be done: the -dead body was getting in the way and refused -to be swallowed up. I don’t know whether -M. Poisson had a high idea of his duty, or -merely was afraid of complications; whatever -it was, I sympathised greatly with him -at that moment.</p> - -<p>He turned towards me and, as he did -not like to be alone, “Come along with me,” -he said.</p> - -<p>Off we went again, making the round of -the huts.</p> - -<p>“Hut No. 8?” began M. Poisson. “The -seriously wounded are here, aren’t they? Is -Cuirassier Cuvelier here?”</p> - -<p>The men there made inquiries, and replied -“No.”</p> - -<p>We went on to the next.</p> - -<p>M. Poisson began again:</p> - -<p>“Hut No. 7? Have you here a -man named Cuvelier, of the 9th Cuirassiers?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> - -<p>“No, <em>Monsieur le médecin-chef</em>.”</p> - -<p>M. Poisson was delighted with his success.</p> - -<p>“Of course! They can’t have him, -because he’s dead. I am doing this to -satisfy my conscience. I’m made like that.”</p> - -<p>We met M. Perrin.</p> - -<p>“You see, Perrin,” said the doctor, “in -order to be quite sure, I am looking in every -hut to see if a Cuvelier may not be anywhere. -And I can’t find a man of that name. Of -course, I only look where the seriously -wounded are quartered. I am not a fool. -If he is dead, he must have been seriously -wounded.”</p> - -<p>“Obviously,” said M. Perrin.</p> - -<p>After we had been to all the huts, M. -Poisson held himself very proudly, causing -many folds in the loose flesh under his chin, -and he concluded by saying:</p> - -<p>“It’s Cuvelier, sure enough. Now you -see what it is to have order. With me it’s -not the same as with Ponce and Vieillon, -who are awful bunglers.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” M. Perrin said, “you would be -wise to inquire among the lightly wounded.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh! well, if you think so,” said M. -Poisson, rather indifferently.</p> - -<p>And we proceeded to the huts of the -“quick removals.” We went in, and asked -the usual question. No one replied. On -going out, M. Poisson repeated:</p> - -<p>“Cuvelier isn’t here?”</p> - -<p>Then suddenly we heard some one shouting:</p> - -<p>“Yes; Cuvelier, present!”</p> - -<p>And a tall, curly-headed man jumps -off a bed, raising a hand that was very -lightly bandaged....</p> - -<p>Things take a tragic turn. M. Poisson -turns dark purple, like a man stricken with -apoplexy. He spits two or three times. -He smacks his thighs, and says in a choking -voice:</p> - -<p>“God! he must be alive then!”</p> - -<p>“I am Cuvelier,” the soldier remarks.</p> - -<p>“Cuvelier, Edouard?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; Edouard!”</p> - -<p>“Of the 9th Cuirassiers?”</p> - -<p>“That’s right: of the ‘9th Cuir’!”</p> - -<p>M. Poisson goes out like a madman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> -followed by M. Perrin and myself. He goes -to the mortuary, and he stands before the -coffin, dribbles on his tunic, and says quite -shortly:</p> - -<p>“If it’s not Cuvelier, we have to begin -all over again.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Ah, sir! what a day it was!</p> - -<p>The offensive was going on during that -time. The dead were filling the place which -had been reserved for them. But the very -life of the service seemed to have been held -up.</p> - -<p>You have seen ships come to a stop in -the middle of a river and holding up all the -traffic? Well, this unknown corpse gave that -impression. It was stranded right across -our work and began to upset everything, -beginning with the health of the unfortunate -M. Poisson, who suggested taking sick leave.</p> - -<p>Every hour he came and glanced at -the body, which was beginning slowly to -decompose. He stared at it stolidly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> - -<p>During the afternoon I had a moment’s -rest while M. Poisson took his siesta. About -six he came again, and I hardly recognised -him. His hands were almost clean, he wore -a white collar, his beard was trimmed, and -his breath like that of a man who has just -rinsed his mouth in <em>vieux marc</em>.</p> - -<p>“What!” he said, “you haven’t yet -closed down the German’s coffin! You are -an incapable ass!”</p> - -<p>“But, sir——”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue! And write this -inscription, and be quick!—‘An unknown -German.’ D’you understand?”</p> - -<p>M. Perrin had just come in. The two -officers had one more look at the corpse.</p> - -<p>“It’s obviously a Boche,” said M. Poisson.</p> - -<p>“Yes; look at his fair hair.”</p> - -<p>“Perrin, you ought to have thought of -it sooner,” added the doctor.</p> - -<p>The officers were about to go out, when -M. Poisson turned round and said:</p> - -<p>“Take the thing out of the coffin; since -he’s a German, put him in the earth as he -is, with all the other Huns.”</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak">CIVILISATION</h2> -</div> - - -<p>I must know first what you mean -by civilisation. That is a question -I can well put to a man of understanding -and intelligence like yourself; and -then, too, you are always boasting of this -famous civilisation.</p> - -<p>Before the war I was an assistant in -a commercial laboratory; but now I swear -that, if ever I have the doubtful privilege -of surviving this horror, I will never take -up the work again. The country—the pure, -fresh country for me! Anywhere away -from these filthy factories—far from the -roar of your aeroplanes and all the -machinery in which formerly I took an -interest when I did not understand things; -but which horrify me now because I see -in them the very spirit of the war—the -principle and the cause of the war.</p> - -<p>I hate the twentieth century as I hate -this degenerate Europe—as I hate the world -which Europe has polluted. I know it -may seem ridiculous—this high talk. But -what do I care! I’m not speaking to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span> -crowd, and besides I might as well be laughed -at for this as for anything else. I repeat, -I shall fly to the hills, and I shall see to -it that I am as much alone as I possibly -can be. I had thought of escaping among -the savages, but there are no real savages -now. <em>They</em> are all riding bicycles and -clamouring for medals and honours.... -I am not going to live with the savages—we -have done our best to corrupt them: -I have seen it done too well at Soissons.</p> - -<p>In the spring of this year I was at -Soissons with the G.B.C. I see that G.B.C.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -rather mystifies you, but you must blame -civilisation for that: the Tower of Babel is -being rebuilt by it, and soon we shall have -so debased our mother tongue that it will be -nothing more than a telegraphic code, ugly -and colourless.</p> - -<p>The retreat of the Germans had taken -the line back towards Vauxaillon and Laffaux, -and there fighting went on pretty vigorously. -In one sector there was a spot—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span> -Laffaux mill—which was a veritable -thorn in a wound, keeping it always inflamed. -About the beginning of May a -great attack was launched on the mill, and -nearly the whole of my division had to -turn out on field duty.</p> - -<p>“You, sergeant,” said one officer to me—“you -will remain at the hospital and take -charge of the A.C.A.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> section. I’ll send a -number of men to help you.”</p> - -<p>I was by this time thoroughly conversant -with the subtleties of military speech. -When I was told that a number of men -were to be put under my charge, I understood -perfectly that there would be no one; -and in point of fact I was given four miserable -outcasts—weak, half-imbecile creatures -of no use to any one.</p> - -<p>From Saturday onwards the wounded -arrived in batches of a hundred. I got them -arranged as methodically as I could in the -wards of the A.C.A.</p> - -<p>But the work was not going on at all -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>well. My absurd stretcher-bearers, unable -to fall in with each other’s movements, -stumbled like broken-kneed, miserable nags, -causing the wounded to scream with pain. -In a nibbling, haphazard sort of way, they -tried to deal with the waiting masses of the -injured, and the whole A.C.A. seemed to -stamp with impatience. The effect was -rather like a human meat factory which -has its machinery going at full strength -without being fed with oil and materials.</p> - -<p>I must really describe the A.C.A. to you. -In war slang it means an automatic hospital -(“autochir”)—the latest thing in surgical -invention. It’s the last word in science, -just like our 400 m.m. calibre guns which -run on metal rails: it follows the armies -with motors, steam-driven machinery, microscopes, -laboratories, the complete equipment -of a modern hospital. It is the first -great repair depôt which the wounded man -enters on coming out of the destructive, -grinding mill on the extreme front. Here -are brought the parts of the military machine -that are most spoiled. Skilled workmen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span> -take them in hand at once, loosen them -quickly, and with a practised eye examine -them, as one would a hydro-pneumatic -break, an ignition chamber or a collimator. -If the part is seriously damaged, it goes -through the usual routine of being scrapped; -but if the “human material” is not irretrievably -ruined, it is patched up ready to -be used again at the first opportunity, and -that is called “preserving the effectives.”</p> - -<p>My stretcher-bearers, with the jolting -clumsiness of drunken dockers, were bringing -to the A.C.A. a few of the injured, who were -at once swallowed up and eliminated. And -the factory continued to growl, like some -Moloch whose appetite has been whetted -by the fumes of the first sacrifice.</p> - -<p>I had picked up a stretcher. Helped -by a gunner who had been wounded in -the neck, and whose only desire was to be -of some use while awaiting his operation, -I led my crew in amongst the heap of -men that lay on the ground. It was then -that I saw some one passing along wearing -a high-grade officer’s hat—a sensible sort<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span> -of man who smiled in spite of his solicitous -bearing.</p> - -<p>“There is something wrong with your -ambulance work,” he said. “I’ll send you -eight negroes. They are excellent stretcher -men, these fellows from Madagascar.”</p> - -<p>Ten minutes afterwards the negroes had -come.</p> - -<p>To be exact, they were not all natives -of Madagascar: they were types selected -from the 1st Colonial Corps which was at -that very moment strenuously fighting before -Laffaux. There were a few natives of the -Soudan, whose age was difficult to tell, -sombre and wrinkled, and concealing under -their regimental tunics charms that were -coated with dirt, and smelling with leather, -sweat and exotic oils. The negroes of Madagascar -were of medium height, looking like -embryos, very dark and silent.</p> - -<p>They slipped on the straps, and at my -command began carrying the wounded with -quiet unconcern, as if they were unloading -bales of cotton at the docks.</p> - -<p>I was content, or rather reassured. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> -A.C.A., surfeited at last, worked at high -pressure, and hummed like well-tended -machines that drip with oil, shining and -flashing from every point.</p> - -<p>Flash! The word is not too strong. -I was dazzled on entering the operating -hut. Night had just fallen—one of those -warm beautiful nights of this brutal spring. -The gunfire came and went in short spasms, -like a sick giant. The wards of the hospital -overflowed with a heaving mass of pain, -and death was trying to restore order there. -I breathed in deeply the night air of the -garden and, as I was saying, I entered the -operating hut.</p> - -<p>It had been partitioned off into several -rooms. The one I suddenly stepped into -made a bulge in the side of the building. -It was as hot as a puddling-oven. Men -were cleaning, scrubbing, and polishing, with -scrupulous care, a mass of shining instruments, -while others were stoking fires which -gave out the white heat of soldering lamps. -With never a pause, orderlies were coming -and going, carrying trays held out rather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> -stiffly at arm’s length, like hotel-keepers -devoted to the ceremonious rites of the table.</p> - -<p>“It’s warm here,” I murmured, in order -to say something.</p> - -<p>“Come over here: you’ll find it all right,” -said a grinning little chap as hairy as a -kobold.</p> - -<p>I lifted a lid, feeling I was opening the -breast of some monster. In front of me -steps led to a kind of throne on which, -seated like a king, the heart of the thing -was to be found. It was a steriliser—an -immense pot in which a calf could easily -have been cooked whole. It lay on its -stomach and emitted a jet of steam that -stupefied one, and its weary monotony made -one hardly conscious of time and space. -But suddenly the infernal noise stopped, and -it was like the end of eternity. On the back -of the machine a load of kettles continued -to spit and gurgle. A man looking like a -ship’s pilot was turning a large heavy wheel, -and the lid of the cauldron, suddenly unbolted, -rose, exposing to view its red-hot -bowels, from which all sorts of boxes and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span> -packages were taken out. The heat of the -furnace had given way to the damp, crushing -atmosphere of a drying-stove.</p> - -<p>“But where do they operate on the -wounded?” I asked a boy who was washing -a pair of rubber gloves in a big copper tub.</p> - -<p>“Over there, in the operating-room, of -course. But don’t go in that way.”</p> - -<p>I went out again into the freshness of -the night, and proceeded to the waiting-room -to find my stretcher-bearers.</p> - -<p>At that moment it was the turn of the -cuirassiers to be brought in. A division of -“foot cavalry” had been fighting since -morning. Hundreds of the finest men in -France had fallen, and they waited there -like broken statues which are still beautiful -in their ruins. Their limbs were so strong, -and their chests so solid, that they could -not believe in death, and as they felt their -rich healthy blood dripping from their -wounds, they held at bay, with curses and -laughter, the weakness of their broken flesh.</p> - -<p>“They can do what they like with -this flesh of mine,” said one of the two;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> -“but to make me unconscious, damn me! -I’m not having any.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, whatever they like,” said another, -“but not amputation! I want my paw; -even done to the world, I want it!”</p> - -<p>These two men were coming out of -the X-ray ward. They lay naked under a -sheet, and carried, pinned to their bandages, -papers of different sizes and shapes, rough -sketches, formulæ, and something like an -algebraical statement of their wounds, the -expression in numbers of their misery and -disordered organs.</p> - -<p>They spoke of this their first visit to the -laboratory like clever children who realise -that the modern world would not know -how to live or die without the meticulous -discipline of the sciences.</p> - -<p>“What did he say, the X-rays major?”</p> - -<p>“He said it was an antero-posterior axis.”</p> - -<p>“Just what I feared.”</p> - -<p>“It’s in my belly. I heard him say -<em>abdomen</em>. But I am sure it’s in my belly. -Ah, damn it! but I’m not going to be put -to sleep. That I won’t stand!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p> - -<p>The door of the operating theatre opened -at this point, and the waiting-room was -flooded with light. A voice cried:</p> - -<p>“The next lot! And the belly chap -first!”</p> - -<p>The black bearers adjusted their straps, -and the two talkers were carried off. I -followed the stretchers.</p> - -<p>Imagine a shining rectangular block set -in sheer night like a jewel in coal. The -door closed again, and I found myself imprisoned -in that light, which was reflected -from the spotless canvas of the ceiling. -The floor, level and springy, was strewn -with red soaked linen which the orderlies -picked up quickly with forceps. Between -the floor and the ceiling, four strange forms -that were men. They were dressed completely -in white, their faces hidden behind -masks which, like those of Touareg, only -admit the eyes to view. Like Chinese dancers, -they held in the air their hands covered -with rubber, and the perspiration streamed -from their brows.</p> - -<p>You could hear the muffled vibrations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> -of the motor which generated the light. -Filled up again to overflowing, the steriliser -disturbed the world with its piercing lament. -Small radiators were snorting like animals -when they are stroked the wrong way. -It all made a savage, flamboyant music, -and the men who were moving about seemed -to perform rhythmically a religious dance—a -kind of austere and mysterious ballet.</p> - -<p>The stretchers glided in between the -tables like canoes in an archipelago. The -instruments were set out on spotless linen -and sparkled like jewels in glass cases; -and the little Madagascar negroes, alert -and obedient, took great care in handling -their burden. They stopped on the word of -command, and waited. Their dark slender -necks yoked with the straps, and their fingers -clutching the handles of the stretchers, -reminded one of sacred apes trained to -carry idols. The heads and feet of the two -wan and enormous cuirassiers stuck out -beyond the limits of the stretchers.</p> - -<p>A few gestures that were almost ritualistic, -and the wounded men were placed -on the operating-tables.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span></p> - -<p>At that moment I caught the eye of one -of the negroes, and I experienced a feeling -of extreme discomfort. It was the calm -deep look of a child or a young dog. The -savage was slowly turning his head from -left to right and looked at the extraordinary -men and the extraordinary things all around -him. His dark eyes stopped lightly on all -the wonderful parts of this workshop devoted -to repairing the human machine. And -those eyes, which betrayed no thought, -were on that account even more disquieting. -For one second I was fool enough to think -“How astonished he must be!” But the -absurd thought soon left me, and I was -overwhelmed with unutterable shame.</p> - -<p>The four negroes left the room. That -afforded me a little comfort. The wounded -looked dazed and bewildered. The ambulance -men hastened to bind their hands -and feet and rub them with alcohol. The -masked men were giving orders and moving -about the tables with the deliberate gestures -of officiating priests.</p> - -<p>“Who is the head here?” I whispered -to some one.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> - -<p>He was pointed out to me. He was -a man of medium height and was sitting -down, with his gloved hands held up, dictating -something to a clerk.</p> - -<p>Fatigue, the blinding light, the booming -of the guns, the rumble of the machinery -acted as a sort of lucid drug on my brain. -I remained fixed where I was, in a veritable -whirl of thought. Everything here worked -for one’s good ... it was civilisation finding -within itself the supreme reply, the -corrective to its destructive excesses; nothing -less than this complex organism would suffice -to reduce by the smallest degree the immense -evil creation of the machine age. I thought -again of the indecipherable look of the savage, -and my emotion was a mixture of pity, anger -and loathing....</p> - -<p>The man who, as I had learnt, was in -charge of the operating theatre had finished -dictating. He remained fixed in the position -of a heraldic messenger and seemed -to be absorbed in thought. I noticed that -behind his spectacles gleamed a look that -was solemn, tranquil and sad, though full<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span> -of purpose. Scarcely anything of his face -was visible, the mask hiding his mouth and -beard; but on his temples could be seen -a few fresh grey hairs, and a large swollen -vein marked his forehead, betraying the -strained efforts of a tense will.</p> - -<p>“The man’s unconscious,” said some one.</p> - -<p>The surgeon approached the table. -The man had indeed lost consciousness; -and I saw it was the very one who swore -he would not take the anæsthetic. The -poor man had not dared even to make a -protest. Caught, as it were, in the cogs -of the wheel, he was at once overpowered, -and he delivered himself up to the hungry -machine, like pig-iron devoured by the -rolling-mills. And then, too, he must have -known it was for his good, because this is -all the good that is left to us in these days.</p> - -<p>“Sergeant,” some one remarked, “you -are not allowed to remain in the operating -theatre without a cap.”</p> - -<p>On going out, I looked once again at -the surgeon. He hung over his work with -an assiduity in which, despite his overalls,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> -his mask and his gloves, a feeling of -tenderness was plainly marked.</p> - -<p>I thought with conviction: “No! No! -He, at least, has no illusions!”</p> - -<p>And I found myself once more in the -waiting-room, that smelt of blood, like a -wild beast’s lair.</p> - -<p>A dim light came from a veiled lamp. -Some wounded were moaning; others chatted -in low voices.</p> - -<p>“Who said tank?” said one of them. -“Why, I was wounded in a tank.”</p> - -<p>There was silence, brief and respectful. -The man, who was buried in bandages, -added:</p> - -<p>“Our petrol-tank burst: my legs are -broken and I am burnt in the face. Oh! -I know all about tanks!”</p> - -<p>He said that with a queer emphasis in -which I recognised the age-long torment of -humanity—pride.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I went out into the night to enjoy a -smoke. The world seemed to be dazed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> -bewildered, tragic; and I think that in -reality....</p> - -<p>Believe me, sir, when I speak of civilisation -and regret it, I quite know what I -am saying; and it is not wireless telegraphy -that will alter my opinion. It is all the -more tragic because we are helpless; we -cannot reverse the course which the world -is taking. And yet!</p> - -<p>Civilisation—the true civilisation—exists. -I think often of it. In my mind it is the -harmony of a choir chanting a hymn; it is -a marble statue on an arid, burnt-up hillside; -it is the Man who said, “Love one -another,” or “Return good for evil.” But -for two thousand years these phrases -have been merely repeated, and the chief -priests have too much vested interest in -temporal things to conceive anything of the -kind.</p> - -<p>We are mistaken about happiness and -about good. The noblest natures have also -been mistaken, for silence and solitude are -too often denied them. I have seen the -monstrous steriliser on its throne. I tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> -you, of a truth, civilisation is not to be found -there any more than in the shining forceps -of the surgeon. Civilisation is not in this -terrible trumpery; and if it is not in the -heart of man, then it exists nowhere.</p> - - -<p class="center big1 p2">THE END</p> - - -<p class="center p6 small1">Printed by <span class="smcap">Spottiswoode, Ballantyne & Co. 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