the presentation of the colours was announced for three o'clock. we would willingly have dispensed with climbing up to the parade-ground! goodness knows i was not looking forward to the ceremony.
our company was the last to arrive. a major wearing an eye-glass, urged his horse past us. he was an insolent, bloated-looking creature, with a sallow complexion, and greeted our company officer with a bitter-sweet remark which the latter, to my delight, acknowledged in the same tone.
the colonel appeared. he was quite white, although still young, a cavalier of imperious bearing. with his manly face and his moustache he reminded one strongly of "dumény" in la flambée.
he rode slowly up and down among our ranks. chests were thrown out at his approach. he made a few remarks in a firm but kindly tone. then the order was given to the two battalions to close up into a semi-circle.
controlling his mount, the colonel looked round on us proudly, and began to harangue us.
i listened. i had come in a sarcastic frame of mind. what could he say that would not be stale or commonplace?
[pg 126]
indeed i had foreseen this issue of ready-made phrases on the decisive importance of the struggle upon which we were embarking; it was a question of safeguarding our country and our lives against a nation which was becoming a menace to the human race.... but the inflections of a manly voice conferred a certain grandeur on the hackneyed theme.
"a fine actor," i repeated to myself. "more and more like dumény!"
i tried, like this, to avoid being carried away, then i began to give in. i admitted that a certain beauty resulted from the perfect harmony between his words and their object. i read in the men's face the revelation of a virtue, until now unknown even to them. for the first time i had the intuition that these peasants and working-men and bourgeois, for the most part doltish, narrow-minded beings, would, if certain chords in them were touched, be capable of great things....
and what about me? oh! i should be an on-looker as usual! that would be quite enough for me.
the colonel concluded:
"now, my friends, you are about to march past your colours. they are new, they have not been under fire, they do not bear the names of glorious victories in their folds like their seniors of the 1st.... well, it is for us to dower them."
a thrill ran through the ranks, then the whole mass stood like stone. the bugles sounded the vehement, tragic call which always shakes me physically.
we marched rapidly in column of fours up towards the bugles which called and guided us with their heroic flourish. i suddenly wished i could shed my egoism and vibrate in unison with the two thousand men, who, in this hour, were being consecrated my brothers in[pg 127] arms. i flogged my imagination. the colours. the word echoed within me, awakening a procession of sacred memories and emotions. i could see myself as a child at the window with my mother leaning over me, clapping my hands to salute the standard of the "8th cuirassiers" in front of which rode my father, very upright on his big black horse. at that time i used to revel in the many tales of heroes who let themselves be killed rather than abandon the staff, or expended a prodigious amount of cunning in order to save the remnants of it.
were not these colours the emblem of the country we had risen to defend, the symbol of everything that could raise our soldiers' hearts? my bosom swelled at these thoughts. we were drawing nearer to it; i fixed ardent eyes on it....
it was certainly beautiful, half unfurled in the breeze, with its rich fresh tints and fringe of gold. a sub-lieutenant, looking very pale and proud, was holding it firmly against his hip.
the din of the bugles increased, filling our hearts.... we passed by....
and yet no! no! my ... irreverence rebelled. to become excited over this tinsel, these few yards of painted stuff! had i hoped for this thing? i had not yet got so far!
our last evening—strict confinement to barracks.
i had retired to my hay-loft. i leant my elbows on the window-sill overlooking the garden.
i was surprised to hear the murmur of voices below me. i leant out and saw a couple there.
when i recognised little frémont and his wife, sitting side by side on a stone bench, my first feeling[pg 128] was one of vague impatience. the separation of husband and wife! a touching subject for the pen!
how had they managed to slip in there? a chance word which reached my ears explained it. the principal's wife had had pity on them and had given them the key. the little wife had contrived that; she had not been able to bear the idea of being deprived of her marcel on the last evening.
i considered her sardonically. "let's have a look at this woman in love!"
i have already said what my opinion of her was. i never thought i should change it. this evening, however, though her features were already merging with the growing twilight, it seemed to me that her face shone with a rarer radiance. was it her love that transfigured this child?
she had taken off her hat and was leaning her brown head on her husband's shoulder, while he held her close, his arm round her waist. their foreheads and eyes and lips caressed each other. they were talking below their breath. no other sound but the rustle of the wind disturbed the deep silence.
i was indiscreet enough to play the eavesdropper.
she was the one who spoke the most, in little, plaintive, tender phrases, like the twittering of birds. i could only follow the general trend of her remarks, but it was enough for me to see that she was not bemoaning herself lest she should rob him of his courage. she only dwelt in retrospect on the happy weeks they had spent together. many injunctions followed. they would be sure to write to each other every day, and think of each other all the while.
i found it easier to catch his grave, reassuring replies. the tone of his voice baffled me. here was[pg 129] frémont, the retiring little man, with shy manners, who liked to keep in the background and always asked advice, appearing in the r?le of comforter! his protecting fondness enfolded his beloved.
i continued to lean out above them, my elbows on the stone window-sill, my hands joined. my malevolence gradually subsided.
that this was merely the repetition of a scene which had been enacted all through the ages, no longer seemed to me a sufficient reason to smile at it. on the contrary, i was stirred by the thought of the eternal chain of loves and partings.
night had fallen. the trees in the orchard seemed so many phantoms. not a light to be seen. some birds flew silently across the night air. i could hardly distinguish the two lovers now, but it seemed to me that their lips had sought and found each other. there was silence for a short space. then a sentence was breathed softly. a voice trembled into tears. i gathered from certain allusions that she was afraid, though she did not say so, that he might never see their little child.
sitting there motionless, i dedicated my pitying sympathy to them and thought how few men there were among all the thousands i had seen marching past this afternoon, who were not leaving some woman at home, wife or lover, and some child of their flesh.... poor souls! how terrible their grief must be! i ought to have congratulated myself on the fact that i was leaving nothing behind me. why did i now so poignantly regret my solitude; did i envy the farewells uttered amid tears and the sealing of vows?
there was a noise behind me: guillaumin. i left the window, an instinctive delicacy of feeling pre[pg 130]vented me from drawing his attention to the presence of the couple in the garden.
we went down into the yard again. my companion was in tremendous form. he held forth on a hundred and one subjects, and i agreed with him absent-mindedly. my thoughts were wandering capriciously. i thought of my brother victor for whose safe return someone was praying.... a strange insistent idea kept recurring to my mind, of writing to the girl who had thought of me yesterday.
