the bugle sounded. we might get out.
versailles. how these platforms swarmed! ten convoys, like ours, with their carriages decorated in the same way with flags and branches of green leaves, scribbled over with harmless inscriptions and caricatures, had turned out, topsyturvy, this crowd of soldiers in chequered uniforms. the hubbub was tremendous. everyone seemed in the best of spirits. there were flowers in every cap. we were forbidden to go far. as a matter of fact, no one thought of such a thing, we had to take care not to lose our company, and section. we hardly ventured as far as the fountains of drinking water. having awaited my turn for it, i went up just after judsi. i actually felt inclined to smack him on the back, he was so tantalising with his trick of drinking with his lips glued to the tap.
guillaumin told me when i joined him that the halt was to last for an hour. we might take a turn! we amused ourselves for a moment, by watching[pg 142] some horses being entrained—by no means an easy job. they were hoisting them in with slings. their place of export was marked "remount dep?t saint-l?." guillaumin nudged me with his elbow.
"some concentration, what!"
it was true. all the brittany lines, most of those from normandy and atlantic coast, converged there, bringing with them the blood of a third, or almost a third, of france.
we got back into the train. evening was coming on. guillaumin and i were to keep order in the truck; forty men in our charge. to begin with everyone had submitted to the restrictions concerning the arrangement of packs and rifles. now the confusion began. a lot of them had got hold of their packs again to make a pillow, and most of them began to shed their equipment.
lamalou set about moving the seats. i interfered. he began to argue about it. guillaumin had to join in, and bouillon too.
we started off again. were we going to skirt paris on the north or the south? we soon found out. the train approached the gradient at buc. we watched in vain for some aeroplanes. judsi exclaimed:
"wot are you thinkin' of! they've all gone orf to berlin!"
there were brief stops at small stations. the same scene was repeated every time: idlers crowding up to the railings to cheer us and we replying with shouts of "death to the bosches!" "down with the kaiser!" solely out of politeness, in order not to disappoint all these people who had waited so long. there was no longer the frank enthusiasm there had[pg 143] been just now on leaving f——. the men were getting tired. the red cross members who distributed chocolate, fruit, and post-cards in profusion were no longer hailed with the same delight. loriot and lamalou ended by grumbling because they were so stingy with the wine.
the night fell, and with it what was left of cheerfulness. judsi was the last to give in. he picked out well-known airs and set new words to them, ineffable drivel, beyond all description, and probably of his own composition. the coarsest sallies still raised a few laughs. these echoes of an inane merriment were becoming quite unbearable.
i thought of shutting the men up altogether. guillaumin dissuaded me from doing so:
"take care you don't get yourself disliked!"
it was getting dark. corporal donnadieu lit the section lantern. where was it to be hung? to that hook in the middle of the ceiling. it swung backwards and forwards giving a flickering light.
everyone was making preparations now, for going to sleep. a small number occupied the seats, the rest were stretched on the floor. they formed tangled groups in the shadows. good-humoured elbow digs and expostulations were exchanged.
guillaumin had lain down beside me, with his own head on his pack, and that of one of his corporals fitted between his knees. he became expansive and exclaimed:
"how's this for up-to-date comfort!"
it was a stifling evening. i was hot and uncomfortable, as i had not even had the courage to undo my belt. we had had a cold supper. the smell of cheese and sausage still hung about. it was the first[pg 144] taste of the promiscuousness. as long as the two doors were open, the atmosphere was breathable. but here was bouguet, who had just lain down, shouting:
"what do you say to shutting the door. there's a beastly draught."
some coarse aside of judsi's raised roars of merriment.
lamalou sat up.
"let's shut the door."
i shouted from the end of the carriage:
"steady on! you must leave room for a little air to get in!"
lamalou took no notice.
"didn't you hear?" asked bouillon. "the sergeant's orders were to leave it open!"
bouguet objected.
"do you want us all to catch our death of cold, sergeant? besides it's the rule that doors must be kept shut at night."
guillaumin raised himself, and whispered to me:
"the chap's quite right, you know!"
"how's that?"
"the poilus will roll off into the scenery when they go to sleep."
this prospect was disquieting. i said no more, but let them do as they liked. a minute afterwards i complained of the stuffiness.
"why not have the ventilator opened?" guillaumin suggested.
"what ventilator?"
he was obliging enough to get up and feel about to find the bolt. the shutter slid along in the groove. a scrap of sky showed through, and some fleecy clouds[pg 145] shining in the moonlight. i announced that i should like to spend my night at the window.
"are you quite off your chump? try to have a snooze!"
"i'm not sleepy."
i groped along avoiding the slumberers and reached the seat near the wall. i succeeded in pulling myself up, and leaning my elbows on the opening, i breathed in the delicious night air.
our convoy was crawling along at a monotonous pace, through the darkness. it seemed of an immoderate length, dark from end to end, except in the centre, where the light from the officer's saloon shone on the ballast. by leaning out while we went round the curves i could make out the fire in the engine, a curtain of purple, with fantastic shadows moving against it. our whistle often blew, and others answered stridently from the distance. the regular clank of the wheels on the rails was audible, and a minute red dot could sometimes be seen at the end of a straight piece of line—the tail light of the train ahead of us.
there were thousands of fleecy clouds scattered over the sky, all lit up on the same side by the pale rays of the moon. we were leaving the vallée de la bièvre. the surrounding country was growing flat. a far-spreading horizon soon became visible beyond the open fields. then the radiance of paris rose into sight.
it was impossible to mistake it for the translucent band of a mysterious, tender blue which still lingered in the west. it resembled rather the afterglow of a sunrise or of a huge fire. the silhouettes of houses and trees stood out in the foreground like chinese shadows against the glowing distance.
[pg 146]
the city of light! i revelled in the vision and the symbol, both equally imposing. what a part this city had played in history! how feverishly she throbbed to-day. i blamed myself for having failed to take advantage of the magnificent opportunity which had been within my reach the other day. ought i not, with more fellow-feeling and enthusiasm, to have mixed with the crowd, and roamed day and night in search of the secret of paris, which was also the secret of france! i remembered the boulevards brilliant in their multi-coloured lights, the crowd crushing against the windows of the big daily papers....
fresh news would be appearing on the tapes at this hour. what would it be? we had not been able to get a paper all day, but a persistent rumour had reached us: "mulhouse!" ...
was it a prelude to victory? was paris illuminated? perhaps.... but what if it were one of those ephemeral successes? what evil presentiment enslaved me? was i still under fortin's influence? (fortin who was never mentioned now except in a whisper. we knew he was confined to his cell: awaiting trial by court martial.)
paris! why should i dream of defeat? paris, our head and our heart! paris as hostage! as martyr perhaps! i pictured the horde of barbarians pitching their tents in the country we were slipping through, turning their guns on to the glittering capital. where would their fury end? what would be left of these buildings, this glory, which seemed destined for immortality? these were gloomy visions. sick at heart, i longed with more ardour than i had lately longed for anything on earth, for the miraculous miscarriage of this probability.
[pg 147]
if there was one thing at which i was astonished, it was at not finding most of my companions at the ventilators like myself. to send paris a last greeting! they must all, or nearly all, be feeling that all they counted dear, was shut up within those walls. i who had no one there—nor anywhere else either for that matter—this thought shook me. nobody. my father? was a stranger, as i have already said. i thought nevertheless of his farewell, of his fugitive tenderness, due to obscure ties of the blood. who else was there? laquarrière? if he thought of me it would certainly be to congratulate himself on being safely in shelter, while i was risking.... nobody. there really was nobody!
and yet my eyes probed the darkness, my glance was unconsciously drawn in a certain direction.... in that suburb, i could imagine a street, a house, ... in that house someone ... someone who had written!—"we think of you a great deal...."
an idle dream and one which passed.
there was a metallic rattle. we were crossing the seine. still a few more miles to go, through the dark countryside. an important station was coming soon. myriad lamps lit up countless railway lines.
our speed slackened, till we slowed down to a walking pace. we slowly skirted endless pavements. i could distinguish retreating uniforms and piles of arms. an artillery sentry gave me a friendly wave.
"what station do you come from?" i shouted to him.
"marseilles!" he replied.
his warm southern accent had made me start. how many convoys had he seen rolling past in the[pg 148] same direction during the few hours he had been there with his battery. the concentration! the idea of this gigantic operation made one think: these trains whose time-tables had been arranged months, no years, in advance, these hundreds upon hundreds of trains flashing across the country in every direction; skirting gulfs and mountains, crossing the rivers, flowing in from every extremity of france, carrying the immense masses of war material, and the harvest of young men. caught up in this huge mechanism, this invisible unity, what a small thing i was, for all my pride of intellect!
a new tack soon threw us off the main lines. i occasionally turned round to look into the interior of the carriage, where the men were sleeping, livid beneath the swinging lantern, like corpses, i thought, at the bottom of a sunken submarine.
i stayed like this for a long time, half-awake and half-dreaming. in what direction were we going? to maubeuge? or chalons? i remember a long stop in the middle of the night on a siding on the outskirts of noisy-le-sec.
some of the men were awake, eating bread and cheese. i felt a tap on my shoulder.
"well, are you going to make up your mind to it?" guillaumin asked me.
"to what?"
i yawned.
"to take a nap. why you're so sleepy you can hardly stand up! come along and lie down!"
"where? there's no room!"
"what about my place?"
i declined it with thanks. he insisted. oh, come along! it was his turn to take the air!
[pg 149]
very well. i gave in. we started off again. the outlook was no longer so attractive. the glow of paris had faded into the distance, and the moon had just sunk behind the deep blue horizon.
