the notice had reached us at seven o'clock in the morning. at five o'clock in the afternoon we arrived at st. menehould, of which we saw nothing but the station. at six we were in the train.
just as it was getting under way—i was looking through the ventilator—there was a sudden panic on the platform. employees and foremen began to run, flinging their arms up. what was it? there was a noise, i understood. a taube was flying over the station. the men crowded to the doors. we had no time to distinguish anything. a tremendous explosion flung us on top of each other, and a certain number fell on to the floor of the waggon.
a bomb had just fallen thirty yards from us. there were instant yells and a torrent of smoke. a waggon was pulverised on one of the adjacent lines. three men killed, and six wounded we heard. and two hours' delay for us.
so we did not get away till night. the beginning of our misfortunes! we had not been going twenty minutes, when we pulled up with a violent jerk. an avalanche of rifles and packs—contusions and confusion.
the lantern was shivered, and went out. a chorus of imprecations exploded in the darkness. we struck[pg 387] some matches. no serious damage done. prunelle's face was bleeding, and his glasses were broken. he had a splinter of glass at the edge of his eyelashes. he was lucky. he might have lost an eye.
and outside? we leant out. shadows were swarming on the ballast, some limping, others frightened. bouchut had been sent for and came up in a fury shouting at the top of his voice. an orderly was standing in front of each waggon inquiring in a surly voice:
"any casualties here?"
a commonplace stoppage. the tail carriages had turned over, and the last one which contained among other things the officers' equipments was reduced to atoms, to the great glee of the men.
"we'll lend 'em our tooth-brushes!" said judsi.
they were not so delighted about it, when they heard that some more men had been killed there, four or five apparently, including sépot, the chief laboratory man, a good sort, whom everybody loved.
"if this sorter thing goes on," lamalou said, "there won't be many of us by the time we gets to paris!"
the stoppage was prolonged. i got out and walked up and down for a little while. the sky was overcast, and there was no moon. i got back. our train hooted dismally in the darkness, like a ship in distress.
i fell asleep, and we started off again, and went bumping drowsily on our way.
we woke up at dawn to find we had halted again, and were not to go on for an hour at least. the cooks were getting coffee ready. there was an autumnal feeling in the air. it was bitterly cold, and we stamped our feet. it was a characteristic landscape, with its billows of bald hillocks studded with little woods[pg 388] of conventional shapes.... the surroundings of the camp de chalons.
de valpic was shivering and stayed in his waggon. guillaumin said to me below his breath:
"i wonder—if i'm dreaming?"
"why?"
"i thought i heard...."
"well?"
"firing!"
i listened attentively. no, there was nothing. i chaffed him on his hallucinations! was he profiting by ravelli's teaching? firing indeed! an excellent joke! we had left the enemy more than a hundred and thirty miles behind.
guillaumin did not persist. the time which had been fixed passed by. then we were told that we should be there for another two hours.
i left the railway lines and went off into the open fields.
i noticed that our convoy was not the only one which had been stopped there. the black line stretched away as far as eye could see, bordered with a swarm of uniforms, and smoking bonfires. the line was badly blocked.
as i had plenty of time before me, the idea occurred to me of climbing the nearest hill. i followed a chalky path.
i had imagined that this crest was quite near by, and that i should reach it without any difficulty. i only breasted it after twenty minutes of breathless climbing.
a violent north wind lashed me, up there, and dried my perspiration. a vast panorama lay before me: a[pg 389] series of desolate-looking humps covered the ground, some of them bristling with vine poles, supporting the good champagne grapes. i took my bearings. just to the south, i made out the blue ridge of the more important hills, a sort of promontory where i thought an army might have got a good hold. i turned towards the west, a lifeless, colourless stretch of country. the railway line with its telegraph posts disappeared between two low hillocks on that side.
but i thought i could make out the haze and dust rising from a big town. yes—when i looked harder—there was a purple phantom, the silhouette of a building, hardly discernible in the mist, which little by little grew more distinct—those towers superb in their grace and strength. in my wonder, i named it aloud—rheims cathedral.
by some strange chance i had forgotten that this presence was so near at hand, though on getting into the train that day before, i had vaguely hoped that fate might lead us to it.
my veneration for this most sacred of all shrines dated from my earliest childhood when i had admired a picture of it reproduced in my prayer-book. abbé ygonel, my first teacher, had sung the praises of its magnificent harmony in striking terms. i had made of this erection the centre round which gravitated the whole of our history, enchanting as a legend.
i had only once been to see it. i had gone to rheims for a football match, and before and after the game had left my comrades, and had gone all alone to reflect on the faith which reared the poem of this portal and these towers.
i unconsciously picked up the thread of that meditation again now. the coronation cathedral! it was[pg 390] there that all the kings whose names were landmarks in our annals, from philippe-auguste to louis xvi. had come, with bowed heads, to receive at the hands of holy men the crown and the unction which made them more than men.
detached from the present, i once more began to rejoice at this glorious realisation—when my meditation was disturbed by an almost imperceptible wave of sound—a distant echo. a storm beginning or ending? i considered the sky. it was clear and serene. again there was a stifled rumble. this time i ceased to entertain any doubts. guillaumin's ears had not played him false. my heart contracted at the first echoes of firing to awaken champagne. i listened. i wanted to find out ... the pale horizon guarded its secret. i looked again. the bewildering part of it was that this rumbling seemed to come not from the borders of argonne, where we had left our trail only yesterday, but from the opposite direction, stretching westwards towards paris. was the enemy there? could it be possible? already barring this route!
i had mechanically turned my eyes towards the cathedral again. what was i seeking? i believe it was help and comfort, from thee, the representative city,—vision worthy of exalting us.
why, on the contrary, did this unbounding sadness worm its way into my heart?
what did this proud edifice declare? the power of royalty, the glory of the catholicism.... the soul of ancient france, which was incarnate in these living stones, had crumbled more quickly in the blast of modern thought, than they had in the wear and tear of time. what bound us, the sons of the twentieth[pg 391] century, to these traditions for which our ancestors had lived, and piously lavished themselves in such attestations?
other thoughts obsessed me. rheims, the heart of the country. this city, which held such an illustrious place in our annals, to-day was threatened, almost lost. how many of our ancient possessions had lately fallen into the hands of the enemy? in 1871, strassburg and metz. this time the downfall was more rapid—flanders and artois, picardy, so many treasures and marvels, our patrimony of art and land. the impious tide was advancing. and what fate awaited these august arches, under which our princes had prostrated themselves, the nave which had echoed to the sublime chants of our religion? would they become a lutheran church which we should be allowed to look over for the consideration of a few pfennigs? or was there a worse fate in store for them? i dared not put it into words ... the crushing presentiment of ravage and crime, fire and sword, devastating this miracle of human hands. i only know that filling my consciousness with the gorgeous picture i secretly bid it farewell.
what was to be done? resist? no doubt. but so many legions had burst from the germanic reservoirs. what if it was the barbarians' turn to spread across this corner of the world? an unwavering law—why not? france would perhaps die away—the most civilised nation, ruined by her intelligence, by her scepticism revolting against that which had formed her grandeur. i glanced at the string of stationary trains below. should we ever get any farther? were we not more likely to fight where we were? an ironical fate to perish in sight of these towers,[pg 392] symbols of our whilom virtue, of our repudiated creed!
it must be noticed that i was still convinced that we should all do our utmost duty. we should merit the respect of those who would build on our ruins. i closed my eyes. i almost wished that the hour of our noble passing would strike as soon as possible. it seemed to me that, wounded to the death, i might have closed my eyes, unregretfully, on my race and on myself since we had achieved our destiny.
and yet compunction pursued me among these gloomy speculations. where was my dauntlessness of yesterday? why did i suddenly flinch? i sought for the torches which lit up my path. a dazzling beacon stood forth: my love! jeannine—jeannine! i still adored her, but what fears interposed themselves, chilling my hope. i counted the days, how many was it, five or six, since i had heard from her. our one chance of happiness was exposed to so many risks.
what was happening over there? if there were strikes and riots, and the attendant train of outrages? a fair-haired victim...! would not our future fall to pieces with the future of our nation? or again—other thoughts assailed me. the turgid surge of uncertainty. had i deceived myself? had i not relied too much on a few friendly letters? had the exalted tone of my missives suddenly alarmed her?
and then i took pity on myself. so that was the only cause of my depression. the delay in our correspondence. but was there any one round me, never mind who it was, more favoured than i? i tried in vain to bring about a reaction.
i went back into the valley. guillaumin was watching for me and greeted me by asking:
[pg 393]
"well, are you convinced now?"
yes, it certainly was firing. it could be heard quite distinctly. the men had recognised it, and seemed exhilarated by it.
judsi announced:
"boom! there now! we missed the band!"
primitive souls, who did not know what anxiety was.
