Complete Text (Part 10)

through. For five consecutive days and nights my battalion has been on the firing line attacked, attacking, fired at and firing, but unluckily cannonaded above all. The Boches have terrible heavy artillery, and in IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL I5I addition they are turning against us all their enor- mous equipment from the siege of Antwerp, and pouring out their ammunition so that we wonder how they are able to feed at such a rate so many fiery mouths. Even at S we did not under- go such a deluge of iron nor especially so con- tinuous a stream of it. These four days of fight- ing have been frightful in every way and they are far from being over; but this morning before day- light we were withdrawn from under fire so that we might be reorganised. Judging by the furious energy which is being put forth on both sides at this moment, it would seem as if this must be their last kick, at which the emperor has come to assist in person. But, no, I do not believe any longer that this is so. The trenches and wire entanglements appear again on both sides. They mean once more that condition of deadlock, front to front. After twenty-four or forty-eight hours of waiting we shall enter this furnace again and the result of the gigantic strife will be reached — God knows when! What will life in the trenches be like with rain and cold? Just think that, during these fear- ful bombardments, we are kept hours and hours crouching in the trenches, backs against the wall, legs dravra up, heads sunk between our shoulders, like oxen passively waiting for the blow of the hatchet that will finish them — except for the look- outs, who, with their heads above the edge, have the duty of watching the ground in front so as 152 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL to be sure that the enemy does not try to advance, and except also when we ourselves receive the or- der to advance from the trenches in spite of the storm to throw ourselves into an attack. But at that dreadful moment the artillery of the enemy notices what we are doing and redoubles its fierce- ness in company with the rifles and the machine guns. Oh, those machine guns! Near Ypres, November 19th. I have been fighting continuously since the be- ginning of the war, but the battle around Ypres during the last two weeks reached the maximum of intensity, conceivable and inconceivable. The efforts on both sides are pushed almost to what is impossible; gigantic, as far as the offensive of the Germans is concerned and no less so in our de- fensive. From time to time they tried to with- draw us from the first line so as to give us a few hours' respite. But as soon as we arrived in our "relief quarters" they recalled us to the front. That is what happened to me in the evening the day before yesterday at the moment when, with my battalion, I was occupying a farm where I hoped to catch my breath. They recalled me ur- gently to go into an action where for the sixth time I lost in a few hours half of my command. "Your battalion," writes the general under whose orders I had been placed in thanking me IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL 153 this morning, "has shown a devotion above all praise." That is perhaps just what may happen to me again this evening, now that I am once more back at that same farm to reorganise my command there again. Anyway, on account of the frightful ar- tillery of the Boches, you can not get rest any- where behind the lines. The "big pots" with their terrible explosives follow you everywhere, showering dismay and conflagration on all the roofs within a radius of ten kilometres. The noise of these is continuous from sunrise to sunset. It is carried to the ultimate limits, the "Colossal" which happily breaks down before our colossal tenacity. "Strange people, those people there," as the song says — emphasising militarism wher- ever it is brutal and savage, aggravating it by stratagems, by treachery, by unbelievable deceit, while we, with our dark uniforms standing out against all the green backgrounds, express the nat- ural carelessness of a race which is a little too self- confident when it comes to the preparation for pos- sibilities which do not seem to it likely to be real- ised immediately. All that is not meant to be bitter, believe me. What will win finally is the combination of hero- ism and tenacity, and from that point of view we, on the contrary, see only things that are consol- ing. Frenchmen "tenacious even in inaction/' that's what no one would ever have believed. And 154 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL yet it is impossible to deny such a quality to men like mine who have just spent six successive days in the trenches without budging from there day or night, their feet in water up to their ankles, eating only once in every twenty-four hours the provi- sions prepared during the night four kilometres away, and undergoing without a pause this fright- ful and murderous racket. Near Ypres, November 28th. At the moment, wonderful to relate! we are twenty kilometres behind the lines, having a rest for three or four days. This is something that has not happened to us before since the very be- ginning of the campaign! We are certainly mak- ing the most of it, stuffing ourselves with good food and good wine and regaining as much strength as possible in order to use it up again right away in new battles. They withdrew us from the firing line four days ago on the east front of Ypres, where we had ourselves relieved the English, and they are reorganising us here with recruits whom we take into our ranks and by promotions and ap- pointments, and from the wounded who returned cured from the rear and in every way they can — and then they will do whatever they like with us, sending us back into the Belgian trenches, or ship- ping us off perhaps to some new zone of fighting. The attempt on Ypres has been a failure for the IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL 153 Boches. We wonder if they are going to try an- other or whether if, through fear of the Russians, they are going to decide at last to take away their men from the French front where during four months they have accumulated such formidable re- sources. This rest, as you will understand from my earlier letter, we have fairly earned. The month of November was the most terrible of the cam- paign; we have had bloody battles on every side. My division, which had been brought here in autos, was used to reinforce every part of the front as fast as the formidable attacks of the Boches against Ypres developed. Our battalions, on account of their well-known steadiness, were called and recalled, sent hither and thither, to at- tack, to defend, to take trenches, to retake them, to organise them or to give an example of stoical calm under a bombardment. One day one of my companies, without firing a gun, lost seventy-six men in its trench, their backs bent beneath the shells which must be endured "just the same," ready to stay to the last man, in that trench which their orders were not to give up and from which after nightfall the survivors were still able to re- pulse a violent attack. That's modern warfare! Twice my battalion has lost half of its members and has had its ranks refilled by reinforcements from the rear, but everywhere it has received the congratulations and thanks of the chiefs vmder 156 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL whose orders it has momentarily been placed. All that is both beautiful and sad at the same time. Then, when the ferocity of the fighting had slack- ened a little, the cold came, with three or four nights of heavy frost, and against that new trial they have once more valiantly held their ground. Day and night we hear over our heads the hissing whistle of enormous shells flying towards Ypres, wicked, savage and incendiary. And the other day in crossing the city at dawn in order to get around here we saw the horrible devastation which nothing can justify and which nothing can ever excuse. Ah, what savages they are, but what redoubtable and terrible fighters ! When shall we "have them" for good! . . , Here are some passages from the letters of General X, commanding an army corps, who also writes from the front: October 20th. My confidence is complete. The struggle will be long, but we shall have entire success. ... I have spoken to you, I think, of that colonel, an oflScer of the Legion of Honour, who enlisted as an ordi- nary soldier at more than sixty years of age. I have in my corps a second lieutenant sixty-one years old whose son has been killed, and many other officers who are volunteers, who no longer owed any service to the army. At their side there IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL 157 are mere children, "the little warriors of France." Yesterday I saw a little chap of fourteen, dressed in uniform, marching proudly between two troop- ers. These children, in the costumes which have been gotten up for them, with their sabre-bayonets at their sides, look absurd, or rather they bring the tears to your eyes. It is eleven o'clock at night. I have just ordered an attack to take one of the enemy's positions which I have overwhelmed all day long with the fire of twenty batteries. Poor village! What devastation! So wills the safety of the country. But how happy those parts of the coimtry which are away from the field of operations should consider themselves. I have seen so many families fleeing and carrying away hurriedly pathetic bundles or carts loaded with clothes and all sorts of things. Ah, but this war is terrible. They bring into it an imbelievable ferocity, the result of the barbarism of these peo- ple who push their mania to the point of pretend- ing to arrogate to themselves the control of every- thing that thinks or works. But their tone and their attitude are changing; fortune no longer smiles on them; the ship is leaking. October 29th. I assure you that everybody from the most mod- est combatant to the Generalissimo will have a right to the victor's crown, for our successes are due to the bravery of these brave little troopers. 158 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL They pass days and nights in the trenches within fifty yards of the enemy, exchanging shots continu- ously, or marching gaily to the assault and some- times falling without a complaint. I have just been to see an officer who was se- verely wounded. He was smiling. He said to me, "We've got that trench all right, haven't we. General.'' I told my comrades to avenge me. Good-bye, for a while." How can one help having confidence in such troops ! November 10th. Heaven knows if I ever expected a war like this, a regular mole trap. We have to fight not only against the enemy but against the cold. I try in a thousand difi'erent ways to keep my men in good health. What cares I have ! You must look after everything: hygiene, clothes, food, hospitals. It is a very great responsibility to lead troops into action. We take many precautions to avoid bronchitis, for we must not increase too much the number of your clients. Ah, if we could only call the nurses into the lines to carry away the wounded. But we are afraid of the shells and none of them must be allowed to show themselves around here. In order to harden our young sol- diers little by little, I keep them behind the lines in places where they have nothing to fear. I shall begin very soon to send them to the front. In IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL 159 that way we always have strong forces. Let us go forward, therefore, full of confidence. November 16th. You must spend yourself here like a vigorous young man. I can assure you that those who come out of this will have given proof of strong constitutions. In the first battle a shell burst two or three metres above my head, wounding two offi- cers of my staff and killing two horses. At other times they have burst in front or behind without doing any harm to those arovmd me. Three days ago it was infernal; they rained on us from every side. One single shell killed thirty-eight artillery horses. The men have been superb; they have stood undisturbed under this deluge of iron and fire. What brave fellows they are ! And it is touching to see how their hearts beat as one; how the French nation has gotten hold of itself again. In spite of all this anguish, truly this war is a "splendid ordeal." It will leave France strong and regenerated, as we all long for her to be. SISTER GABRIELLE'S CHRISTMAS TREE December 26th, 1914. — In these days of deep sorrow the unchangeable church in- vites us to celebrate, not the agony of Cal- l6o IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL vary, but the gay holiday of Christmas. What, celebrate that blessed holiday of in- timate pleasures and of sweet memories in these times of anxiety, of troubles and of cruel separation I Yes, Christmas is ever the same. Christmas which comes again in the shimmering starry night to recall to the earth that everlasting promise which through all the centuries since the dawn of the first Christmas day shall comfort every sorrow. That blessed word is everywhere. It was Christmas in those houses of mourning which gained an hour of respite from the thought that heaven, where now the souls of the well beloved are living, draws near to-day through the coming of the Child. It was Christmas in the trenches toward which our hearts were turned with such strength and fervour that a perfume of anx- ious tenderness must have floated that even- ing in the air of France around those be- loved soldiers. They had not our churches, IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL l6l alas, but above their heads in the broad, open sky their eyes could look for the shin- ing star. It was Christmas in all our hospitals and in Sister Gabrielle's ward. The evening of the 25th was spent around a splendid tree wonderfully decorated. A number of little girls, the nurses of to-morrow, full of the desire to make themselves useful but still too young to be admitted regularly to the hos- pital, had been working outside for their be- loved wounded. They brought us quantities of their own work and of the results of their collections. "Ah, those children," Sister Gabrielle said to me one day as she watched them leaving the hospital, carrying without the least em- barrassment huge bundles of red trousers to be mended, "those children without know- ing it are creating a new generation which will be moulded by life itself in its highest expression; by daily sacrifice, by living close to heroism, by the control and forgetful- l62 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL ness of self in the midst of unutterable emo- tion." The Sister was only too glad to let all that eager young life come to the ceremony of ''the tree." Happy and eager, they en- tered like the fresh spring into that long room where there was always suffering in spite of the holiday atmosphere. The smiles of the invalids followed them. At the very end of the room between the two rows of white beds stood the tree. It was a stately spruce sent from the mountains especially for our wounded. Its branches bent gently under the weight of numberless mysterious packages. Gold and silver stars glittered through the branches, along which flowed tri- colour ribbons, those beloved ribbons, tke sight of which brings tears to our eyes. In the middle at the very end of the two largest branches were fastened two French flags. When you touched the trunk the flags waved. You might have said that our spruce itself waved them at the ends of its IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL 163 outstretched arms for some mysterious sig- nal to those other flags which fly over our battlefields. At the very bottom, hidden among the thickest branches, a little, a very little plaster Christ Child, whom you had to look hard to find, slept sheltered by a mass of tri-colour ribbon. The child Jesus, with the three colours of France for its cradle, is that not something to dream about? As the evening fell, toward four o'clock, Sister Gabrielle ordered the long windows closed. Thereupon the many-coloured balls hung on the tree became alive and grew transparent and luminous. The dark green branches grew darker still and the red of our flags flamed out against them. Then the mysterious spirit of Christmas came down all around. It illuminated with its indefinable charm the presents hung on the table laden with mandarins and the traditional nougat, and indeed the whole atmosphere. Two or- derlies carried in on a cot the "darling" of 164 IN A FRENCH HOSPITAL the room, a little volunteer from Bar-le-duc, who answered proudly when he was com- plimented for his ardour, "But at home all the young men of eighteen have gone. You don't meet one in the town." To-day he is blushing and confused by the honour being done him, for it is he who is going to draw the numbers. They settle him as comfortably as possible with a chair on which