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WAR LETTERS 
 FROM FRANCE 
 
WAR LETTERS 
 FROM FRANCE 
 
 EDITED 
 BY 
 
 A; DE LAPRADELLE 
 
 AND 
 
 FREDERIC R. COUDERT 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 1916 
 
.-•^ 
 
 rv 
 
 -^ 
 
 COPTBIGHT, 1916, BY 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the Unit ed States of America 
 
 FEB 26* 1916 
 
 ©aA420915 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. At the Front 3 
 
 II. In the Hospital 53 
 
 III. In the Heart of the Country 79 
 
 IV. The Future 87 
 
 V. Last Letter 105 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO A FRENCHWOMAN IN AMEEICA 
 
 WE used to meet to read our news from France ; 
 the letters which we had received ourselves 
 and those which our friends had received, or perhaps 
 some touching passages copied from a friend's letter 
 by a sympathetic hand. Sometimes there were brief 
 cards from the front, hastily penciled between two 
 alarms ; sometimes there were long missives written 
 in the enforced leisure of the hospital, in tottering 
 strokes with the feeling of langorous repose in their 
 tepid ink. There were letters from mourners, too, 
 bordered in broad black lines and written in large 
 determined strokes ; and some whose telltale pages 
 still kept the trace of tears. There were messages of 
 grief in which the stricken heart of wife or sister 
 strove in vain to reach or to maintain the supreme 
 heights of a mother's anguished calm. We read and 
 re-read these touching letters. We were French, and 
 it seemed as though they were written to us, to whom- 
 ever they were addressed. We made a common fund 
 of them, the better to appreciate their noble courage 
 and hope. And when our American friends, finding 
 us after the reading more melancholy and yet more 
 
 vii 
 
PREFACE 
 
 confident, bowed down with grief but still sustained 
 in pride, asked hesitatingly, "What news?" our only 
 reply was to hand them the letters which had arrived 
 on the week's steamer. 
 
 Our American friends, too, found letters from 
 France in their mail. We lent them ours and they 
 offered us theirs in return. Among them were letters 
 from Frenchmen at the front and in the hospitals, 
 but oftener letters of officials in the service of their 
 fatherland or from Americans in France in the ser- 
 vice of humanity. We read these letters with great 
 interest and wished to copy them. But the Americans 
 in America are more practical than the Frenchman 
 in America and much more practical than the French- 
 man in France. "Why copy these letters?" said 
 one American friend. "Print them and publish them 
 for the benefit of your compatriots, the old men and 
 the women and children who are suffering the torments 
 of this war." Your kind heart kindled immediately 
 at this suggestion: you begged our letters of us. 
 And when you beg, madam — is it always so or only 
 when you beg for France.^ — one cannot, one dare 
 not refuse. 
 
 What will our correspondents say? They thought 
 they were writing for our eyes alone. What re- 
 proaches may they not heap on us when they see 
 that we have given to the public their private mes- 
 sages without more alteration than the elimination 
 
 viii 
 
PREFACE 
 
 of a few details of too personal or too insignificant 
 a nature to be printed? Have we the right to allow 
 these self-revelations of our friends, made in the un- 
 constraint of privacy, to pass from hand to hand 
 among strangers? "Yes," you replied, "for out of 
 all these revelations of courage, of suffering, of hope, 
 there comes one single great revelation — ^the heart of 
 France. And the portrait of the France that we see 
 in these letters is all the more true, all the more faith- 
 ful, as it is painted from life, without constraint or 
 pose, caught without warning and left without re- 
 touching. Moreover this portrait of France is not 
 theirs or ours to keep. In this crisis, when every- 
 one is offering his all to the fatherland, how can 
 they keep for themselves any part of their experi- 
 ence — that is, any part of the experience of France — 
 France, our country which asks nothing but justice, 
 has nothing to fear from truth?" 
 
 From the moment of your response, I was the 
 accomplice of your purpose. I gave you the best 
 of my letters. I begged others, even perhaps to the 
 point of indiscretion. You were persuasive; and 
 taught by you, I became exacting, some even said 
 tyrannical. The precious booty was carefully in- 
 ventoried, catalogued and classified. There were the 
 letters of the fighters and the wounded, letters to 
 relatives and friends, letters still more sacred — for 
 have you not coaxed from me even the letter of a 
 
PREFACE 
 
 little child? There were letters from scholars, from 
 artists, from simple honest people. Frenchmen and 
 Americans; letters from the front and from the 
 rear; letters from the hospital and from the hearth- 
 stone; letters from the country and from the city. 
 They have all been sorted, translated, annotated by 
 friendly hands with the delicacy of touch appropri- 
 ate to pages which record in suffering and sympathy 
 such noble wealth of courage, pride and undying 
 hope. 
 
 We have taken rigorous pains not to alter the 
 slightest phrase. These letters are the spontaneous 
 testimony to the moral grandeur of a nation: and 
 the testimony is not revised, it is simply received. 
 This is not a work of literature, but a tribute to 
 humanity. In these few pages, suffering, courage 
 and hope speak their simple language. And it would 
 be unpardonable in me, if, after this explanation of 
 your charitable purpose, I were any longer to keep 
 those who are anxious to share in the message of 
 these letters from listening to their sincere and 
 touching words. 
 
 If we put the seashell to our ear, we hear the 
 eternal murmur of the infinite ocean. Have we not 
 reason to believe that from a few simple letters we 
 can hear the heartbeat of a nation? 
 
 A. DE Lapradelle 
 
 July 14, 1915. 
 
I 
 
 AT THE FRONT 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 AT THE FRONT 
 
 EARLIEST LETTERS 
 
 ON the eighth of September a troop of soldiers 
 were retreating from the north. Up to the 
 very environs of Paris their confidence and 
 hope remained unshaken. An infantry sergeant 
 writes : 
 
 Our retreat as far as Provins has been exhaust- 
 ing: marches and counter-marches, engagements, et 
 cetera, and the Germans chasing us hard all the time 
 to prevent our crossing the Oise, and then the Aisne, 
 and then the Marne, I do my duty through it all. 
 
 On the ninth of September, the cavalry sergeant 
 A. F. writes from Alsace: 
 
 We have been hearing the enemy's cannon fre- 
 quently. We all have the greatest confidence. We 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 are more than ever convinced of the success of 
 our arms, the final victory that shall crown our 
 efforts. In spite of our fatigues we shall conquer in 
 the end. 
 
 On the eighth of September, 1914, a lieutenant 
 writes from Alsace: 
 
 Our unit, composed entirely of reservists, as well 
 as the whole division to which it belongs, was rapidly 
 assembled, and thanks to the fine spirit animating 
 every man, we were able to start immediately for the 
 firing line. We entered Alsace in order to cooperate 
 in the movement directed against Strasburg. The 
 movement, as you know, failed. We had to retreat. 
 
 During this retreat, foot by foot, there was no 
 weakening of the endurance of the troops. 
 
 In this movement my battery took part in a skir- 
 mish and in a very violent engagement in which the 
 number of Germans lost amounted to a high figure. 
 During eight days of struggle we took only two or 
 three hours' rest a night. The morale of our troops 
 has been excellent, and these early affairs show that 
 our reserve troops may prove a useful factor in the 
 battles to come. Retiring to recover from our losses 
 and get some rest, we have resumed our advance. 
 
 4 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 Little by little we are regaining the lost territory in 
 the region of the Vosges. 
 
 Here the letter was stopped by the receipt of 
 marching orders. It continued a little later with 
 the following vivid descriptive passage: 
 
 The flames of a village destroyed by shell fire, a 
 livid moonlight and a terrific storm, such were the 
 precursors of our entrance this morning into a pretty 
 village of the Vosges, where a dozen houses were 
 gutted, burned or totally demolished by shells. 
 Chickens were pecking at the door-sills of the de- 
 serted houses. That is war! Our men might have 
 been put in bad humor by all this. But no ! Their 
 witty remarks cheered the situation. They are laugh- 
 ing and chatting now, while the German bombs are 
 falling not far from us, whistling through the air 
 with metallic shrieks, followed by frightful explo- 
 sions. Our men are getting used to this music of a 
 special style. 
 
 But soon the advance was stopped and the soldiers 
 intrenched. The letter continues September 30: 
 
 For the last ^Ye days we have made no advance, 
 being busily engaged in intrenching positions which 
 seem to be impregnable. When we halt we have a 
 chance to rest and we have taken full advantage of 
 
 5 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 these five days of rest with their beautiful sunny 
 weather to get slicked up a bit. It is a picturesque 
 scene, this taking a bath between your trunk on the 
 left (if you can call our little kit-case with its sup- 
 ply of necessary toilet articles a trunk) and your 
 uniform on the right, with the revolver within easy 
 reach to seize in a jiffy if the alarm is sounded. But 
 once cleaned up and dressed in fresh linen what a 
 joy it is to stretch out on the grass in the sun with- 
 out thought of time! For we sleep at any moment 
 and so peacefully. Suddenly a light touch on the 
 shoulder: "Lieutenant!" A man stands before you 
 with his heels together, and with a smile hands 
 you a bit of paper: "March during the formation 
 of the Echelons, direction 2. . . . !" We are up 
 with a jump and get our uniforms buttoned. A crisp 
 order and the sleepers are on their feet and on their 
 horses. The horses start with a scratch and a 
 scramble, the camp is broken. The battery wakes 
 up too. We are feeding our ogres — modern ostriches 
 that swallow powder and copper voraciously with an 
 incredible iron digestion. Then all panting and smok- 
 ing after their deadly attack on the enemy these 
 monstrous beasts stop and give us a new period of 
 repose. 
 
 The soldiers spent their period of repose talking 
 with the inhabitants who by the Mayor's proclama- 
 
 6 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 tion had remained in the villages that had just been 
 evacuated by the German rear guard. 
 
 The good woman in whose house our lieutenant 
 was quartered told him the following story of the 
 occupation : 
 
 The worthy old lady with a black cap on her 
 white locks, her face lighted by the flame of the 
 wood fire burning on the hearth, keeps up a tireless 
 flow of anecdote, while the little granddaughter at 
 her side listens with wide open mouth. This woman 
 seems to me to personify the entire French race, 
 gifted with a good share of commonsense and with 
 intelligence not entirely devoid of malicious roguish- 
 ness. In language filled with an imaginative quality 
 she describes the departure of her three sons and her 
 two sons-in-law — all reservists. From two of these 
 men she has received no word since the war began, 
 and when one speaks of them a shadow steals over 
 her face giving it that stamp of grandeur which 
 grief heroically borne impresses. She told me about 
 the conversations she had with the Germans many 
 of whom could speak French; how insufferable and 
 naive they were in their arrogance. Then she told 
 of their retreat and the sudden arrival at a gallop 
 of two little chasseurs, blue as the summer sky, plain 
 brave little chasseurs! "What a pity you are on 
 horseback," she said. "Why, mother?" "Because I 
 should like to kiss you." "Don't let a little thing 
 
 7 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 like that stop you," they cried, and were on the 
 ground in a minute. "What a good kiss I gave 
 them, monsieur; it was as if one of my own boys 
 had come back. Then amid cheers and flowers they 
 rode off toward the forest with a squadron of ten, 
 on the track of the last Uhlans who had left the 
 village two hours before. We never saw them again." 
 Isn't that the very soul of France? 
 
 Between the Marne and the Aisne Sergeant A. H. 
 writes to his uncle on September 26, 1914: 
 
 The retreat is over and the offensive resumed at 
 Provins. We are twelve kilometers west of Rheims, 
 facing the enemy's center which is making a fine re- 
 sistance. Their men are fighters and they are well 
 led. I have seen them hold their ground for hours 
 at a stretch in the driving rain, which shows that 
 their morale and their courage are good. Our re- 
 servists who arrived yesterday and were incorpo- 
 rated with the regulars have held firm under the 
 baptism of shells and grape-shot. 
 
 On the twenty-eighth of September, 1914, J. T., 
 a very quiet man in ordinary life, writes the follow- 
 ing excited letter, without superscription of date or 
 place : 
 
 Courage good — always on my feet — ^bullets 
 through my coat twice — covered with the dirt 
 
 8 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 plowed up by shells — ^but as yet uninjured. Will 
 tell you perhaps some day the tragic details. They 
 are glorious and sublime. We are bearing every- 
 thing with absolute confidence in our victory. Vic- 
 tory ! That was the word on our lips when we parted 
 at Paris. Let us repeat it, never forgetting the men 
 who have fallen. If I don't come back you know 
 that I shall have done my duty. 
 
 And the writer kept his word. Wounded by a 
 bursting shell in January, he was taken to the hos- 
 pital at Lyon. The wound was slight and he could 
 write on the twenty-sixth of March: 
 
 I am going back to my place in the orchestra 
 seats. 
 
 J. D., who has not had a chance to wash for two 
 weeks, who sleeps on the ground, and has his ears 
 continuously filled with the roars of cannon and 
 musketry, declares with simplicity in a letter of 
 September 26, 1914: 
 
 I love this life of bivouac though the stormy 
 nights are hard. What I like most about it is being 
 in the free air and having a feeling of unforeseen 
 danger, the sense of uncertainty and suspense. When 
 the cannon is still at night, I hear the groans and 
 the death rattle of the wounded who have not been 
 picked up in front of the trenches facing the enemy. 
 
 9 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 Our recent victories have strengthened our soldiers' 
 confidence until now they are regular war dogs who 
 don't interrupt their cooking when the shells rain 
 around them — ^not until the pieces fall into the kettle. 
 Still the war is hard and they are waging it against 
 us without mercy or humanity. Quite often the 
 Prussians dispatch our wounded soldiers with a lance 
 thrust or a blow with the butt of a musket. I know 
 what I'm talking about for I have seen it. 
 
 On the fifth of October, 1914, F. writes from Fou- 
 concourt in the department of the Somme : 
 
 The horrible rain of iron and steel that hundreds 
 of infernal machines are pouring on us every day 
 cannot dampen our courage. It is a grand thing 
 to fight for a holy cause like this of France. In spite 
 of forty continuous days of battle in the Vosges and 
 in Picardie, in spite of forty nights passed mostly 
 in icy weather under the naked stars, in spite of 
 hunger, rain and forced marches, and in the midst 
 of horrors, I find mj^self admiring the sublime for- 
 ests of the Vosges, the picturesque villages, and the 
 gay little houses of red brick. 
 
 Another soldier writes to his parents on the seventh 
 of October, 1914: 
 
 On reading my letter over I see that I have for- 
 gotten to tell you the best news of all. The general 
 
 10 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 in command of our Army Corps has made special 
 mention of our Battery in the general orders and has 
 nominated the captain for the Legion of Honor. 
 
 At the beginning of the warfare in the trenches, 
 which the French trooper copied from the German 
 army, J. B. was working as a digger generally dur- 
 ing the night or in the foggy weather. On October 
 11, 1914<, he writes: 
 
 Our intrenchments are composed of trenches for 
 the riflemen standing up, and for machine guns flush 
 with the ground, all connected by cross-galleries lead- 
 ing to sleeping quarters, to rooms for the care of the 
 wounded, to subterranean telephone stations, to caves 
 for provisions — in a word a whole subterranean bar- 
 racks. Our "seventy-fives" are accomplishing mar- 
 vels. 
 
 C. writes: 
 
 We have had a severe test in Belgium. Only 126 
 out of 256 are left in our company and not a single 
 captain in the regiment. . . . For exactly twenty- 
 one days we have been living like moles, underground, 
 solidly intrenched on three hills, only eight or nine 
 hundred meters from the enemy. 
 
 Lieutenant G. in a letter written to reassure his 
 parents cannot refrain from expressing his wonder 
 at the fairy-like spectacle presented by Autumn in 
 the Vosges: 
 
 11 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 The woods are varicolored. A green meadow, a 
 large white mansion with broad fa9ade and red roof, 
 a garden in which two roly-poly little chaps are 
 playing, all set against the tawny and flashing golds 
 of the forest, make an idyllic picture. One would 
 think oneself far removed from anything like war, 
 if it were not for the fact that two hundred meters 
 further on one reaches a hamlet of ten or fifteen 
 houses with but a single one standing intact. Stray 
 hens were pecking here and there. A shutter was 
 pounding lugubriously. A nauseating odor exhaled 
 from the ruins, and side by side on a manure heap 
 a cow eviscerated by a shell was staring with its 
 empty eyes at a rooster crowing his deafening cock- 
 a-doodle-do to the noonday sun. Life and death 
 side by side. In other villages where there are a 
 few houses still standing one gets the same impres- 
 sion. In the midst of the ruins, even under the fire 
 of the Prussian cannons, which are beginning again 
 to pour forth destruction, poor folks have come 
 back to clean their houses and get in their hay^ 
 Life and death side by side ! Indefatigable, like ants 
 when their hill is destroyed, the men begin to build 
 anew. Is it not a token of hope for the future of 
 our fatherland.'* 
 
 There is such literary charm in these simple let- 
 ters of men who frankly speak their noble thoughts, 
 
 12 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 that they seem hardly inferior to this beautiful letter 
 of a young but well-known writer, Louis Madelin, 
 now Captain Madelin, the historian of Danton and 
 Fouche, and author of the history of the French 
 Revolution, which has been recently crowned with 
 the first grand Gobert prize by the French Academy. 
 From Verdun, one of the gates of France which the 
 Germans are especially anxious to break down. Cap- 
 tain Madelin writes on the fifth of November, 1914: 
 
 From the day when the admirable courage of the 
 Belgians and the opportune movement of General 
 Joffre defeated their rapid drive, the Germans' hope 
 of victory was forever gone. Very slowly, to be 
 sure, but very steadily our grand army is forcing 
 them back, and our enemy's main task now is to 
 assure a safe line of retreat. I say, '^our grand 
 army," for it is true that, after certain mistakes 
 due to inexperience, our soldiers have become the 
 same grand army that their fathers were, that oxjLt 
 fathers were. They lack nothing of their mettle, 
 their good humor, their patriotic faith, their martial 
 spirit, and at the same time they adapt themselves 
 wonderfully to the modern tactics, to the patient, 
 tenacious plan of their general and chief, which re- 
 quires unfailing steadfastness. 
 
 I get letters from the front [as if he were not at 
 the front himself]. I have with the colors three 
 brothers, two brothers-in-laws, three nephews, eigh- 
 teen to nineteen years old, and these men are soldiers 
 
 13 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 of all grades in every rank of the army. They write 
 letters fairly brimming with courage and zeal. Some 
 of them have been wounded, but they returned as 
 soon as possible to the firing line. One of my 
 brothers took some Alsatian villages. He saw the 
 colonel and five out of six of the captains of his 
 battalion of Chasseurs fall. The youngest and sole 
 surviving captain, he took command of what was 
 left, led it from the Vosges to the Marne, enforced 
 marches of forty-five kilometers a day, keeping its 
 morale intact and losing not a single man. After 
 fighting like a lion on the battlefield of the Marne 
 he received his fourth galoon, richly deserved, from 
 the hands of the general of the army corps. He 
 wrote me a charming letter from the trenches in the 
 North, in which he said that his soldiers (like all 
 the rest) were accomplishing prodigies of valor. 
 Another of my brothers, on the staff of one of the 
 corps, dispatched with a message to a regiment of 
 cavalry, found the regiment without colonel or 
 major. He put himself at the head of the troops 
 and hustled a strong force of German infantry. I 
 have a little devil of a nephew who enlisted at the 
 age of eighteen and five days later was sent to the 
 front. He fought like a demon with the light in- 
 fantry on the Marne and the Aisne, and when his 
 shoulder was broken by a bursting shell he begged 
 the doctors to heal it quickly so that he could return 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 to the front. Eighteen years old! There's your 
 type of volunteer that shows what a generation we 
 have in reserve, and with what spirit they will march 
 to reconquer lost ground. All my life long I shall 
 remember the first night of my command of a 
 post in the Woevre, where I used to walk with my 
 men, the citizens and fathers of the region, every one 
 of them ready when called on to give his last drop 
 of blood for the fatherland. 
 
 You know how for the last three weeks the Germans 
 have been spreading the news that Verdun is be- 
 sieged, taken, destroyed. It is one of our favorite 
 jokes here. Whenever any one of us is going to 
 Verdun we tell him that it is useless to start, seeing 
 that Verdun is destroyed. But the Germans seem 
 to make their countrymen swallow any kind of story. 
 Yesterday I heard a German prisoner being examined 
 in the office of the colonel to whose staff I am at- 
 tached. The fellow had been before Verdun for 
 eight weeks, and yet he stupidly persisted in his 
 assertion that Verdun was captured. I cannot find 
 words to express the absolute confidence of our men 
 in the final success of our arms. Even during those 
 terrible weeks when General Joffre tested their faith 
 to its utmost there was no wavering. Equally inde- 
 scribable are the spirit of genial comradeship and of 
 self-sacrifice. We would all devote ourselves to 
 death, we would even devote our young sons to death, 
 
 15 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 if thereby we could unite Alsace-Lorraine to France 
 in six months or twelve months or sixteen months, 
 or in any number of months. I am in the best of 
 health and spirits. 
 
 Then follows a line in which we get a glimpse of 
 the secret thought of one of those Frenchmen who 
 are unjustly accused of wishing or having wished for 
 a war of revenge, whereas in reality they were grow- 
 ing ever more convinced that France would never 
 assume the responsibility before history of bringing 
 on such a war. 
 
 I see the dream which I cherished in my childhood, 
 but which I had begun to despair of ever seeing 
 realized, now coming true. 
 
 From Mor court in the department of the Somme 
 on the seventh of November, 1914, F. describes the 
 warfare of the moles: 
 
 Imagine the life that our soldiers are leading at 
 the present moment; eight days and nights at a 
 stretch, sometimes even more, in the trenches. And 
 these men, who are sometimes only eighty meters 
 distant from the Boches,^ have to be provisioned. 
 You see the constant danger to which our reservists 
 
 lA slang term applied to the Germans by the French 
 soldiers in the trenches. 
 
 16 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 and even our territorials^ are exposed. One must 
 confess that our chasseurs are inspired with wonder- 
 ful courage. 
 
 The first of November there was a sudden attack. 
 We arrived near midnight before a village in which 
 seven or eight houses were occupied by the enemy. 
 We took the houses one by one by bayonet charges, 
 by mining and by cannon. For three days and nights 
 we stood attack after attack from the enemy. It 
 is the most terrible conflict that I have ever seen. 
 We made hundreds of prisoners, and picked up the 
 wounded whom they quite generally abandoned on 
 the field. At least four out of every ten spoke French. 
 Many of them were not more than seventeen or eigh- 
 teen years old, had seen no military service, and 
 seemed in a state of great demoralization. 
 
 Shall we ever return? What does it matter? We 
 march on. Some fall, others advance, and the fright- 
 ful drama continues to unroll before the eyes of the 
 dazed nations. 
 
 From day to day the troops grew more inured 
 to war. On the fourteenth of November, 1914, Lieu- 
 tenant L. G. tells this amusing story: 
 
 The Boches came to visit us, bringing a convoy; 
 
 lA reserve force of citizens corresponding roughly to the 
 German Landsturm. 
 
 17 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 of wagons to take away the food which we were 
 expected to leave behind us on our retreat; the 
 food that they took away in those same wagons con- 
 sisted of corpses cut to pieces by our "seventy-fives." 
 A week later to the day we returned their visit. But 
 they failed to duplicate our politeness. They didn't 
 send us back home. Truly their Kultur still lacks 
 something in refinement. 
 
 Sometimes there is a touch of bitterness noticeable 
 in the letters of the inen at the front who find their 
 exploits not quite sufficiently appreciated in the 
 official communications. 
 
 The day before yesterday they did us the honor 
 of sending us an official communication. We had 
 been in a fight, had seen loaded ambulances going to 
 the rear, had crossed woods filled with corpses and 
 passed ravaged farms; and we said to each other, 
 "What a battle it has been!" No wonder we were 
 somewhat astonished to read in our official communi- 
 cation, "Situation unchanged in the Lorraine and 
 in the Vosges." 
 
 On Thursday the Bodies stirred a bit. They 
 came to see what we were doing. We taught them 
 the pas de quatre and we played them a pretty tune 
 for it. They learned their lesson quickly. Two 
 hundred of them were left on the field. It was not 
 much and yet the official report simply announced: 
 
 18 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 "The Germans attacked our outposts between Bla- 
 mont and Baccarate, and their attack was completely 
 stopped." In reality they were thrown violently 
 back on Blamont. 
 
 Do not imagine that the soldier is bored. He has 
 his friends and his sweetheart. 
 
 Sweethearts! Don't be astonished. Their names 
 are Gaby, Madelon and Sylvia. Gaby is a little per- 
 son, plump, with an odor of wild cherry about her. 
 I never spend more than ten minutes or a quarter of 
 an hour with her. Sylvia is more slender and frail. 
 She smells of the autumn heather and I talk with 
 her for fifteen or twenty minutes. As for Madelon, 
 she is a grand lady in her splendid brown dress with 
 gold trimmings. She is very cultivated, too, and I 
 spend twenty-five minutes or half an hour with her. 
 Gaby, Sylvia and Madelon are — pipes. During the 
 long anxious hours of suspense one hardly knows 
 what to do. It is impossible to read or write, for 
 one has to be ready to start at the first signal. So 
 we smoke our pipes. One of my men carved Gaby 
 for me from a branch of wild cherry. Madelon and 
 Sylvia were presents from my subordinate officers. 
 So much for my sweethearts. As for my friend he 
 is a very devoted personage, very silent and always 
 with me. He lies at my feet with his honest brown 
 eyes fixed on me until he drops asleep. He is a 
 
 19 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 wonderful scout and guide. Moose is his name — 
 a black and yellow water dog who got himself 
 adopted on the tenth of September and has never 
 left me since. 
 
 From time to time interesting events happen. J. F. 
 writes from the advanced trenches on November 30, 
 1914, telling how the coffee, which was generally 
 late, arrived a day in advance : 
 
 Ah, the fine surprise ! It was brought by a Boche 
 who had got lost in the fog. It was a regular god- 
 send. We gulped down the "juice" with glee, we 
 even gave the Boche himself some. Then two men 
 and a corporal led him to the colonel's quarters. 
 
 After an excursus on strategy offered with a 
 layman's modesty. Lieutenant L. turns to poetry and 
 pens the following: 
 
 NOCTUENE. 
 
 The moon steals softly o'er the vast gray sky. 
 And throws along the trench its shadow lean. 
 Where brave men, scornful of the shrapnel, lie, 
 Their bed a truss of straw, their roof a screen. 
 Before each section lies the scanty guard. 
 The heights above are black with thicket walls. 
 Past rick and windmill looms the huge facade 
 Of the cathedral, dumb till vengeance calls. 
 
 20 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 Sharp from the crest a sudden fusillade 
 That spreads along the front in enfilade ! 
 The rattling musketry and whistling lead 
 Wake us to wait in calm restraint, until 
 A hidden cannon from its earthy bed 
 Shatters the living air — and all is still.^ 
 
 IN THE TRENCHES, December 7, 1914. 
 
 "1914'* 
 
 Within his palace sat the Emperor, 
 Worn thin and whetted sharp by the grim Fate 
 That rules the issue of this troubled age. 
 Hoping to banish thus his deepening gloom, 
 He gazed upon a map which showed the World. 
 Forth from his eyes there flashed a gleam of pride 
 As soon as he had passed his Empire's bounds. 
 He looked upon it all, and cried with joy — 
 "The World — the Universe — shall be my prey," 
 But his eyes faded, and he knit his brows. 
 His heart was wrung with unaccustomed care. 
 With haughty gesture, then, he took the map, 
 
 1 La lune glisse dans le champ du grand ciel gris, 
 EUe eclaire en passant le fond de la tranch6e, 
 Ou nous sommes rest^s meprisanti les obus, 
 De la paille pour lit at pour toit, une claie. 
 Un petit poste git devant chaque section, 
 Sur la Crete, de noir buissons. Dans I'intervalle, 
 Une meule, un moulin. A droite, a rhorizon, 
 Muette, jusqu'au chatiment, la cathedrale. . , • 
 
 De la Crete soudain part une fusillade. 
 
 Puis, gagnant tout le front des feux en enfilade, 
 
 Et chacun se redresse a leur crepitement 
 
 Les balles sifflent, claquent. Mais nous, Impassibles, 
 
 Attendons qu'un seul de nos canons invisibles 
 
 Ebranle Fair meurtri d'un long dechirement. 
 
 21 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 But, shaken through with passion, let it fall, 
 
 "The Universe/' said he, "shall soon be mine. 
 
 But not until I shall have crushed forever 
 
 The legions of the Czar; while, as for England, 
 
 I'll drive her to the utmost ends of earth. 
 
 With her, Japan shall be quite blotted out. 
 
 Leaving no sign to meet my ocean path. 
 
 Austria and France had both been brought to naught. 
 
 The French seemed weary of their silent woe; 
 
 Three weeks will be enough to throttle them. 
 
 Accounts with all the rest will soon be settled, 
 
 The English and the Russians, whom we scorn. 
 
 My faithful Prussians quickly shall enslave; 
 
 My power will overtop Napoleon's, 
 
 For treacherous Albion I shall bring to earth. 
 
 And the Cossacks, the Czar thinks none can crush. 
 
 Shall serve as targets for my great Krupp guns. 
 
 The French shall find some grace in my disdain. 
 
 For 'tis my wish to rule the Universe 
 
 From Paris as my Empire's capital. 
 
 Greater than Charlemagne shall I be known, 
 
 For to the Continents, all overspread 
 
 With Germany, and bowed beneath her yoke, 
 
 America will easily be joined. 
 
 The whole round world shall have my whim for law, 
 
 And over all its races, cowed and chained. 
 
 Shall float my eagle, with its sable wings.'* 
 
 He spoke, and over Europe, half asleep. 
 
 Let loose the greatest cataract of blood 
 
 That History's page has e'er blushed to record. 
 
 To block the road whereby he sought his goal, 
 
 A little folk set up a scrap of paper. 
 
 He answered only: "Punish them straightway!'* 
 
 But now, to the amazement of the world. 
 
 This little folk took up the gage of war. 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 Thus by one act keeping their plighted faith. 
 
 And strengthening the bonds of the Allies, 
 
 While Belgian soil became a Prussian grave. 
 
 In vain the Emperor poured forth his troops. 
 
 Our own, submerged a moment by their flood. 
 
 Took heart from Belgium's heroic stand. 
 
 And barred the way to Paris 'gainst the foe. 
 
 Von Kluck let slip the prize of victory, 
 
 Reft from him by the arrogant disdain 
 
 Nursed in the bosom of the Kaiser's heir. 
 
 They scarce had time to flee on every side, 
 
 Shielded by ramparts built of comrades slain. 
 
 In vain these modern Vandals spent their fury 
 
 Against the fabric of our sacred fanes. 
 
 For, as they fell, our glorious Cathedrals — 
 
 Rheims and Louvain — sounded the call to arms ; 
 
 And from the foeman's guns the hail of iron 
 
 Fell impotent against a living wall. 
 
 'Mid all the bloodshed, on the rim of morning. 
 
 Appears the rising sun of Victory. 
 
 And all our souls, after our days of darkness, 
 
 Are kindled into flame by its glad rays. 
 
 For, after giving Austria her death wound. 
 
 The Russians turn to meet the Prussian foe. 
 
 The Man in White, announced of old by Prophets, 
 
 Advances, with all Russia at his back. 
 
 Beneath the first wave almost overwhelmed. 
 
 The Prussians barely make good their escape; 
 
 To meet the rising tide about his borders 
 
 The whole of William's army scarce sufficed. 
 
 But now from France the tide is mounting high; 
 
 Fleeing before this merciless array. 
 
 Which he, before, had held in such disdain, 
 
 He, known to all men as the mighty War Lord, 
 
 Sought to escape the vision of his doom. 
 
 And like a madman fled across his realm. 
 
 23 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 Then^ in a little hamlet of Alsace, 
 Retaken by our arras, the villagers 
 Gathered together at the school, and stood. 
 A death-like silence reigned, when suddenly- 
 Appeared before their eyes; — Oh, glorious day! — 
 Smiling and calm, the General in Chief, 
 Whose master hand had wrought for them their freedom. 
 Their hearts and his, all drunk with noble joy. 
 Melted together in a common rapture. 
 Then in a voice, tender as a caress. 
 He spoke: "Henceforth forever are ye Frenchmen!" 
 No more; but eloquence was never heard 
 Which better could express his deepest thought. 
 To these, so long beneath the tyrant's heel. 
 These simple words meant that from that day forth 
 They all should have the right to think free thoughts. 
 To live in freedom on their fathers' lands. 
 Freely to hail as brother every Frenchman, 
 And that each household very soon should see 
 Its scattered sons returning to the hearth. 
 
 This young and very brilliant Normalien, twenty- 
 five years of age, was killed under the following cir- 
 cumstances, which are described in this letter from 
 the director of the Ecole Normale: 
 
 June 5, 1915. 
 
 Lieutenant Leguy was designated to take com- 
 mand of this halfrsection. He knew that his mission 
 was a hard one; but full of confidence in his men 
 and in himself, he felt equal to his task and never 
 ceased to repeat: "To conquer without peril Is to 
 triumph without glory." With admirable presence 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 of mind and calm he organized his attack, and he 
 himself had sandbags piled up like a stairway, so as 
 to enable the men to get out more quickly ; no detail 
 escaped him. With untiring activity he went every- 
 where, encouraging one, explaining to another, giv- 
 ing all a kind word. 
 
 At last, at 14:35 o'clock, after a violent bombard- 
 ment, the charge was sounded; it was the signal for 
 the assault. A sharp fire greets our men; the re- 
 volving cannon, the machine-guns spit without pause ; 
 shells reach our line in volleys: it is certain death 
 for any man who shows his head above the parapet. 
 
 Lieutenant Leguy, however, climbs the slope, and 
 calmly leaves the trench, his saber raised; his men, 
 led by his example, follow him without hesitation, 
 and this handful of brave men disappears in a cloud 
 of smoke. . . . 
 
 The most part are mowed down; one of them re- 
 turns, his face bloody, and falls senseless in the 
 trench. Lieutenant Leguy also returns : he is alone ; 
 all his men have remained over there; but his mis- 
 sion is not fulfilled: he is not wounded and he wishes 
 to go back. He then asks for another handful of 
 brave men, twenty men ; all those who are there raise 
 their hands, and he sets out again with them, shout- 
 ing : "Forward, my children, for France !" 
 
 The wave of bullets mows down these volunteers 
 like the first. Leguy still remains standing with two 
 
 ^5 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 or three men; he marches straight towards the Ger- 
 man trench; he sees it full of Boches; he fires his 
 revolver at them, and encourages his men to throw 
 bombs and grenades. 
 
 But such heroism could not obtain grace from 
 death. After a short struggle, he fell, struck by an 
 exploding shell. He still had the strength to drag 
 himself to his trench, and after gathering together 
 his failing forces to give his information to his cap- 
 tain, and to tell him his fear of seeing the Boches 
 appearing on our right, he breathed his last, crying: 
 "Vive la France!" 
 
 A comrade from Canada describes the war in the 
 trenches in the following manner in a letter of 
 December 20, 1914: 
 
 Your cheerful and good letter of November 18th 
 reached me last night, and I read it over and over 
 again, so pleased I was to get it. 
 
 I shall endeavor in this letter to give you an 
 idea of what the war looks like as seen by "the fear- 
 less warrior" I am trying very hard to be, but let 
 me tell you first that words fail to describe or even 
 give a faint idea of the awfulness and horrors of the 
 present war. 
 
 A word as to how our positions are built is neces- 
 sary. For the last two months the war has been a 
 war of intrenchments ; that is, both the Germans and 
 
 26 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 the Allies have fortified themselves in deep trenches 
 in which they are invulnerable. These intrenchments 
 are made up of three lines of defense. In the first 
 ones the Germans and the French are so close to- 
 gether that they can almost converse with each other. 
 This has caused many funny incidents. For instance, 
 we often read our French newspapers to the Ger- 
 mans telling them of their disasters, and they read 
 theirs afterwards telling us the German story. In 
 some places the German and French trenches are 
 not fifty yards apart. In this position no one can 
 rest or sleep, for they must always be ready to fight 
 on a second's notice. It is very hard and tiring. 
 
 The second line of defense is about two hundred 
 yards behind the first. In this position one has 
 also to be ready on a moment's notice, but, instead 
 of everyone watching as in the first line, sentries take 
 their turn at guarding in shifts while the rest of the 
 men can rest and sleep. 
 
 The third position is about a mile behind the sec- 
 ond. There, instead of living in trenches, one lives 
 in houses, farmhouses, etc., as far as possible, so 
 that it is much more comfortable. It is also possible 
 to wash, which cannot be done in the first two posi- 
 tions because of lack of water. 
 
 The troops in the third position are kept for a 
 case of emergency, to reinforce the first two lines. 
 It is there that most of the troops are kept. 
 
 27 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 In any one of the three positions one has to be 
 always dressed, equipped, with his gun near him. 
 It makes it very uncomfortable, as we carry a heavy 
 load of cartridges (five hundred). I have not un- 
 dressed since I arrived. 
 
 Behind the third position are located the hospitals 
 and the auxiliary services. 
 
 The first two positions are made up of trenches 
 built in three units. The first one is the trench itself, 
 from which one can shoot and direct his fire against 
 the enemy. It is open, about six feet deep and three 
 feet wide. One shoots behind the protection of what 
 we call in French crenaux, and is thus well protected 
 from the enemy's bullets. In the forward wall of 
 this trench are doors conducting by stairs to deep 
 cellars, built eighteen feet below the surface of the 
 earth. In these cellars the soldiers take refuge when 
 under bombardment from the enemy's guns, and they 
 are absolutely immune from the danger of the 
 colossal explosions of the Germans' monstrous 
 obuses. These cellars are only in the second and 
 third positions, as the Germans cannot bombard our 
 first position, which is so close to theirs that they 
 would risk bombarding their own. 
 
 Behind the firing trench are located shacks, houses 
 built of straw, mud and timber, the roofs of which 
 are at the earth's level. In these we live, sleep and 
 rest. We do not live in the cellars, because it would 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 be too insanitary, and it would take too long to get 
 out of them in case of an attack, when seconds are 
 worth hours. 
 
 The intrenchments are not built in a straight line 
 but in a broken line, so as to minimize the effect of 
 an obus falling into any part of the entrenchment. 
 It only kills a few men, whereas it would clean out 
 a whole trench built in a straight line, with nothing 
 to stop its force. 
 
 It is useless to say that living in these shacks and 
 cellars is most uncomfortable. When it rains, which 
 happens often, they are filled with water and mud; 
 we cannot make any fire for fear of showing our 
 position to the enemy, and our food, which is cooked 
 at the third line, is cold when it reaches Us, after 
 having traveled a mile or two in the open air. 
 
 If you add to this that we never wash, that we 
 are covered with mud and dirt, that we are always 
 under great nervous tension, that we hardly sleep, 
 you will understand that after a week of this life 
 we are thoroughly exhausted. We then get four 
 days' rest at the third line, which is of great benefit 
 to our health. 
 
 A word now as to the region in which these tragic 
 events take place. It is in the North of France, 
 in vast plains where most of the French wheat is 
 grown, flat, without trees, offering no shelter what- 
 ever, and desolated with no horizon. To anyone 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 approaching our battlefield, nothing particular is to 
 be noticed, except that this year the fields are not 
 cultivated and seem to be full of big holes; but no 
 sight of guns, soldiers, trenches ; everything is under 
 the earth and cannot be seen even at ten yards' dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Being located near the sea, the plains are very 
 misty and damp. It rains eight days out of ten, 
 and although it is not very cold, we suffer very much 
 from the humidity in the atmosphere. During the 
 nights it is usually very dark. 
 
 The struggle consists mostly in never-ending artil- 
 lery duels. All day long and during the night one 
 hears only the booming of guns, which shake the air 
 and the earth. I must say that as far as the Germans 
 are concerned, they seem to be very poor shooters. 
 I have been in the second position for the last six 
 days. They are sending us a copious lot of obuses 
 and shrapnel all the time, and although many of 
 my comrades, as well as myself, have had many close 
 escapes from death, they do not succeed in killing 
 more than two or three men a day, and wounding as 
 many. And yet firing so many big obuses must cost 
 them millions every day. 
 
 It is under the cover of dark nights that the in- 
 fantry, both French and German, make their attacks. 
 The worst one I have seen took place about a week 
 after I had arrived at the front. 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 On that day the weather had been very windy 
 and unsettled all day long. We had been bombarded 
 very hard by the Germans. When night came, both 
 the wind and the cannonade had abated. About nine 
 P.M. I took my turn as our advanced sentry in front 
 of the trenches of the second position. Just imagine 
 a night as black as ink, a night worthy of Dante's 
 Inferno, full of mystery from which the worst could 
 be expected. One thing struck me when I took my 
 post. Usually one could see during the night flashes 
 of light, the explosion of obuses, the white light of 
 electric projectors or the luminous fuses sent up by 
 the Germans into the air, to enable them to discover 
 the French patrols. It was like the most spectacular 
 exhibition of fireworks. But on that night there was 
 no light to be seen, nor were the guns booming. I 
 perceived also in the sky what looked like a star, 
 but grew brighter and dimmer and moved from left 
 to right, as if making signals. This turned out to 
 be a captive balloon. 
 
 I thought this strange and unusual, and went to 
 inform my lieutenant of what was going on. The 
 lieutenant doubled the number of sentries, and ad- 
 vised us to keep a sharp look-out, as he thought the 
 Germans were preparing some bad coup, and indeed 
 they were. 
 
 I resumed my position, walking slowly up and down, 
 trying very hard to see something in the dark night, 
 
 31 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 but I could not see much. I could not help thinking, 
 and this thought would insistently come back to me, 
 that I was an actor playing the part of some hero 
 in some dark drama like "La Tosca." My mind was 
 busy amusing itself with this and other thoughts, 
 when all of a sudden, without the least previous 
 notice, a hideous light illuminated the horizon, and 
 before I could catch my breath a hail of obuses fell 
 on our trenches, working terrible havoc. The ex- 
 plosion shook my body, surrounding me with flames 
 and fire, while I could hear in the far distance the 
 noise of an intense fusillade and terrifying shouts 
 and cries, such as would come from a crowd of wild 
 men. The Germans had gone to the assault of our 
 first position. 
 
 It was so sudden, so spectacular, so impressive 
 that for a while, to use a vulgar expression, "I 
 was scared stiff," and could not move. Then, moved 
 by instinct, I ran to the trenches and made a general 
 call to arms, and went to knock at the door of our 
 commander's shack, calling him out, telling him of 
 what had happened. By that time great excite- 
 ment was prevailing in the trenches, the men were 
 coming out of their shacks, seeking the position each 
 one had to occupy in case of an attack. Officers were 
 shouting orders that were unheard, while obuses were 
 falling fast, making a thundering noise, and making 
 worse the horrors of the night. Some men got 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 wounded. Some got buried in the earth and mud 
 thrown up by the explosions of obuses near about. 
 After a while order was restored in the trenches, 
 everyone occupying his position, ready to fight, hud- 
 dling in the bottom of the trenches so as not to be 
 hurt by the explosions of obuses, which were becom- 
 ing more and more frequent, and by the storm of 
 bullets passing over our heads. 
 
 In the distance we could hear the echo of a ter- 
 rible struggle between the Germans and our men of 
 the first position. From the darkness of the night 
 came the voice of our commander, "My boys, we 
 shall have to go forward to the assistance of our 
 comrades of the first line. I expect everyone to do 
 his duty. Everyone shall go forward at my order." 
 In answer the German artillery seemed to redouble the 
 bombardment. There must have been at least six 
 batteries spitting death and fire upon the short zone 
 separating the second from, the first position — this 
 to prevent us from going forward to reinforce our 
 first position. 
 
 Then came the order, "Forward." The field in 
 front of our trenches looked like an ocean. Under 
 the eifect of the terrific explosions from the German 
 obuses, the earth was torn up and seemed to form 
 waves of mud and dust, real waves with white caps 
 of fine earth that was blown into our eyes and ears. 
 The explosions were making a kind of artificial light 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 that was hideous, making things look unnatural and 
 deformed, outlining their shapes as in a nightmare. 
 
 The men hesitated. To leave their shelter in the 
 trenches looked like sure and instant death. As far 
 as I am concerned, never before had the sentiment 
 of the irremediable hopelessness of my case been 
 so impressed upon me. I thought my last hour had 
 come. At the price of a great effort I regained my 
 composure. Men were leaving the trenches, crawl- 
 ing upon the ground, and I started also to go for- 
 ward. 
 
 The ground was soaked from the rain of the pre- 
 vious days. We had not crawled forward ten feet 
 before our clothes were wet through, and then it 
 was such hard work crawling upon the ground full 
 of holes, with the great weight we had to carry with 
 us, that I was soon in a great state of perspiration. 
 I could not tell whether the water or the perspira- 
 tion drenched me most. I reached the barbed wire 
 defense of our position, and going through I 
 scratched my hands, which were bleeding and hurt- 
 ing me much. At times the wind would blow and 
 I would shiver from the cold; and all the time I 
 would hear obuses whistling through the air. Every 
 time I heard one the question would present itself 
 to my mind, "Where will it strike the ground?" 
 Several times they struck so near me that I was 
 buried under the showers of earth. The noise of 
 
 S4 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 the explosions made my ears bleed. I noticed that 
 obuses very seldom struck the ground twice in 
 the same place, so I followed the plan of hiding 
 myself in the holes formed by the one just exploded, 
 then I would run to the next one and thus go for- 
 ward. 
 
 We had not made half of the distance when the 
 news came that the Germans had pierced our first 
 lines, and our men were retreating, disputing every 
 foot of the ground. We could see the struggle and 
 the Germans coming upon us. 
 
 Then the order came that we should also retreat 
 and go back to our trenches of the second position, 
 as we would make a better stand there against the 
 Germans, while reinforcements were coming to our 
 help. 
 
 And so we did. At the price of great pain and 
 sufferings, and always under steady bombardment, 
 we took our position behind the crenaux waiting for 
 the worst. It was not twenty-five minutes since the 
 attack had started. I was feeling much better, 
 although shivering from the cold, my clothes being 
 all wet through, my face and hands being covered 
 with mud, which also filled my eyes and ears. 
 
 Suddenly we heard a great noise behind us, a noise 
 of chains, irons, wheels, of horses pulling hard and 
 in great number, and of swearing, hurrying men. 
 Before we had time to realize what had happened, 
 
 35- 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 a thunderbolt rent the air. We could feel the heat 
 of it. A deafening roaring shook the earth, while 
 the displacement of air was so great that we were 
 thrown against the forward wall of the trenches. | 
 One of our famous "75" batteries had just arrived 
 upon the ground and had started to make the Boches 
 (name by which we call the Germans) dance! 
 
 Oh, how I wish you had been there ! It was most | 
 wonderful. I had heard a great deal about the 
 superiority of the French artillery, but the most 
 eulogistic compliments are not enough to tell the 
 truth. Within ten minutes, one single French bat- 
 tery had silenced the six German batteries, and with 
 such a maestria ! ! The German obuses are certainly 
 very redoubtable, they make a terrific noise and work 
 destruction ; but ours ! It is frightful. They explode 
 dryly, brutally, as if with anger. They seem hardly 
 to have left the mouth of the gun when they explode 
 with a dry quick effect, and for five minutes one 
 can hear the debris they have created falling down 
 upon the ground. 
 
 One can hear the German obuses coming and 
 whistling through the air for thirty seconds. Ours 
 seem to get there ten times as quickly, and to go 
 straight to their objective. 
 
 To make a long story short, after it had silenced 
 the enemy's guns, our battery directed its fire against 
 the German trenches with remarkable effect. 
 
. AT THE FRONT 
 
 By that time a battalion of chasseurs, who are the 
 best men of our infantry, had also arrived upon the 
 scene. They made a wonderful charge a la hayonette 
 and drove the Germans back to their trenches, mak- 
 ing many prisoners. The next day when we buried 
 the dead, there were three thousand Germans and 
 our loss was but two hundred. Such a disparity in 
 losses is accounted for by the fact that they had to 
 swamp our first line of intrenchment to get through. 
 
 I was told the next day by a man who was in the 
 first line that it was a question of shooting fast 
 enough to kill them all! The Germans came to the 
 assault of our first line in such great numbers that 
 our men did not have time enough to shoot and kill 
 them all, and thus were finally swamped. 
 
 The whole attack lasted about an hour. After 
 it was over our artillery bombarded the German 
 intrenchments for over an hour, causing them, no 
 doubt, further losses. 
 
 I had to resume my function as a sentry until 
 eleven p.m., but I enjoyed it, I assure you, watching 
 our big obuses fly through the air, and witnessing 
 the destruction they made. 
 
 When I went to bed — of course there is no bed — 
 I was so exhausted by the terrible moments I had 
 lived through, that I hardly took the time to take 
 off my wet clothes. 
 
 I rolled myself into a blanket and fell upon the 
 37 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 earth of our shack in a slumber so deep that nothing 
 could have awakened me. 
 
 Since then I have been in three more attacks, so 
 I am getting used to it now and hold my own better. 
 However, I shall never forget those anxious moments 
 of the first attack. 
 
 Letter of First Lieutenant B. of the Alpine Chas- 
 seurs, describing his first battle. He was but twenty- 
 one years of age. He has since been killed in Alsace 
 after having obtained two mentions in the Orders 
 of the Division and the Army for his bravery. 
 
 My very dear Mother: 
 
 You must have been much surprised latterly to 
 have had so little news of me. Now that the storm 
 is over, I can tell you that I spent five days within 
 thirty meters of Mm. les Boches and that this prox- 
 imity prevented my sending you any news. Here is 
 what happened : On the sixteenth we found ourselves 
 in the trenches of the third line, eight hundred meters 
 from the Boches. The Major assembles the com- 
 pany commanders ; Lieutenant M. returns and taking 
 me by the arm, leads me up a little slope, indicating 
 a wooded ridge about four hundred meters away, and 
 says to me: "The battalion is ordered to take that 
 ridge; the third and fourth companies will attack. 
 The affair is for tomorrow afternoon." 
 
 38 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 At that moment I had a chill, and all day my 
 heart was troubled. I prayed as I had never prayed 
 before in my life, and in the evening my courage had 
 come back. I slept all night. The next morning we 
 were to be in the trench ready to move at half-past 
 eleven; we ate rapidly and at five minutes before 
 eleven I started to assemble my company. 
 
 All the men were together and we were about to 
 start, when directly over our heads an enormous 
 bomb exploded, then a second and then a third. The 
 Boches had found our point of assembly and were 
 giving us a heavy bombardment. The men showing 
 some nervousness I brought them back under shelter ; 
 then turning about I found M. deadly pale, and he 
 said to me : "I am wounded in the leg ; take the com- 
 pany to the point of departure for the attack and 
 report to the Major." I can assure you that at this 
 moment I did not feel very heroic. Outside the bombs 
 were exploding with a horrible noise, and the moment 
 of attack was approaching. I marched my men along 
 and halted them in a place of shelter. I then went 
 to find the Major and reported to him. He said; 
 "You are in luck to find yourself at the very outset 
 commander of a company; to be acting captain at 
 your age is splendid." I answered: "Major, I am 
 not sufficiently experienced; I beg you give me a 
 company commander." He replied: "Come, come, 
 a little courage, you will see it is not difficult. The 
 
 39 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 signal for the attack will be given you by Lieuten- 
 ant S." 
 
 I could but obey. I advanced the men as far for- 
 ward as possible in the trench, and passed the word 
 that I was taking command of the company. 
 
 The French artillery was firing on the ridge which 
 we were to attack. It was a fantastic sight. The 
 220's went whistling over our heads and exploding 
 over the Boche trenches within a hundred meters of 
 us, making a horrible noise and thick black smoke. 
 At half-past one the 75's began to fire. Two thousand 
 bombs were thrown against the Boche position. It 
 was an infernal din; uprooted saplings were car- 
 ried a hundred meters away and thick smoke covered 
 everything. 
 
 Our machine guns began to take part. Suddenly 
 the voice of Lieutenant S. called: "Ready! Third 
 Company, forward!" Without a moment's pause I 
 sprang out of the trench, shouting: "Come on, boys, 
 forward !" The 75's had then increased their range. 
 All the men followed me, and shouting, we scrambled 
 forward at double time towards the Boche trench. 
 I had my revolver in my hand. In the heat of the 
 attack, I had distanced all my '^poilus^' and found 
 myself thirty meters ahead of them. Suddenly, I saw 
 a mound. It was the Boche trench, and at the same 
 moment a bullet whistled by my ear. I leaped for- 
 ward and I find a Boche, his gun still smoking in his 
 
 40 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 hand, with the Red Cross brassard on his arm; he 
 drops on his knees, crying, ^'Pardon, kamarad^"^ and 
 showing me his brassard, says: "Sanitdty sanitdf\ 
 [Hospital Corps.] I go on with my men. We pass 
 over the ridge, and we stop at two hundred meters 
 from the crest as I had been ordered to do. The 
 Boches were bolting on every side. Our artillery fire 
 had so demoralized them that they had abandoned 
 everything. We occupied all the Boche positions, 
 picking up quantities of material, guns, machine-guns, 
 tools; here and there dead Boches blotted the land- 
 scape. 
 
 But it was no time to jest. I get my men together 
 and tell them : "Get to work and dig a trench there." 
 I was astonished to find myself so calm. In front of 
 us fifty chasseurs guarded the construction of our 
 trench. Up to that moment I had had one man killed 
 and twenty wounded. Suddenly, right in front of 
 us a violent fusillade began; bullets whistled on all 
 sides, and I saw the ''poilus^^ ahead of me return, 
 calling, "Lieutenant, they are coming." It was the 
 counter-attack. We jump into the trench scarcely 
 yet outlined, and I command the men to fire. Two 
 hundred meters from me I see the Boches coming in 
 masses, shouting; I even heard the cry "Vorwdrts, 
 vorwdrtsT^ All of my men begin to fire; the fusillade 
 resounds; the Boches, throwing themselves on the 
 ground, return our fire ; thousands of bullets go whist- 
 
 41 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 ling by our ears, but I pay no attention. Suddenly 
 the Boches rise and continue to advance ; we continue 
 to fire ; the Boches, in panic, run away at full speed, 
 leaving behind them quantities of dead and wounded. 
 
 My men continue to work at the trench. I have 
 them place in front of the trench a barricade of 
 barbed wire taken from the Boches, and we spend 
 the first night there. Note that I had with me only a 
 sergeant. I did not feel very big. The Major had 
 sent me a note in which he warmly congratulated me, 
 and expressly forbade me to give up the position. I 
 think that all my life I shall remember that night. 
 The Boches were constantly firing on us, while dig- 
 ging their own trench sixty meters from us. My 
 men were on edge and I had a hard time to keep them 
 from firing. In the night the Boches came again, 
 but again were quickly repulsed. What a night! 
 Frightfully damp, a flurry of snow and terrible cold, 
 and overhead the sounds of the whistling bullets 
 mingled with the strokes of the spades and picks of 
 the Boches. The whole thing was impressive. 
 
 Daylight came, and with it a frightful fusillade 
 from the Boches. One of my men was killed ; another 
 wounded. I had in all ten killed and some thirty 
 wounded. We kept on working at our trench and 
 connected it with the trench of the neighboring com- 
 pany. During the morning someone comes through 
 a connecting trench telling me that the Major wished 
 
 4S 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 to speak to me. I arrive at his headquarters. He 
 shakes my hand, saying : "My boy, I am going to see 
 what I can do for you; but I promise you, anyhow, 
 to have you mentioned in the Orders for the Day, 
 which will give you a right to the Croix de Guerre y'* 
 and he adds : "All the officers of the battalion admired 
 the way that you conducted yourself during the 
 attack, and I am happy to congratulate you." 
 
 You can imagine if I was excited! I assure 
 you that it is easy to do one's duty, and I was 
 not at all expecting to be congratulated. All the 
 officers came to shake my hand. I felt covered with 
 confusion. 
 
 Now for something else. We spent the next four 
 nights in the trench, and this morning I had my feet 
 swollen and hurting horribly. I went to the relief sta- 
 tion, where they found that my left foot was frozen, 
 and my right was frost-bitten. They sent me to the 
 rear, to a village, three kilometers away. I shall be 
 here, it seems, for eight days. • 
 
 You see, dear mamma, everything went well. It was 
 surely your thoughts and your prayers that watched 
 over me, and kept away the bullets. You can say 
 that your son did his duty as best he could, and if I 
 am happy to be named in the Ordre du Jour it is 
 principally because of the pleasure that you, as well 
 as papa, will feel. 
 
 The battalion is now going to be relieved. I hope 
 43 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 that my frost-bite will be cured when it goes on duty 
 again. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUES 
 
 1. In Alsace, we have taken the ridges which com- 
 mand the "Sudel" farm, and we have held all the 
 ground taken. 
 
 2. In Alsace, further details inform us that the 
 south ridge of the "Sudel" farm, taken by us on 
 Wednesday, constituted a formidably equipped re- 
 doubt. We took there one bomb thrower, five 
 machine-guns, some hundred rifles, shields, bombs, 
 tools, and rolls of wire; telephone apparatus, thou- 
 sands of cartridges and some sand bags. 
 
 Here is another picture of the front, a picture of 
 Christmas day, the anniversary of Him who said, 
 "Peace on earth, good-will to men." A young theo- 
 logical student in the ranks writes: 
 
 December 25, 1914. 
 I do not know how this day has passed with you, 
 but here it has been somewhat sad; the nostalgic 
 temperament of our Celts [he is a Breton among 
 Breton soldiers] has got the upper hand to-day. 
 Our cannons might thunder as they would and our 
 mortars vomit their fire, all the noise failed to waken 
 
 U 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 our soldiers from their dreams. They were all think- 
 ing of their dear ones left behind in the gray, sweet 
 Armorican country. They were living over again the 
 happy Christmas days of the past, the midnight 
 masses celebrated with such warmth and spirit in 
 spite of rain or snow, the return home to where the 
 huge log was flaming on the hearth, the gay awaken- 
 ing in the morning, and the joy of the children when 
 they found that the little Jesus had visited their 
 wooden shoes. All of this has been like an uneasy 
 troubled dream. Still the Christmas Eve was beau- 
 tiful. The rain had stopped and dry weather came 
 on. The sky was sown with stars and the ground 
 covered with hoar frost. At midnight the German 
 soldiers sang in the trenches. One of our lieutenants 
 stood up and sang, "Minuit, Chretiens." Our 
 Bretons chanted their Christmas carols in the rude 
 sweet tongue of Armorica, "Tarram Mandeleck" 
 "Sing Noel." After the singing one of the Germans 
 came out of the trenches with a lantern in one hand 
 and a box in the other, shouting, "Don't shoot, com- 
 rades, cigar — cigarette." He came halfway to our 
 line and stopped. One of our officers replied that 
 we were well supplied with cigars and cigarettes and 
 that he might make other use of them. He returned 
 to his trench and a little later the firing began. 
 
 Don't be downcast thinking of us in the snow and 
 rain, it's all part of the game. War is a test of 
 
 45 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 character like others, and nations need suffering to 
 keep them from the thoughtless life that lets the day 
 slide by in ease. We know what it is to suffer here, 
 but if we know how to bear the suffering, to receive 
 it as God wills, we shall come out the stronger for 
 it, tempered the better to meet all the tests of life. 
 And if we must come to the supreme test to give 
 our lives for France, believe me, not one of us will 
 hesitate a moment. For myself since the beginning 
 of the war I have held my life cheap; they call me 
 reckless, but until now I have not received the slight- 
 est scratch. Perhaps God doesn't want me yet, but 
 if death is to come my prayer is, "Thy will, not mine, 
 be done." 
 
 Don't reproach yourself that you are too happy. 
 You have a good soul and are doing others good. 
 God made you that way, you should thank Him 
 for it. You may rest assured that I do not forget 
 you in my prayers, and I ask you, too, when you 
 kneel at the altar to think of me and commend me to 
 our Saviour, that He may make your friend, the 
 little corporal, a willing victim if he is destined to 
 die and a good priest if he is destined to live. 
 
 A French jurisconsulte who has recently pub- 
 lished an article in the Revue Generate de Droit 
 International Public on Anglo-American arbitra^- 
 
 46 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 tion, is now on the firing line. With his great 
 technical competence and with the moderation and 
 solidity of character which is well known to all his 
 friends and to specialists in his subject in every 
 country, he writes under the date of May 4, 1915 : 
 
 At the front we certainly feel that we are in 
 danger. We hear the rifle bullets whistling and 
 sometimes we are spattered with mud from the burst- 
 ing shells, and even if we are called on to do little 
 in reply, all that has a moral value. Still it is sad 
 to have infinitely less asked of you than you could 
 do. Think of it, for more than a month I have 
 been helping build roads. My men work hard, but 
 my own role is at present almost nil. Formerly I 
 worked on fortifications. It was more dangerous, 
 but much more of a military job, and I felt that 
 my labor was much more useful. 
 
 All this is enlarging the foundations of my ex- 
 perience and jurisprudence and I think that my 
 next course on the Rights of War will be one of 
 unusual originality (if the German rascals allow 
 me to give it). You know what reorganization of 
 the material will be necessary. You know also how 
 little regard the German military leaders have for 
 the rights of nations or for the conventions signed 
 by their government. I had an example of it the 
 other day. The little town in which I am staying 
 (I can't tell you the name of it) was bombarded. 
 
 47 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 Perhaps the Germans thought that they had good 
 military reasons for the bombardment, but in defi- 
 ance of Article 26 of the Regulations of The Hague 
 they did not give any previous notice of bombard- 
 ment. The noncombatant population, surprised by 
 the rain of shells, had no time to seek refuge. The 
 effect of the bombardment was almost nil. An old 
 man of seventy and a soldier were killed, one or two 
 others wounded, some pieces of masonry knocked 
 down, and holes plowed up in the air. But in spite 
 of these slight results, it was deplorable as an ex- 
 ample of the brutal method of the Germans in 
 attacking without warning and in direct defiance of 
 the international agreement which they made. 
 
 These are facts which the jurists ought never to 
 forget. I am collecting only those of which I have 
 been the witness, knowing how careful one must be 
 in accepting testimony. Well, I have in my pocket 
 incendiary pastilles of the Boches, bags of which 
 were found everywhere after the Battle of the Marne, 
 and I also have seen a German bullet with the end 
 cut into a cross with a very neat incision so as to 
 make it into a dum-dum ball. 
 
 The war lengthens, but the morale of our troops 
 is unimpaired: 
 
 Those who return from the war will be so sick 
 of it that they will never fight again. I speak of 
 
 48 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 the Germans, for as to Frenchmen, liberty will always 
 find plenty of defenders. They (the Germans) have 
 left thousands of corpses on our line of march in 
 Champagne, corpses mutilated in every fashion, arms, 
 heads, remnants of human bodies, lie scattered about 
 unburied, and those that are buried are so near the 
 surface that the shells dig them up again. 
 
 Still the morale of our men is good. When the 
 moment for attack comes, young and old rush for- 
 ward like tigers. When the battle is over they come 
 back "all in," and two hours later you would find 
 it hard to believe that these men who passed you 
 nonchalantly with their pipe between their lips have 
 so lately been heroes. Their conversation is typical: 
 no fine phrases, no lyric passages, no boasting; their 
 language is the simplest form, of expression filled 
 with common slang and diminutives ; and this is true 
 of men of all classes of society. 
 
 Yesterday a comrade whom I had lost sight of 
 since December, met me. He is thirty-eight years 
 old and married. I asked him for news of this or 
 that captain. "Killed," he said of one. "I saw him 
 blown into the air in bits," he said of another. "He 
 was plucked by rifle ball," of another. Of another, 
 "He's gone dippy." "And you, my friend?" said I. 
 "Oh, the humming-birds [bullets] don't find me at- 
 tractive enough to light on." 
 
 The man who would start to discourse on the jus- 
 49 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 tice of our cause in fine language would be sent to 
 the devil. We don't think about that any more. We 
 have got used to living out of doors, to being ex- 
 posed. Our bodies are accustomed to it, and our 
 minds, after vainly seeking to estimate the duration 
 of hostilities have grown resigned. When we get 
 orders to move, we move without a word. We are 
 equally confident of victory whether time or action is 
 to decide the issue of the war. 
 
 All said and done our morale is on a par with our 
 task. We have bent to the task partly through 
 necessity, partly by intuition. In either case it spells 
 victory. 
 
 A letter of June 24, 1915, from an artillery man 
 tells how the enemy's trenches are taken: 
 
 We are very busy at this moment. My poor 
 captain spent last night (the fifth in succession) 
 out of doors. He has not been at the cantonment 
 since the eighteenth. As for me, it's the same old 
 jig, as we say in military slang. We live a queer 
 kind of life. Take yesterday for example; at six 
 in the morning everybody was sleeping soundly in 
 the safe shelter of the trenches, in spite of the firing 
 nearly all night. At nine o'clock the whistles 
 sounded, everybody was routed out and the firing 
 began, with intervals of three to ten minutes between 
 shots. This irregular fire is harder to conduct, but 
 
 60 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 ft is very effective in demoralizing the enemy. The 
 shots now coming close on each other's heels, now 
 separated by several minutes, keep the whole zone 
 demoralized. 
 
 The difficulty in this irregular fire lies in the fact 
 that the irregularity is deliberate, and the men point- 
 ing the guns have to be ready at any moment to 
 sight the exact spot that the commander of the 
 battery wants to reach. It's tiresome because we 
 are all keyed up from the commander down. The 
 slow firing lasts sometimes for two hours at a stretch. 
 
 At half-past eleven it began to rain. We all lis- 
 tened to the patter of it in our shelter. At neon 
 we were eating our soup when all of a sudden the 
 orders came and ninety shells were dispatched into 
 the enemy's lines to paralyze an attack which had 
 already begun. The attack ceased and we went on 
 with our soup. 
 
 Then we worked at the screens and the observa- 
 tory. At three o'clock we were allowed some sleep. 
 At six soup arrived, but with it an order to meet 
 an infantry attack. We fired one hundred and twenty 
 shells at regular intervals. A shot every ten seconds 
 from each battery. The shells fell in the trenches 
 as though dropped from a spoon and tore them 
 badly. Three cannons of Battery 155 were trained 
 on a blockhouse, which soon disappeared from view 
 in a cyclone of fire and dust. Then we extended 
 
 51 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 the fire and formed a barricade of cannon, under 
 the protection of which the soldiers sprang forward, 
 not one of them falling. One hundred, two hundred, 
 three hundred meters and they were at the Boches' 
 trench and the blockhouse. A bewildering scrimmage, 
 and half the men came back dragging some gray 
 bundles of rags, which we recognized as prisoners. 
 Later we heard that we had taken two trenches and 
 two forts with seventy-five prisoners. The German 
 trenches were filled with corpses, swimming in blood 
 and mud. 
 
 The firing was continued until eleven o'clock in 
 the evening in order to prevent a counter-attack, 
 but in order to save ammunition we fired only one 
 shot every three minutes for the whole battery. 
 Everything was calm and we were sleeping when at 
 one o'clock in the morning the counter-attack came. 
 It lasted twenty minutes and the Boches withdrew, 
 leaving a number of corpses on the field as a result 
 of the storm that they had the impudence to draw 
 down on themselves. We went back to bed and slept 
 peacefully until eight o'clock. Finally the relieving 
 party came and we got back to the cantonment for 
 a breathing space. 
 
 You can understand that in this kind of life we 
 don't have much time for anything. Firing, working 
 on the intrenchments, eating, sleeping, these are our 
 main occupations, with a little washing and writing 
 
 52 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 on the side. We hardly have time to think, for our 
 whole being is totally fixed on the single end of vic- 
 tory. And it seems as if our end were reached. The 
 Boches are melting away under our fire, for they 
 will be massacred, but will not surrender. Above 
 the aviators are flying incessantly, hindering any 
 rush of the enemy on our position and keeping us 
 informed of his position all the time. We have some- 
 times six aviators in the air to one German who 
 hovers at a distance, not daring to advance in the 
 face of such superiority. At that there is almost 
 nothing going on in our section. It is on the left 
 that the real action is taking place. 
 
 Louis G. 
 
 THE NATIONAL HOLIDAY AT THE FRONT 
 
 A card from M. L., July 14, 1915: 
 
 We have all the rain that you could want in the 
 sky and all the water you could want in the trenches. 
 It's the regular fourteenth of July wetting. There's 
 nothing extraordinary to report — we are beginning 
 to live the peaceful life since the attacks of Q. We 
 have the cannons to amuse us in the daytime, and 
 the fuses to light us up at night, and with all com- 
 fortable apartments underground. What more 
 could we ask to make us happy .^^ 
 
 53 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 A card from A. H. : 
 
 The action is lively in our region. The Crown 
 Prince sees that even if Verdun is not far away, the 
 road to it is utterly impossible to take. Let us hope 
 that he will be convinced of it before long. 
 
 m * « « « 
 
 And the commanders.? Here is one of them 
 sketched in a lively fashion in the letter of a young 
 officer, L* G., lieutenant of reserves: 
 
 The general of our army corps has just made 
 an address to us. He is a tall, thin man, with an 
 alert expression, a round head on a long neck, short 
 hair, black but grizzled, a clear bright eye under 
 dark lashes and a prominent forehead. His nose 
 is straight above a heavy gray mustache, his jaw is 
 square and firm. In very simple words, he told 
 us the lessons he had learned from these seven months 
 of war. He spoke of the intoxication of victory, 
 and said that when two combatants faced each other 
 in a mortal conflict, both nearly spent with exhaus- 
 tion, the man who could hold out an hour longer 
 was sure of the victory, and this crucial hour, he 
 said, depended neither on munitions nor arms, but on 
 the moral factor alone. And the morale depended 
 on the officers. "Be optimistic," he said, "before 
 everything and in spite of everything." He told 
 us of an engagement in which his division alone stood 
 
 54 
 
AT THE FRONT 
 
 the attack of five brigades (two and a half divi- 
 sions), which threw themselves on him one after the 
 other. That his men were able successfully to repel 
 this attack, which lasted five days and five nights, 
 with the opportunity of only two hours' rest a night, 
 was due entirely to their morale. 
 
 He gave us a solid basis for our optimism too. 
 "Joffre will conquer when he wills and where he 
 wills, but he wants the victory to cost as little as 
 possible." 
 
 It was a fine lesson that he gave us. 
 
 And the men? A Frenchwoman writes on the 
 eleventh of August, 1914, after the furloughs were 
 granted to the men at the front: 
 
 The children are playing with their little friends 
 De B. under the surveillance of the orderly of Mon- 
 sieur de B., who fell in one of the first battles. The 
 orderly is a brave soldier from the North of France 
 who cannot pass his leave of absence at home because 
 the Boches are occupying his town, so he has come 
 to spend it with these children of Monsieur de B., 
 to whom he is devoted. He wrote during the winter 
 to Madame de B.: "I have done my duty to the 
 utmost. I am sure that my general is watching me 
 from above and in doing my duty I am still obeying 
 him." 
 
 55 
 
II 
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
A 
 
 II 
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 SOLDIER writes to his aunt in Washington, 
 October 15, 1914: 
 
 I am writing from the house of the Sisters of 
 Compassion, where the wounded are cared for. Per- 
 haps you don't know that I was wounded. For more 
 than a month I was at Grenoble, where my regiment 
 was charged with the defense of a section against 
 a possible attack from the Italians.^ I must confess 
 that it seems rather ridiculous to me to protect a 
 city that no one had any intention of attacking. A 
 ministerial circular called for the names of terri- 
 torial officers who wished to join the active regi- 
 ments. I had my name inscribed. I fought in the 
 Department of the Somme. On the morning of the 
 twenty-fifth of September in less than an hour's 
 time I was thrown into the thick of the conflict in 
 
 iThe letter was written early in the war when it was by- 
 no means certain that Italy would not be held by the terms 
 of the Triple Alliance to fight on the side of Germany and 
 Austria-Hungary. 
 
 59 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 the first rank, and for my baptism of fire was ex- 
 posed to a perfect rain of bullets and shells. I was 
 far less disturbed than I feared I should be, and I 
 explain it that on account of being an officer I had my 
 men to look after. I had about two hundred under 
 my orders, for the lack of captains set me in com- 
 mand of the whole company. We had to fight all 
 the following day too and that night repulsed a 
 counter-attack by the Germans. Four nights in suc- 
 cession we slept in the trenches or in ditches. In 
 spite of counter-attacks and continuous firing we 
 fell asleep as soon as we had a few free moments. 
 I have a rank which will waken all the strength in 
 me if affairs get worse. My insomnia of the old 
 days is completely gone. 
 
 In spite of our hardships great and small, 
 everybody is happy, full of enthusiasm, and pledged 
 in word and deed to the destruction of our enemies. 
 Wonderful spirit which lasts under fire for days and 
 days! 
 
 You've heard of their marmites : there are two 
 sorts of them. One kind produces a whirlwind of 
 white smoke when it bursts at an altitude of about 
 twenty-five meters. They are not very terrifying, 
 but the other kind, much larger, burst often at the 
 level of the ground with a horrible effect, emitting a 
 cloud of yellowish smoke. Both of them sound like 
 rattling iron. You'd think they were coming at you 
 
 60 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 on a curtain rod. With a little experience you know 
 whether these shells are headed straight for you or 
 not. And you can even tell when they are headed 
 for you whether they will explode near you or far 
 off. It furnishes us with a nice little game of wager. 
 The twenty-eighth of September, at half-past two 
 in the morning, a villainous shell of the yellow variety 
 burst over our trenches less than a yard away. As 
 several shells had preceded this one, we were all 
 waiting in the proper position, huddled together as 
 much as possible in the trench, our heads protected 
 by a sack — like many of the officers I had a Tyro- 
 lese sack. The noise of the bursting shell was so 
 frightful that I thought I was cut in pieces. I found 
 out later this is the common experience of men when 
 a shell bursts near them. My part in the explosion 
 was six wounds, viz., a piece of shell in my left leg, 
 three pieces in my left thigh, a piece in my back, 
 and a shrapnel bullet just above the left knee. I 
 was carried by my devoted soldiers to the ambulance 
 more than four kilometers away, was treated and 
 then taken to the train. We were stopped at Montdi- 
 dier. I was losing a great deal of blood and almost 
 at the fainting point. I stayed in the ambulance 
 from September 28 to October 7. When I reached 
 Rouen I had a fever and could not move. But here 
 I am in a first-class clinic, scientifically and tenderly 
 cared for. 
 
 61 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 On November 15, 1914, from the Schneider Hos- 
 pital, far back of Laval, a brother writes his Odyssey 
 from the city of Romans to the Vosges with the Alpine 
 chasseurs : 
 
 My fortune was to stay for seventy hours in a 
 trench. Twenty-four hours of the time in the rain. 
 During the last afternoon we counted eight hun- 
 dred shells, and the strange thing about it was that 
 after such a pelting we had only one slightly wounded 
 man. That day, the tip end of a bursting shell 
 weighing about a pound fell just at my feet. I kept 
 it for a while in my kit-bag, but had to throw it 
 away on a forced march one day to lighten my load, 
 I have had at various times a number of trophies 
 taken on the firing line: German helmets, grenadier 
 cloaks, belts, guns, cartridges and so forth. But I 
 have dropped them all along the march rather than 
 carry them further. At Etial alone we found enough 
 material to equip five hundred men. There was a 
 pyramid of helmets and new shoes in front of the 
 church. We gave the shoes to the townsmen. Our 
 company was the first to enter Etial on the heels 
 of the retreating Prussians; and I had the satisfac- 
 tion of tearing down with my own hands the placard 
 bordered with the German colors which threatened 
 with death anyone who annoyed the German soldiers 
 or removed that notice. 
 
 But to return to the Vosges. After the glorious 
 62 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 Battle of the Marne the Germans retreated in haste 
 toward the frontier. Our hussars and chasseurs kept 
 only twenty-five or thirty kilometers behind them all 
 the way. The Germans on this retreat left an enor- 
 mous quantity of munitions behind them, and the 
 stragglers were made prisoners. One day while we 
 were halting by the roadside we saw two African 
 chasseurs bringing in two German prisoners. One 
 of them smiled and gave us the military salute. 
 When they reached the tent company all of a sudden 
 I saw a French soldier dart out into the street, 
 throw both arms around this prisoner and kiss him 
 on both cheeks. It was his Alsatian brother who 
 had been drafted into the German army. . . . 
 
 We have gone into action northeast of Rosieres 
 in the Department of the Somme. We are in the 
 midst of great fields of beets in the Picardy plains. 
 We had to march under fire from enormous German 
 guns which were beyond the range of our cannon. 
 The 22nd Regiment was a little ahead of the rest 
 to the right, when the Germans tried to turn us on 
 the left. It was a terrible moment; shells from one 
 hundred and twenty guns bursting over our heads, 
 bullets from the front and the left, and in case we 
 gave way, the 22nd Regiment would be cut off and our 
 artillery exposed. We lay down flat on the ground, 
 and while in this position I was struck by a bullet. 
 I threw away my knapsack and leaning on my gun, 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 crawled eight or nine hundred meters to find a 
 stretcher. If I met the soldier who gave me that 
 bullet I would salute him, for he was doing his duty. 
 In their rage at having to retreat they devastated the 
 region through which they passed with incredible 
 ferocity. I have no reproaches to make against 
 the Germans on the field of battle, but in their treat- 
 ment of our eastern and northern country^ they 
 have forever covered the name of Germany with 
 disgrace. 
 
 A soldier writes from the Grand Palais the follow- 
 ing undated letter : 
 
 I have had four serious wounds and two accidents. 
 My left shoulder has been dislocated and my right 
 arm broken. I lay on the ground all night long 
 absolutely unconscious and losing a great deal of 
 blood. I do not yet know how I came to. We were 
 fighting like lions, we Zouaves of Tunis. Within three 
 hours we had made seven bayonet charges. Dirty, 
 unshaven, covered with mud, our white trousers 
 spattered with blood, we were handsome all the 
 same. For we had made these German barbarians 
 see the worth of the African soldiers, whom they 
 called "savages." We hated to retreat, but we were 
 proud to check their advance as we did. I was about 
 to be advanced to a lieutenancy when I was wounded. 
 
 Can soldiers who advance against us as they did 
 64i 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 over the bridges of the Sambre behind Belgian women 
 and children as screens, still claim to belong to the 
 civilized world? 
 
 Well, I want that gold lieutenant stripe and I'm 
 going back to get it at the point of the bayonet. 
 I shall be proud to give a little more of my blood 
 and even my life, and with what joy, if I can only 
 help in punishing these barbarians ! 
 
 P. L. 
 
 As soon as they are in the hospital, however wel- 
 come the rest, the one thought of the men is to get 
 Avell enough to join their regiments. J. T. writes 
 from Lyons on March 26, 1915: 
 
 I am starting for my depot and from there I shall 
 go to the front. I was wounded a second time in the 
 leg, as you know. The wound was quite slight, but 
 I have been very sick. My strength has come back 
 now completely and I have vanquished the acute 
 attack of bronchitis which I caught the day I was 
 wounded. I spent the following night on the battle- 
 field. 
 
 So I am well again and going back to my place 
 in the orchestra. I hope this time to be in the grand 
 celebration. Are we downhearted ? No ! No ! 
 Doubtless I shall be assigned to some new regiment, 
 
 65 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 and therefore I cannot give you my exact address 
 on the eve of my departure. 
 
 My days at Lyons have been melancholy ones. 
 The enforced repose of a long convalescence far from 
 the active scenes at the front has worn on my nerves, 
 but I got new energy the day I learned that my 
 return to the colors had been finally sanctioned. 
 
 Spring is coming.' The trees are getting green 
 and already the last white gulls have left the banks 
 of the Rhone in their flight to Switzerland. One could 
 easily yield to the emotion created by the poetry of 
 nature if the thought of one's friends fighting there 
 at the front did not come to recall one to the tragic 
 but glorious reality. 
 
 Good-bye, I am returning to the fight filled with 
 new courage and new ardor. Good-bye, more heartily 
 than ever I say — ^tili after the victory. 
 
 W^hat word from those who nursed the wounded? 
 This from Lyons, from a hospital in which the great 
 surgeon Oilier worked once, and in which the great 
 surgeon Carrel has been working later : 
 
 The Americans would be still more strongly de- 
 voted to the cause of the Allies if they really knew 
 how the Germans are conducting this war. I was 
 astounded to see how the land for whose scholars 
 
 66 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 I have the greatest admiration can reconcile its won- 
 derful intellectual developments with a morality 
 worthy only of the most degraded barbarians. It is 
 certainly proven that intellectual and moral develop- 
 ment do not go hand in hand; still it is surprising 
 to see how a race that has produced such admirable 
 characters as Emil Fischer, Ehrlich and so many 
 others can remain morally at the level of the brutes 
 of the Stone Age. It is almost incredible. It shows 
 us that the Kultur which the German professes to 
 mediate to the world is only worth throwing away like 
 a rotten apple. I earnestly hope that with Europe 
 torn to pieces the United States will grow rapidly 
 enough to direct the evolution of the world toward 
 an ideal which shall satisfy not only our intellectual 
 and scientific demands, but our moral aspirations as 
 well. 
 
 The author of these lines could not stay at Lyons ; 
 he went to the front bearing a message to general 
 headquarters in a region where the shells were still 
 falling. 
 
 Here the men who are really in touch with the 
 war behave admirably. The old valor of the race 
 comes out. One would think them the resurrected 
 soldiers of the Grand Army. I hope that the younger 
 generation will come out of this war completely 
 virilized. 
 
 67 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 A little later he writes from Compiegne, a short 
 distance from the enemy: 
 
 Never have I had the opportunity of meeting men 
 of such varied types under conditions which brought 
 out their characters so sharply. Under such circum- 
 stances as these, one learns to appreciate the real 
 value of men, and it seems to me more and more 
 true that mere intellectual development is a very 
 insignificant part of an individual's life. 
 
 Just now my life is very interesting and not a 
 little difficult because of the number of roles I have 
 to play at the same time. I have to be director of 
 an organization which must function in actual prac- 
 tice better than any other of its kind, and at the 
 same time I have to be the experimenter in the labo- 
 ratory divining new things. These two occupations 
 are incompatible. Besides, I have to spend most 
 of my time traveling at express rates from place to 
 place. Sometimes I am at Paris in the quiet office 
 at the Ministry, and the next day I find myself in 
 a muddy ambulance of the advanced trenches, or even 
 nearer still to the firing line. Here it seemed as if 
 the whole character of the French race had been 
 modified. The men have recovered the warlike spirit 
 of their forefathers, they have the smiling courage 
 of the heroes of the First Empire. 
 
 The day before yesterday we lunched with 
 68 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 fifteen officers In a chateau within range of the Ger- 
 man cannon. The table was strewn with violets. 
 The dining-room was decorated with flowers. Wine 
 flowed freely and the guests were much more quiet 
 and contained than in the times of peace. Only 
 a few minutes after lunch we were standing on a 
 hill surrounded by the thunder of the French bat- 
 tery, which was answering the German fire. Every 
 man that I have seen seems to be in the finest 
 physical and moral condition. They are living in 
 trenches but in the open air. Their health is ex- 
 cellent, their organizations perfect, and every man 
 is confident that he is marching on to victory. . . . 
 
 Compiegne is tranquil only in appearance. The 
 barriers which surround us do not isolate us from 
 the outside world. I see about as many people here 
 as in New York. Furthermore, I am traveling about 
 a great deal in automobiles, either along the front 
 or back and forth from Paris. All that takes up 
 my time. Sometimes we meet with deplorable acci- 
 dents, for only a few minutes' ride from Compiegne 
 brings us out into the region of the shells. I have 
 lost my best chauffeur and one of the others is 
 disabled. 
 
 Our hospital is full of wounded men. Thanks to 
 the surgeons of the ambulances of the advanced line, 
 I get the kind of patients I want. My colleagues 
 are all working hard and faithfully. Dr. D., of 
 
 69 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 whom I have spoken to you, has discovered some 
 substance which seems to be able to sterilize flesh 
 wounds. If our present experiments confirm our 
 former observations we shall have made important 
 progress in the treatment of wounds. D. is a re- 
 markable man, and I am in hopes that our researches 
 will result in important discoveries. 
 
 P. S. — I am sending you a copy of the report 
 from headquarters signed by General D. It will 
 give you a true idea of the way the Germans are 
 conducting this war. 
 
Ill 
 
 IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
Ill 
 
 IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 Chambre des Deputes 
 
 Lamaguere- p. Labarthe- 
 Inard (Haute Garonne) 
 
 8 October, 1914. 
 
 YOU can imagine in what anxiety we are living, 
 but how could we be otherwise but firm and 
 courageous, my wife and I, when everyone, I say 
 even to the poorest peasant, is furnishing us a superb 
 example of self-denial and heroism? You who have 
 a soldier's soul would be rejoiced to see the calm 
 courage, the coolness and the zeal of the recruits 
 and the troops, whether in formation or at the sta- 
 tions. All through our cities of the South, which 
 are so ardent and often so excitable, there is not a 
 sign of excess nor a discordant note. It is truly a 
 fine awakening. 
 
 Our 17th Corps was decimated in the earliest bat- 
 tles of the war and our region here acquitted its 
 cruel debt to the country with noble generosity. 
 From the economic point of view our population 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 has not suffered much, neither have raw materials 
 been lacking. I am most happy to hear from you 
 that the sympathies of the American people are 
 with us. It is a great weight on our side of the 
 balance. 
 
 The world has been too patient with Prussia. 
 Read over again the speeches of Thiers, the Schles- 
 wig-Holstein affair and the history of the days of 
 1852. It is the same story over and over again of 
 cynical lies and brutality. I have had experience 
 with some of this policy in the Moroccan business. 
 And I assure you that at times the cunning rascality 
 of Berlin has perverted public opinion even in 
 France. But now the eyes of the world are being 
 opened, and civilized humanity realizes that the de- 
 struction not of Germany, but of the intolerable 
 Prussian hegemony is essential to the world's wel- 
 fare. 
 
 Jean Cruppi, 
 Former Minister. 
 
 A Frenchman writes to an American friend from 
 Paris, November 15, 1914: 
 
 Our France, our dear, beautiful France, has shown 
 herself wonderful in this war. Pardon my enthu- 
 siasm, but when one speaks of a mother one is 
 allowed to show pride in her. France has shown 
 
 74j 
 
IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 herself wonderful because she has shown herself as 
 she is in reality, and not as she has allowed herself 
 to appear at times through sheer negligence. At 4 
 P.M. on the first of August the entire French people 
 were welded in a single hour into the most perfect 
 union. You would have to see it to realize it. There 
 are no more parties in France. The revolutionist 
 Hervcj but yesterday a man without a country, is 
 shouting, "Vive la France!" The most rabid social- 
 ists of yesterday are at the front, dying under the 
 common soldier's cloak or the officer's uniform. Not a 
 newspaper indulges in partisan vituperation. In the 
 great committee which has charge of the interests 
 of the nation and whose members bring their private 
 resources to the altar of the country, you will find 
 side by side revolutionists and monarchists, radicals 
 and progressives, bishops, pastors, rabbis and free- 
 masons. There is only one bloc now in France — a 
 bloc much more solid than the ordinary political 
 one made of an amalgam of opposing wills and prin- 
 ciples reconciled in appearance only. This bloc is 
 one that has really existed all the time, namely, the 
 soul of France which we thought was divided be- 
 cause it was covered over with the veneer of politics. 
 The veneer disappeared on the first day of August, 
 and revealed the soul of France. Oh, how little the 
 people understand us who believe in the vanity, the 
 inconsistency and the volatility of Frenchmen ! 
 
 75 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 Instead you will find here a cool, resolute, confi- 
 dent seriousness, a robust optimism pervading all 
 classes of society, sacrifices generously accepted, no 
 lassitude, an iron determination to have done with 
 the war, a loyal upright attitude towards our 
 enemies, as towards our dear friends of England and 
 Russia, a profound respect and an admiration with- 
 out bounds for heroic Belgium, a thousand examples 
 of private devotion to the fatherland in every form, 
 and back of it all, resting on the unshakable confi- 
 dence in our cause, the life of the nation goes on 
 calmly in its work and, more than formerly, in its 
 prayer too. 
 
 The German military machine, powerful as it is, 
 will not prevail against the allied forces, strong in 
 the conviction that their labors are founded on the 
 right. The struggle will be long, we know, it will 
 be hard too, but the German will break his wings 
 in it at last — that we know too. So we look forward 
 to the day of his exhaustion and defeat. I trust 
 that you will not doubt the outcome in your country 
 which has so freely given us its sympathy and shared 
 with us the love of the truth. Believe me, we recipro- 
 cate fully this cordial sympathy. 
 
 You will find Europe much changed and frontiers 
 altered, my dear friend. Believe with us that these 
 changes will be favorable to our cause. Let me 
 repeat again — certain that you will spread the truth 
 
 76 
 
IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 about if you hear any assertions to the contrary — 
 that France at this moment is perfect in union, 
 courage, strength, confidence, faith, truth and honor. 
 She has men, she has faithful allies, she has time, 
 she has heroism to spare — and she will conquer. 
 
 G. M. 
 
 From a Frenchwoman after the Battle of the 
 Marne, September 15, 1914: 
 
 The enemy is repulsed. He is in flight, God be 
 praised! Our hearts, so long filled with anguish 
 at the steady advance of the barbarians, are now 
 bursting with hope. The Germans have trodden 
 our soil, they have plundered it, devastated it. What 
 matters, now that they are departing, driven by the 
 French armies ! Our sacrifices will not have been 
 in vain. All the men who have fallen and who shall 
 still fall may rest in peace ; and those who weep their 
 loss will not have added to their grief the humiliation 
 of a France conquered, wretched and flouted. 
 
 Joseph T. has been wounded. He has borne it 
 with manly courage and is in hopes of getting back 
 to the army soon. Madame A. [a colonel's wife] 
 has cut short her vacation to the North and has 
 returned to Limoges to work for the Red Cross. 
 Marie de F. writes that her mother is dying and her 
 husband has gone back to the service. They have 
 
 7T 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 had no news of their son, whom you perhaps were 
 the last one to bid good-bye at Paris, when he started 
 out in all the pride of his new uniform of sub- 
 lieutenant of Hussars. Captain R. d'A. and one 
 of the sons of General 0. have died on the field of 
 honor. The list of our dead will be long. 
 
 France, dear France, so wounded, so cruelly 
 robbed of her soil and her sons, will yet emerge vic- 
 torious from this terrible crisis. We are under no 
 illusions, but have the greatest confidence. Without 
 doubt we still have a great deal to do to conquer 
 the invader and drive him from our land. But this 
 first success, the victory of the Marne, is a won- 
 derful start. It has given our soldiers a zeal and 
 ardor which will not flag. Let us not cease our 
 prayers, and let us be ready to make every cour- 
 ageous sacrifice possible. 
 
 We are defending our cause valiantly, but the 
 enemy is splendidly organized and intrenched on our 
 soil. It will be hard to dislodge him. I see by the 
 papers that the bombardment of the Cathedral of 
 Rheims has stirred a feeling of righteous indigna- 
 tion in every nation. There is good reason for it 
 too, for never was there so wanton and useless a 
 piece of barbarism perpetrated. It is fit to rank 
 with the massacres of Louvain. 
 
 The letter continues on September 30, 1914, after 
 the capture of Antwerp: 
 
 78 
 
IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 It is raining and the dismal skies add to our deso- 
 lation within. To think of this new disaster. The 
 papers keep us in suspense with vague news and 
 reports. Poor heroic Belgians! They have fought 
 with all their strength, but how could they stand 
 this iron tide? I recall the pretty little country so 
 calm and peaceful which you and I have traveled 
 over together in the good days of the past. It is 
 frightful to think what has happened to it. And 
 now it is our soil that is to suffer again. It is our 
 own beautiful Paris that they are aiming at. Ah, 
 how I should like to be back there ! 
 
 Your mother received a letter from the R.'s this 
 morning. Those brave people stayed on in their 
 home and lived through the frightful hours of the 
 battle. They went down into the cellar at first, but 
 came up to aid the wounded who were brought to 
 the house. They heard the cannon and musket fire 
 for hours. ... 
 
 I had a letter from Miss H. yesterday telling of 
 the atrocities committed on the poor refugees. She 
 saw them herself. It is frightful. . . . 
 
 October 9, 1014. 
 Oh, the never-to-be-forgotten hours of anguish and 
 suspense! We seize the papers and devour the dis- 
 patches. They are upon us, trampling down the 
 poor villages to reach us and crush us. They are 
 
 79 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 implacable, mad in their hate and fury. But we 
 are resisting them magnificently. Oh, the sacrifices, 
 the blood, the misery! 
 
 November 7j 1914. 
 Our race 'has proved that it is neither degenerate 
 nor changed from the Frenchmen of former days 
 who knew how to conquer. How they fight and die, 
 our little pioupious! Our generals are splendid. 
 We cannot doubt the final success of our armies. 
 God grant that it may not be too long delayed, for 
 it is heartrending to see so many suffer and die. 
 We shall preserve the anguish of this hour in our 
 hearts for ever, and our victorious fatherland will 
 bear the marks of these tragic days. The dead will 
 not return with victory, and whole families will be 
 plunged into mourning for life. Oh, what a ter- 
 rible thing war is, and what a responsibility rests on 
 the shoulders of those who provoke war! 
 
 The letter concludes on "November 20, 1914, from 
 a little country town: 
 
 We devour five or six newspapers a day. We go 
 every morning and sometimes in the afternoon to 
 read the dispatches. At night there is a crowd 
 around the bulletins. Some kind soul volunteers to 
 read the dispatches aloud so that everybody can 
 hear them. There is a great stir in the barracks 
 
 80 
 
IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 here. Some of the troops are getting ready to go 
 to the front, and others are starting on their way 
 singing songs. It makes you sad to think they are 
 going, so many of them, to their death. . . . 
 
 I have already told you of the death of my brother, 
 an artillery captain. He was killed near Rheims. 
 Another one of my brothers, who had fought in 
 China, re-enlisted as captain of the Zouaves and has 
 just been killed in the North. He was picking up his 
 wounded men one evening after a hot scrimmage in 
 which he had been victorious, when a stray bullet 
 struck him full in the breast. My third brother, 
 sergeant in the light infantry, has been wounded. 
 My sisters-in-law are bearing up nobly. But my 
 parents, who went to Paris on the approach of the 
 Germans, are inconsolable. They are trying to bear 
 their grief stoically, believing that their sons died 
 happy in dying for their country. 
 
 C.J. 
 
 On January 12, 1915, a member of the French 
 Academy writes: 
 
 We live on as you saw us. Madame B. is working 
 for our ambulance, my son is at the ministry of war, 
 and I am doing what I can to serve my country 
 with pen and speech. Army and people alike are 
 filled with confidence. There is no sign of boasting 
 
 81 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 but a calm, firm resolution to hold out to the bitter 
 end. The campaign of terror inaugurated by the 
 Germans has failed to frighten us. 
 
 E. BOUTROUX. 
 
 The distinguished philosopher, Henri Bergson, 
 writes from Paris to a friend in America on the 
 twenty-seventh of May, 1915: 
 
 The resolution to conquer has never been stronger; 
 in France than it is at present. The disposition of 
 our soldiers, as indeed of our entire population, is 
 admirable. They have all been reconciled from the 
 start to the most extreme sacrifices, with the clear 
 consciousness that it is not only the cause of their 
 fatherland but that of humanity and civilization as 
 well which is at stake. Under these conditions the 
 result of the conflict cannot be doubtful. But what 
 terrible sacrifices it will have cost ! 
 
 H. Bergson. 
 
 Alt s3l ^1& J3L £3L 
 
 TP" TfF 1* •X* I* 
 
 P. A. wrifes on the eighteenth of April, 1915: 
 
 The war with its preoccupations and activities 
 absorbs every minute, every second. I have been 
 organizing hospitals, manufacturing powder, collect- 
 ing stockings and underwear for the soldiers, writing 
 appeals in the papers, making speeches on the plat- 
 form, hurrying through the battlefields of Flanders 
 in automobiles to install ambulance stations and 
 
 82 
 
IN THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 secure the prompt removal of the wounded. The nine 
 months that have passed seem more like nine hours. 
 It seems only yesterday that we were on the road to 
 Albert among our bleeding soldiers. And here we 
 are on the same road again to-day. It is the same 
 struggle, the same spectacle, but thank God we are 
 more confident of victory to-day. 
 
 I saw a night battle at Nieuport a little while ago 
 which would have interested you. It was a superb 
 moonlight night. I was in a ruined church which 
 was paved with new tombstones. The bullets flew 
 through the church grazing the pillars and chipping 
 the corners of the walls. I have written an article 
 about it and will send you the magazine. Why 
 weren't you here? All our generals are filled with 
 confidence, they believe that the enemy is pretty well 
 exhausted, but still capable of dogged resistance and 
 desperate attacks. Anyway they cannot break our 
 lines now. 
 
 As the war continues its economic demands grow 
 clearer. Men are called from the front to work in 
 the factories. Engineers, chemists, and other spe- 
 cialists are summoned home for their expert knowl- 
 edge. They are sorry to leave the front, but their 
 comrades write them from the firing line saying that 
 they are glad to have them where they are. Whether 
 in the shop or at the front they are serving their 
 country, where they can serve her best, and there is 
 
 83 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 no distinction of merit between men who give their 
 best service to France. On the twenty-eighth of 
 June, 1915, P. G. writes: 
 
 A short time ago I read a letter from George in 
 which he says that he is uncomfortable because he 
 is at the rear in a position of safety. I want to give 
 him and all of his companions who for various rea- 
 sons are not at the front, my opinion on this point. 
 
 The present war is not like the wars of the Em- 
 pire, depending upon force alone. It is a war of 
 men and munitions. Nothing distresses me more 
 than to think that our coffers are not full. Now, to 
 have munitions we must have able men and we must 
 have money. Goodwill is not enough. Without 
 experts to manufacture them our munitions of war 
 will be inferior and even worthless. We must have 
 money too, and to that end our commerce and in- 
 dustry must be kept up. Now, in my judgment all 
 those who on account of age or of infirmity or for 
 reasons of professional skill, stay at home and do 
 their duty to the extent of their powers, are as 
 deserving as we who are at the front. We even have 
 periods of rest that they do not. No, there are good 
 Frenchmen and bad Frenchmen only — ^but the latter 
 are extremely few, 
 
IV 
 THE FUTURE 
 
IV 
 THE FUTURE 
 
 IT is the certainty of victory that gives us our 
 confidence, and what gives us this certainty of 
 victory is the profound conviction of the in- 
 justice of the attack against us and the barbarity of 
 our aggressors. M. Pottier, curator in the Museum 
 of the Louvre and member of the Academy of In- 
 scriptions and Belles Lettres, writes to a friend in 
 Boston : 
 
 The war that they are waging against us is a 
 war of extermination, into which no consideration 
 for humanity or civilization enters. Except for the 
 political consequences that might result, I am per- 
 suaded that the Germans would have no scruples in 
 destroying the public buildings of Paris, including 
 Notre Dame and the Louvre. I have done my best 
 to safeguard the scientific treasures with which you 
 are familiar, but still I must confess that they are 
 not sufficiently protected against a deliberate and 
 sustained bombardment. You would find it hard to 
 recognize our poor galleries and showcases all 
 
 87 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 emptied of their contents. The Ambassador of the 
 United States has been in to look at them. 
 
 Since we have seen the manifesto of the German 
 "intellectuals," signed bj names which we have long 
 been accustomed to honor, we know that the scholars 
 and artists of Germany are marching in the train 
 of the men who burned the library of Louvain, bom- 
 barded Rheims, and shattered the sculptures of the 
 cathedral which ten centuries of war and invasions 
 had respected : the men who tried to fire Notre Dame 
 de Paris with bombs, and killed children playing in 
 our streets. No civilized nation in the world's his- 
 tory until to-day has given us the astonishing spec- 
 tacle of men of science justifying and glorifying 
 murderous attacks made contrary to the laws of 
 nations and even in defiance of treaties signed by 
 their own diplomats. 
 
 In addition to these brazen attempts to justify 
 the outrages that they cannot deny, they enter a 
 hearty and peremptory rebuttal of other attempts 
 which are amply proven by official witnesses. "It is 
 not true that . . . it is not true that" — they re- 
 iterate. How can men schooled in our scientific 
 methods so demean themselves as to sign statements 
 the truth of which they have no means of controlling, 
 and on the matter of which they have no precise 
 information, being far away from the scene of 
 action .f* 
 
 88 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 I am glad to say that only five of the fifteen cor- 
 responding members and associates of our Academy 
 of Inscriptions, and only four of the twenty mem- 
 bers of the Academy of Science signed the manifesto. 
 It seems then that even in Germany some few men 
 are left with enough confidence to refuse their assent 
 to such a criminal procedure. We are glad to believe 
 it. Be assured of this, we are fighting to save the 
 world from the Prussian corporal, from that spirit 
 of hatred and proud domination that has invaded 
 and contaminated the whole of Germany. We are 
 combating the spirit of disloyalty and falsehood that 
 has characterized every move of the Germans in this 
 war: viz., the preparation for the war by a system 
 of espionage and by purchases of land which have 
 been going on for years; the tricks in battle, such 
 as putting French uniforms on German soldiers in 
 order to decoy our unsuspecting men into an am- 
 bush ; the convoy of military stores under the flag of 
 the Red Cross ; the transportation of men and muni- 
 tions into the trenches on stretchers; the ships dis- 
 guised as Russian boats in order to enter the harbor 
 and torpedo the unsuspecting enemy. Never, never 
 will we conduct a war in such fashion, repugnant to 
 all nations with a sense of honor and loyalty. We 
 still believe that the moral factor is essential to give 
 our soldiers the conviction that they are defending 
 a just cause with honor. 
 
 89 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 Permeated with the idea that she is fighting for 
 the defense of rights and liberties of the nations, 
 France, with her good friends and allies is confident 
 of the future. She knows that victory belongs to 
 the nations that are just, calm, courageous and 
 patient. She knows that all these qualities are hers. 
 The man best qualified to speak on international law 
 not only in France, but also, even by the consent of 
 the Germans themselves, in the world, wrote from 
 Bordeaux to an American friend in November, 1914 : 
 
 I am deeply pained by this war as a man and a 
 jurist, as well as a Frenchman. What good are all 
 our grand efforts if they are to result only in 
 "scraps of paper"? Do not believe that I am anxious 
 only for the war to end. In spite of all the evils 
 that war brings in its train, the Allies must fight 
 on until the might of Germany is completely hum- 
 bled, and due reparation is exacted from her; only 
 then can we have a durable peace, and then perhaps 
 can we begin to talk of international law. 
 
 Louis Renault. 
 
 France has received too many expressions of gen- 
 eral sympathy from the Americans to allow her to 
 doubt the feelings of the greatest of the neutral 
 powers. In the letter of M. Pottier to a friend in 
 America, which we quoted a few pages above, are the 
 following lines: 
 
 90 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 We can ask only for moral support from your 
 country, but we may count on her for that. We have 
 read with grateful emotions the words of your ex- 
 President Roosevelt, which are so encouraging for 
 us. We have understood the meaning of President 
 Wilson's curt and dignified reply to Emperor Wil- 
 liam, when the Germans, whom the Allies accused of 
 using dum-dum bullets, brought the impudent coun- 
 tercharge of their use by the French. The Americans 
 well know which side is fighting for the right and for 
 the respective treaties. The example of heoric Bel- 
 gium points the way of duty. 
 
 While the German propagandists were exerting 
 their zeal in pleading an unjust cause before the 
 neutral nations, France judged that she had but to 
 rely in dignified reticence on the sound judgment 
 and sense of justice prevalent among the American 
 people. M. Pottier writes from Paris on the tenth 
 of April, 1915: 
 
 It is asked in a friendly way why the French do 
 not strive more actively in America against the prop- 
 aganda made by the partisans of the Germans. 
 Compared with the quantities of letters, papers, 
 prospectuses, and the views with which neutral 
 nations are being swamped and inundated, our very 
 modest communication and pamphlets attract but 
 little attention. 
 
 I quite understand this: and often among our 
 91 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 friends we have been a little disturbed by this dis- 
 proportion. Already efforts have been made to 
 counteract this, and several associations have been 
 organized to make clear to those in other countries 
 the position we have taken in this great European 
 struggle. . . . 
 
 One of my Italian colleagues, who from the be- 
 ginning had courageously taken sides against Ger- 
 many, wrote in La Tribune of Rome the fifth of 
 February : 
 
 "I have expressed my sentiments of invincible 
 horror for the torture inflicted upon innocent and 
 heroic Belgium. I have expressed also, notwith- 
 standing the deluge of German newspaper clippings 
 which every day heap up the waste basket in my 
 office — I have expressed my absolute conviction that 
 this conflict was let loose by the agreement and by the 
 deliberate wish of Austro-German imperialism. 
 
 "Immediately open war against me was declared 
 by my honorable colleagues and by the German 
 press. I saw pour in torrents into my house, like 
 discharges of a famous *450,' not only insulting 
 articles from newspapers of the Goths, but personal 
 letters of protestation, of rage, of threats." 
 
 This is something of which the French could never 
 be accused. We would take care not to imitate the 
 indiscreet and stupid measures, which, far from 
 obtaining the result expected, either exasperate or 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 make smile, according to the disposition, those who 
 are the butt of these persecutors. Such a lack ci 
 moderation and of tact will lead always to the quick 
 confusion of propaganda. Ne quid nimis, said 
 Latins : Excess in everything is a fault. 
 
 For another reason: Does it at all concern us 
 to answer back in ceaseless protestations, as do the 
 Germans? Certainly not. Facts have spoken for 
 us. What could we add? Is it not enough to recall 
 the facts and to confirm them? One can well under- 
 stand how our adversaries feel the need of pleading 
 their cause. What a mass of assertions they must 
 prove before the world! 
 
 When American sympathy for the justice of our 
 cause was freely expressed on the dastardly sinking 
 of the Lusitania, the American papers sent to the 
 front were hailed with joy by the Frenchmen who 
 had come from America. They immediately converted 
 them into a new kind of projectile and threw them 
 into the German trenches. A young Frenchman who 
 had lived eight years in this country writes from the 
 trenches to a friend in New York, June 24, 1915 : 
 
 Can you guess what it is to spend twelve days 
 and twelve nights, most of which are nuits blanches, 
 in first line with very little, if anything, to smoke? 
 I don't think you can. So I will not attempt to 
 tell you how I felt when I received your four boxes 
 
 93 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 of Oxfords. To be sure, many of my friends were 
 in the same plight, and as selfishness is unknown in 
 war time, they, too, had a glorious smoke on you. 
 Many of them had never tasted American cigarettes, 
 but I can assure you they found a real delight in 
 puffing them. We usually have plenty of tobacco 
 and everything else, and if this is the worst war men 
 have ever seen, it is perfectly true that soldiers were 
 never taken better care of. The fact that we ran 
 short of tobacco was due to an unlooked-for alerte 
 which woke us up in the middle of the night while 
 we were au repos. In less time than it takes to say, 
 we were going to an unknown destination. Talk 
 about thrills — that's where you get them — and as 
 strange as it may sound to an outsider, we do love 
 them. If you recall what has been going on for 
 the last few weeks, I think you can safely guess 
 where we were bound for — 'nough said. All the piou- 
 pious that had a whack at them want to join me in 
 thanking you. My friends in New York and else- 
 where have sent me about a dozen boxes of one hun- 
 dred Rameses, too, but I never received them, except 
 one. 
 
 Reading over your letter makes me think how 
 fortunate you are. Not that I regret having come 
 — for I never would have dared show myself to 
 anyone had I stayed — but simply because this is 
 no life. I sometimes think how foolish men are to 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 have to resort to these mad orgies of wholesale mur- 
 der and pillage in order to settle their differences. 
 Talk about progress and civilization! Why, we 
 might as well destroy the hypocrisy of it, since it 
 cannot save us from these calamities, which already 
 involve millions of homes. Why not set back the 
 clock a few centuries and revert to the simple habits 
 of the caveman. This may sound like strange talk 
 to you; no doubt it will. But what do you think 
 happens to the gray matter, when thousands, hun- 
 dreds of thousands of shells are hurled above one's 
 head? Although I do know something happens, I'm 
 sure I don't know what it is. And what about the un- 
 told misery caused by such monstrous bombard- 
 ments? No one is better able to know it than I. 
 Sometimes I get so damned mad to see in what 
 savage way the Germans conduct the war that I wish 
 to turn in my brassard and get back my rifle. I've 
 tried it twice now, but the major wouldn't let me. 
 
 Fortunately this trench warfare won't last for 
 ever, and I do earnestly hope that we shall soon be 
 able to measure ourselves in the open with ces mes- 
 sieurs and have it out like white men should. Of 
 course they are not friends of the assault a la 
 baionnette. I don't blame them either, for although 
 they can run pretty fast — I've seen them — they can't 
 get away from our gro guards. 
 
 Some three weeks ago I threw a bunch of American 
 05 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 papers into their trench and waited for results. I 
 wish you could have heard them groan and shout 
 and swear; they were nothing short of raving mad. 
 Evidently someone among them could read English, 
 anyway, the Tribune cartoons were eloquent enough, 
 especially the one you sent, also the one representing 
 Count von Bernstorff addressing his country's sym- 
 pathies to the American public over the Lusitania 
 dead, entitled "The Crowning Insult.*" Have you 
 seen it.?* It must have struck them harder than any 
 shell ever did — at least judging from results. 
 
 J. B. C. 
 
 Another young Frenchman from America, a lieu- 
 tenant, writes from the hospital where he lies severely 
 wounded the following reflections on the character 
 of the war and the combatants' views of the duty 
 of neutrals: 
 
 I am indeed much better, though not very well as 
 yet. I have been so near death and seen such ter- 
 rible things, I have so often despaired of coming out 
 of the struggle alive, that this new life here away 
 from the battlefield seems a dream. In spite of the 
 sufferings and great losses of men, we are full of 
 hope and courage. We know we must triumph and 
 victory will be ours. France will not die. It is neces- 
 sary to the world, above all to the world of thought, 
 your world and mine. This war is the enemy of 
 
 96 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 thought ; it is the enslavement of all the truly spirit- 
 ual powers to a work of tyranny and destruction. 
 
 One day, I hope, I shall tell you of some of the 
 things I have seen, and then you will understand 
 that Germany has only begun to spell the words, 
 "humanity," "civilization," "personal dignity," 
 "progress," based on principles of "liberty and jus- 
 tice." At first I could not be bitter towards the 
 Germans. I thought the military party alone could 
 be held responsible for the unspeakable cruelty of 
 the soldiers. I said to myself, "The people are 
 blind, they have been misled. They believe themselves 
 attacked and threatened in their very existence. We 
 must only free them, free Europe and her German 
 people as well, from the German military cast." 
 But facts do not allow me to make that distinction 
 bona fide any longer. The Germans know what they 
 are doing. They have been trained to think, to feel, 
 to speak as their masters. They iionor, venerate, 
 follow them and have one faith — ^the absolute good- 
 ness of the German nation, the sacredness of its 
 mission to a corrupted world; faith in a gospel of 
 military strength which will make of all peoples 
 either the slaves of Germany or willing subjects. 
 We all must either love them, or, through fear, re- 
 spect and honor them. They will give other nations 
 independence if it harmonizes with the interests of 
 the Empire, and if not, that independence will be 
 
 97 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 sacrificed on the altar of the German god. They have 
 Germanized the very heavens. They have lent to 
 the Being who stood for love and justice sentiments 
 unworthy of a Turk! I am not speaking without 
 knowledge. I have seen them victorious and de- 
 feated. I have seen them in battle and in prayer. 
 I have seen them from Prussia and from Bavaria, 
 and all breathe the same spirit of selfish and arro- 
 gant pride, of hatred, of domination at all costs and 
 by all means. I have seen the maimed children, the 
 slaughtered women, and the tortured old men. I 
 have seen poor French prisoners crucified naked on 
 the edge of a trench to frighten their comrades, and 
 more and more. No mercy, no chivalry, no honor; 
 all sacrificed that the Kaiser may rule over the land 
 of our forefathers and bring to it the blessings of 
 superior morality and Kultur! 
 
 On January 10, 1915, a naval lieutenant writes to 
 his sister: 
 
 France faces with the utmost calm the probability 
 that the war may last another year or more. We are 
 resolute and prepared. We look for victory entire and 
 absolute, not the annihilation of the German race, as 
 our enemies accuse us of saying, but the annihilation 
 of the military caste which is brutalizing the race. 
 3?his war on war is the noblest cause possible, and the 
 
 98 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 people who are with us in it will be forever ennobled 
 by it. 
 
 Things are going well. The Germans retreat only 
 foot by foot to be sure, but the unexpected duration 
 of the war makes them lose daily the benefit of their 
 long and careful preparation, while it permits us 
 and our Allies, the English, to provide the men and 
 supplies which we lacked at the start. Prussia is 
 under no illusion about this ; the German newspapers 
 prove it. I was at dinner a few days ago under 
 General X's tent with several officers of the general 
 staff. When the General spoke of the time that was 
 still needed for France to win a complete victory, 
 there was a scene of intense emotion, and all those 
 fine soldiers cried in spontaneous patriotism, *'Yes, 
 yes, we will conquer or die !" 
 
 On July 18, 1915, an officer of reserves writes: 
 
 You ask me what the opinions are in this region 
 on the subject of the winter campaign. I think I 
 can tell you. When the winter campaign was men- 
 tioned men shrugged their shoulders at first. 
 
 After reflecting on all the pending questions people 
 here have gradually come to the conclusion that a 
 winter campaign is necessary (1) to allow Russia to 
 regain her lost ground, (S) to allow the Allies to 
 secure a decided advantage over the Boches in the 
 
 99 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 supply of munitions, and (3) to allow the Allies to 
 make the blockade more stringent against Germany. 
 People have come to this position not with 
 joy but with firm deliberation. We realize that 
 we are where we are in this war because we were 
 too little prepared. The Germans foresee every- 
 thing, even the impossible. Let us learn to be as 
 prudent as they, but with the ingenuity of the 
 Frenchman. Then our victory is certain. And if it 
 turns out that the winter campaign is not needed, 
 there will be no reproach upon us for having pre- 
 pared for it. 
 
 At the beginning of July a Frenchwoman wrote: 
 
 We are having fine summer weather. The country 
 is beautiful, but how sad ! No youth, no songs in the 
 fields, no joyous laughter; we shall never laugh again 
 in France, I fear. How can we? The younger gen- 
 eration will forget these days perhaps, but ours will 
 carry to the grave the burden of this bloody drama. 
 
 Even after the temporary retreat of the Russians, 
 French energy did not flag. Nobody was under 
 an illusion as to the length of the war, but the morale 
 continued unimpaired. The officers and soldiers at 
 the front are allowed from time to time to return to 
 the rear, and their presence always dispels gloom and 
 melancholy, leaving only hope in the heart. One of 
 the civilians thus cheered by their presence writes on 
 July 19, 1915: 
 
 100 
 
THE FUTURE 
 
 Warsaw is captured. They will turn back on us. 
 But let us have confidence. Our soldiers are won- 
 derful, so full of hope and courage. Still, when one 
 sees them, one knows what they have endured. They 
 all have a tragic look, but they are filled with energy 
 and zeal, even though they are under no illusion as 
 to the possible duration of the war. 
 
 "A little child shall lead them." One of the chil- 
 dren of France wrote near the beginning of the war 
 these lines of prophetic confidence: 
 
 We shall come out victorious and France, that most 
 beautiful nation, will resume its peaceful, pros- 
 perous life. War will yield finally to peace and men 
 will live happily forever. 
 
 FlESIlE. 
 
V 
 
 LAST LETTER 
 
LAST LETTER 
 
 To THE Editor of the French newspaper Le 
 Matin of September 8, 1915: 
 
 THREE weeks ago I arrived in your country 
 which I had left on the fifth of September, 
 1914. At that moment I was carrying away with 
 me the great spectacle of your mobilization. This 
 solemn and magnificent rising of the manhood of a 
 whole people had left in my mind the image of a 
 quasi-religious spectacle in its splendid solemnity. 
 During the mobilization I had many talks with the 
 soldiers and from these conversations I had derived 
 a great deal of hope and comfort. Ever since I 
 left you, I have thought so often of these brave 
 people, who without noise or boast but in silent dig- 
 nity went forth to a war of national defense and of 
 justice, that I was most anxious to see them again 
 and at the same time to revisit the several hundred 
 Alsatian and Belgian refugee children that some of 
 my compatriots and I had b^en able to gatiier 
 
 105 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 together at the beginning of the war, and who with 
 many others since collected are to-day scattered 
 about in colonies throughout the various depart- 
 ments of France. 
 
 Thanks to the courtesy of Mr. Delcasse, I was 
 allowed the rare privilege of traversing the roads 
 through the army zone between Paris and Nancy, 
 and went up to the first lines. What I saw gave me 
 an impression as strong and as favorable as that 
 of the mobilization. All these men who went away 
 with such calm and resolution remained in the same 
 state of mind, with perfect confidence in the final 
 victory of France and of their chiefs. Everywhere 
 I saw signs of the old gaiete frangaise. Nowhere 
 did I hear the slightest murmur of complaint 
 Everyone was doing his duty. The war might well 
 be very long and very painful, but the result was 
 sure. Already they had acquired the moral supe- 
 riority, and if ever the enemy came out of his 
 trenches his defeat was certain. 
 
 I saw villages in Lorraine utterly ruined and 
 destroyed by the Germans. I well remember one 
 day spent at Gerbeviller. The women and the old 
 men told me: "We have returned. It was indeed 
 necessary to replant the fields and to take up life 
 again," and in this village, completely burned, where 
 I learned that more than one hundred civilians were 
 shot, everybody was smilingly at work. The fields 
 
 106 
 
LAST LETTER 
 
 had been tilled as perfectly as usual and the crops 
 were beautiful. Scattered about here and there, 
 throughout the fields, were little red patches of 
 flowers, surmounted by a white cross, under which 
 the defenders of Lorraine slept. One who has not 
 seen it cannot understand how a visitor is moved 
 by the spectacle of this strength of soul. 
 
 But what is most painful for us Americans in all 
 this is the proof that this war was a war of sys- 
 tematic destruction, a war, as my friend Mr. Emile 
 Boutroux said to me in its beginning, conducted 
 with scientific barbarism. It is not merely that 
 drunken soldiers pillaged the villages. Here and 
 there a house remains standing, evidently spared 
 because it had borne a certain mark. The rest 
 were systematically burned. Everything was done 
 with discipline and order. 
 
 We are, at home in the United States, somewhat 
 in the same state of mind that France was before 
 the war, believing in humanity, in justice, in pity, 
 and we have to see the traces of this methodically 
 calculated carnage and destruction — ^we have to see 
 this country so systematically devastated, as the Ger- 
 mans of Caesar's time could not have devastated it, 
 to believe in the reality of the things which we read 
 in our newspapers. We are apt to think that there 
 must be a large part of exaggeration in all this and 
 that Prussian militarism should not be judged by a 
 
 107 
 
WAR LETTERS FROM FRANCE 
 
 few isolated atrocities. Now I know the truth and 
 will not hesitate to repeat it again and again. 
 
 One man who had witnessed the assassination of 
 the hostages of Gerbeviller, another who had seen 
 the murder of the Mayor of Senlis, told me of these 
 things in accents of simplicity and sincerity that 
 bore out the official reports. They told me of the 
 cynical propositions, the brutal jests with which 
 the German soldiers carried on their enterprise of 
 devastation and murder and there was in their re- 
 citals so much simplicity, loyalty and candor that 
 little doubt could remain in one's mind. 
 
 When in the face of such an enemy, unchained, 
 after a year of war, one returns to find France 
 serene and without anxiety about the ultimate result 
 one understands that if man is stronger than nature 
 by his intelligence, he is stronger than injustice 
 by his morality. 
 
 All these things seen at close range convince us 
 Americans that France can never be vanquished; 
 that she retains the same greatness of soul that has 
 persisted through the centuries since the barbarian 
 invasions; that stronger to-day than she has ever 
 been, she will, after the war, be more respected and 
 more admired than she was during her greatest 
 centuries of glory. 
 
 Frederic R. Coudert. 
 (1) 
 
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