“They made up for it, to a certain extent, by mixing gunpowder with the food.”
“All the same,” answered the chaplain, “war is a terrible thing.”
Thus spoke this innocent friend of soldiers in the sincerity of his heart. But the general did not acquiesce in this condemnation of war.
“Pardon me, my dear abbé! War is, of course, a cruel necessity, but one which provides for officers and men an opportunity of showing the highest qualities. Without war, we should still be ignorant of how far the courage and endurance of men can go.”
And, very seriously, he added:
“The Bible proves the lawfulness of war, and you know better than I how in it God is called Sabaoth—that is, the God of armies.”
The abbé smiled with an expression of frank roguishness, displaying the three very white teeth which were all that remained to him.
“Pooh! I don’t know Hebrew, not I. … And God has so many more beautiful names that I can dispense with calling him by that one. … Alas! general, what a splendid army perished under the command of that unhappy marshal! …”
At these words, General Cartier de Chalmot began to say what he had already said a hundred times:
“Bazaine! … Listen to me. Neglect of the regulations touching fortified towns, culpable hesitation in giving orders, mental reservations before the enemy. And before the enemy one ought to have no mental reservations … Capitulation in open country. … He deserved his fate. And then a scapegoat was needed.”