The first trophy of the war, the flag of the One Hundred and Thirty-second German Infantry Regiment (First Regiment of Lower Alsace), arrived in Paris this morning, having been brought by motor-car from the front, where it was captured at Sainte-Blaise by the Tenth Battalion of Chasseurs-à-Pieds (riflemen), a corps which distinguished itself in the Franco-Austrian war of 1859 by capturing the first Austrian flag at Solferino. In 1840, the Tenth Chasseurs-à-Pied were commanded by Patrice de MacMahon, then a major and afterwards Marshal of France and Duc de Magenta, and whose name is remembered by the corps in their march song:
"L' dixièm' batallion,
Commandant Mac-Mahon,
N'a pas peur du canon,
Nom de nom!"
The captured flag is of magenta colored silk, with a white St. Andrew's cross, on which the imperial eagle and the regimental insignia are embroidered in gold. The news that a German flag was being shown spread rapidly, and a large crowd gathered. There were no insulting remarks, merely quiet observation. Among the first to see the trophy were some school-children headed by their master, who explained the significance of the capture. The flag was taken to the Elysée Palace and shown to President Poincaré, who is himself a major of chasseurs-à-pied. It was afterwards placed in the Invalides.
General Michel, the Governor of Paris, has notified all places of public entertainment that their programmes must henceforth be submitted to the censors under pain of closure of the establishment.
Except for trifling drawbacks, inevitable in times like the present, Paris has little to complain of. There are everywhere signs of a gradual return to normal conditions. Among these is the reappearance of flowers on the costermongers' carts and at the kiosks. In the early stages of the mobilization, when many thousands of families were saying good-by to their men, no one had the heart to buy flowers, even had any supply been available. The conveyance to Paris of flowers grown in the neighborhood of the capital has now been reorganized, and roses and carnations are being sold on the main thoroughfares at normal prices.
Women and girl newspaper-sellers have become familiar figures in Paris, and their number is increasing steadily as the needs of the army are depriving more and more families of their bread-winners. A pathetic figure seen on the Boulevard des Italiens yesterday afternoon was a woman toiling along under the weight of a sleeping child about five years old, and calling her newspapers gently, so as not to wake him.
Tuesday, August 18.
Seventeenth day of mobilization. Cloudy weather with occasional patches of blue sky. Thermometer at five P.M. 17 degrees centigrade. Light northeasterly wind.
It is now for the first time officially announced that the British expeditionary force has safely landed in France and in Belgium. The transportation has been effected in perfect order, promptly on schedule time, and without the slightest hitch or casualty. British troops were everywhere received with immense enthusiasm. Not only have they landed at Ostend, Boulogne, and Havre, with all their field transports, but they have been taken up the Seine in steamers to Rouen, whence they were entrained on the strategic lines for Belgium. M.J.A. Picard, a young Frenchman, and his wife arrived from New York and reached Paris via Boulogne. M. Picard will join the army to-morrow as a reservist employed in the general staff. His wife will act as a correspondent of the Tribune in France. M. Picard said that Boulogne was full of British troops. They marched through the narrow streets of the city wearing their khaki uniforms, thousands upon thousands of them, roaring as they pass the new British war slogan: "Are we downhearted? No-o-o-o-o! Shall we win? Ye-e-e-e-e-s-s-s!" Then came an Irish regiment with their brown jolly faces beaming with fun, and singing: "It's a long way to Tipperary … It's a long way to go!" A Welsh battalion followed, whistling the "Marseillaise." The prettiest girls in every town throw flowers and kisses to these stalwart British lads. As soon as the order to break ranks is given, bevies of smiling lasses surround the troops, offering them sandwiches, fruit, wine, and flowers, and even kisses. There would be thousands of jealous girls in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales to-day if they could but witness the reception. Highland regiments wearing the kilt have stupendous success with the blushing young women of France.
From the seat of war in Belgium, and also in the North Sea, the same awful silence continues, and Parisians manifest growing impatience for the inevitable great battle. I went to the Ministry of War with M. and Mme. Picard, but no news of military importance was communicated.