One curious but unimportant little coincidence in a day in which there is no great action to report: A week ago, I mentioned a curious scene in Beauvais, when through the silent, desolate town suddenly echoed the continuous blare of a horn, and a motor with two Prussian officers flashed through. Ten minutes later another car passed us on the outskirts of the town. This contained two other Germans, but this time prisoners under guard being carried back to Rouen. The cars did not meet! The first car had an odd coloured wheel. Near Longport to-day I saw it again, wrecked by the roadside, the odd wheel high in the air.
As I looked out from the trees on the edge of the high plateau, the flat green valley of the Aisne looked untenanted, peaceful. For the present our cavalry have been naturally not in much better condition than the Germans. We have been unable to surround or outmarch to an extent that could convert repulse into serious defeat. They are far enough away, at any rate, to reassure Paris. "Plus à Paris—plus à Paris!" It is almost a tragic picture now—that of William II. watching on the hill by Nancy, in his white cloak and silver helmet; the man who has been swayed by every psychic wave, romantic, religious, military, until he has brought an Empire tottering to the brink of ruin. Lohengrin above Babylon: the self-chosen emissary of an imagined providence looking out on the mirage of his promised land.
On the Oise and the Somme
The armies were now fast locked along the Aisne. The varying fortunes of the first week made them impossible of approach. It was of interest to discover what was taking place on the German right and rear, where the position was still obscure, and the line of battle still indefinite and, therefore, easier of access.
Amiens, Thursday.
They are in touch again, and the German right is being enveloped.
It called for a long stroke from Paris to pass the wheeling left wing, for it was needful to avoid disturbing the intervening armies.