T. P. C.-E.

London, October 1919.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Georges Duhamel, born 1884, poet, dramatist, and doctor of medicine. His poems include “Des Légendes,” “Des Batailles” (1907), “L’homme en Tête” (1909), “Selon ma loi” (1910), “Compagnons” (1912); and plays: “La Lumière” (played at the Odéon, 1911), “Dans l’ombre des Statues” (Odéon, 1912), “Le Combat” (Théâtre des Arts, 1913), “La plus grande joie” (Théâtre du Vieux Colombier); and several critical works on poetry. “Vie des Martyres,” 1917; “Possession du Monde” (Essays), 1918.

CONTENTS

PAGE
A FACE[7]
REVAUD’S ROOM[10]
ON THE SOMME FRONT[25]
RÉCHOUSSAT’S CHRISTMAS[61]
LIEUTENANT DAUCHE[68]
COUSIN’S PROJECTS[101]
THE LADY IN GREEN[108]
IN THE VINEYARD[116]
THE RAILWAY JUNCTION[123]
THE HORSE-DEALERS[137]
A BURIAL[150]
FIGURES[167]
DISCIPLINE[177]
CUIRASSIER CUVELIER[212]
CIVILISATION[231]

A FACE

A commanding and almost gracefully shaped brow, a look that was at once childish and profound, a dimpled chin, a rather flaunting moustache, a bitter expression about the laughing lips: that French face I shall never forget, though I saw it only for a second in the flickering light of a match.

It was an autumn night in 1916. The train which runs from Châlons to Sainte-Menehould was making its return journey, with all lights out. The Champagne front, on our left, was then calm, sunk in volcanic sleep: a sleep of nightmares, sudden alarms, and sharp flashes. We pierced the darkness, slowly crossing the wretched country, which seemed in our mind’s eye to be even more wretched and distorted by the hideous machinery of war. The little train, with cries of weariness, hobbled along with a rather hesitating gait, like a blind man traversing an accustomed road.

I was going back, my furlough being over. Feeling rather ill, I lay on the seat. Opposite me, three officers were chatting. Their voices were those of young men, but in military experience they were veterans. They were rejoining their regiment.