What a change had come over these men who, people feared, were ripe for revolt, undisciplined, and reckless! What kindness and grace in the women who stay at home and suffer! An old railwayman said to me: "It has been like that, Sir, from the first day of the mobilisation. These girls pass their days and nights at the station. It is really very good of them, for they won't make anything by it." The old working man was right: "They won't make anything by it." And yet I am sure that many soldiers who have passed that station on their way to the Front will keep the same grateful remembrance that I still have. I shall never forget the group of girls in white on the sunny platform of the little station; I shall never forget the simple grace with which they prevailed upon the men to accept the good things they offered and even forced upon them. I thanked them as best I could, but awkwardly enough, trying to interpret the thoughts of all those soldiers. And when the train had started again on its panting course, I felt sorry I had not been more eloquent in my speech; that I had already forgotten the name of the little station, and never thought of asking the names of our benefactresses.
We were now getting near the fighting zone, and I already felt that there was a change in the state of mind of the people. They still called out to us: "Good luck!... Good luck!" But earlier in the day this greeting had been given with smiles and merry gestures; now it was uttered in a serious and solemn tone. At the station gates and the level crossings, the eyes of the women who looked at us were more sad and profound. They fixed themselves upon ours, and seemed to speak to us. And even when their lips did not move their eyes still said "Good luck!... Good luck!"
We saw motor cars rushing along the roads, and could distinguish the armbands on the men's sleeves, and rifles in the cars or lying in the hoods. And yet daily life was going on as usual. There were workers in the fields, tradespeople on the doorsteps of their shops, groups of peasants just outside the hamlets. But yet a peculiar state of mind was evident in each one of these people who were going on with their daily work. And all these accumulated cares, all these stirred imaginations, produced a strange atmosphere which infected everything, seemed to impregnate the air we breathed, and quenched the gaiety of the men in our train. Wattrelot and I were overcome by a kind of religious emotion; we felt as though we were already breathing the air of battle.
At about six o'clock we arrived at the station of L., where the train stopped for a few minutes. The platforms were crowded with Staff officers. A soldier assured me that the chief Headquarters were here. I wanted to question some one and try to get some authoritative information as to what was happening at the Front. It seemed to me that I had a right to know, now that I was on the point of becoming one of the actors in the tragedy in progress a few leagues off. But directly I came up to these officers I felt my assurance fail me. They looked disturbed and anxious. There was none of that merry animation that had reigned in the interior and that I had expected to find everywhere.
And then a strange and ridiculous fear came over me; the fear of being looked upon as an intruder by these well-informed men who knew everything. I imagined that they would spurn me with scorn, or that I should cause them pain by forcing them to tell me truths people do not like to repeat. It also occurred to me that I was too insignificant a person to confront men so high in office, and that I should appear importunate if I disturbed their reflections. But I was now quite sure that the official announcements had not told us all. Without having heard one word, I felt that things were not going so well as we had hoped, as every day in our little town in the west we tried passionately to divine the truth, devouring the few newspapers that reached us.
A pang shot through me. I now felt alone and lost amongst these men who seemed strangers to me. Crossing the rails, I got back to our train, drawn up at some distance from the platforms. The sun was on the horizon. In the red sky two monoplanes passed over our heads at no great height. The noise of their engines made everybody look up. They were flying north. And I felt a desire to rush upwards and overtake one of them and take my seat close to the pilot, behind the propeller which was spinning round and sending the wind of its giddy speed into his face. I longed to be able to lift myself into the air above the battlefields, and there, suspended in space, try to make out the movements of the clashing nations.
I resolved to have a talk with the engine-driver of a train returning to Paris empty. He told me in a few words that the French army was retreating rapidly, that it had already recrossed the Belgian frontier, and that at that moment it was fighting on French soil. He told me this simply, with a touch of sadness in his voice, shaking his head gently. He added no comments of his own, and I did not feel equal to any reply. Full of foreboding, I returned to my train and Wattrelot. He had heard what the engine-driver had told me, and he said not a word, but looked out into the distance at the fiery sky. We sat down side by side and said nothing.
So we were retreating. Then all our calculations and dreams were shattered. All the fine plans we officers had sketched out together were folly. We were wasting time when, bending over our maps, we foresaw a skilful advance on the heels of Belgium's invaders, followed by a huge victory, dearly bought, perhaps, but one that would upset the German Colossus at a single blow. The whole thing was an illusion. And I thought what a fool I had been. I thought of my regiment. How much of it was there left? How many of those good fellows were lying dead on foreign soil? How many friends should I never see again? For I imagined things to be worse than they really were. I felt absolutely despondent. What my mind conjured up was no longer a retreat in good order but a rout.
The train had begun to move again. The sun had set, and over the horizon there was but a streak of pale yellow sky lighting up the country. I sat down in the open doorway with my legs dangling outside, and as I breathed the first few whiffs of fresh air I felt somewhat relieved. The calm around was such as to make one forget that we were at war. Darkness came on by degrees.
Suddenly my heart began to beat faster, and I rose with a nervous movement. Wattrelot too had started up from the straw he had been lying on. We both exclaimed in one breath: "Cannon!" It was a mere distant growl, hardly audible, and yet it was distinct enough to be a subdued accompaniment to the thousand noises a train makes as it goes along. We could not distinguish the shots, but gradually the dull sound became louder and seemed to be wafted towards us by a gust of air. Then it seemed to be further off again, and almost to die away, and again to get louder. There is no other earthly sound like it. A thunderstorm as it dies away is the only thing that could suggest the impression we felt. It sends a kind of shiver all over the surface of the body. Even our horses felt it. Their three heads were raised uneasily, their eyes shone in the twilight, and they snorted noisily through their dilated nostrils.