Motoring on to St. Justin, we plunged into an immense forest broken only now and then by small clearings and extending for nearly sixty miles to the lumber town of Casteljaloux. Woodland depths shut out the view. Mile followed mile of dark pines and somber perspective, an endless succession of dim forest glades. The sappers were at their work, peeling the bark from the long trunks and attaching small earthenware cups to catch the resinous gum. The road was so easy and smooth that we did not find it difficult to take notes. From the lumber yards of Casteljaloux was blown the fragrant odor of fresh-sawn pine. Bright sunshine flooded the wide-open country. The freedom of the fields was around us again. Here and there a maple showed the first gorgeous colors of autumn.
In the enjoyment of these peaceful scenes we ran unexpectedly through an encampment of French soldiers. The army was getting ready for the autumn maneuvers. Rifles were stacked, and heavy accouterments deposited on the grass. There were three or four large Paris omnibuses transformed into kitchens, motor-propelled and equal to a speed of twenty miles an hour. Soldiers and officers watched us curiously, almost suspiciously. Our notebooks were hastily put aside. To be detected taking notes from a German motor car in a French encampment might have had unpleasant consequences, or at least subjected us to serious inconvenience. One of the officers took our number; another "snapped" us with a camera, but there was no attempt to interfere with our progress.
The infantry wore long blue coats and red trousers. One wonders why the French army, otherwise so scientifically equipped, should have such showy uniforms. If France went to war to-morrow, her soldiers would be at a great disadvantage. These uniforms would be a conspicuous target at the farthest rifle range. All other modern armies, like those of Germany, England, or Italy, have adopted the "invisible" field dress. But in France the colors have not changed from the blue and red of Napoleon's soldiers. A few years ago the War Minister Berteaux tried to introduce a uniform of green material. His efforts were without success; the old color tradition was too strong. A French officer commented as follows: "The French army is one of the most routine-bound in Europe. In some things, like flying, we have a lead, because civilians have done all the preliminary work, but in purely military matters, like uniforms, officialdom delays reform at every turn. It was not until 1883 that we gave up wearing the gaiters and shoes of Napoleon's time, and took to boots like other armies." Even the officers whom we saw from our motor car were dressed in scarlet and gold, red breeches, and sky-blue tunics with gold braid.
A little farther on we passed several motor cars filled with French officers; just behind them came a dozen Berliet trucks of a heavy military type, loaded with meat and ammunition. These are the times of motor war. The automobile has revolutionized the old method of food supply. The long, slow train of transport wagons, unwieldy and drawn by horses, has been replaced by swift motor trucks. The French army is unsurpassed in mechanical equipment. No effort has been spared to give the army the full benefit of technical and scientific improvements. This year, for the first time, the Paris motor omnibuses are serving as meat-delivery vans. With this innovation, the army can have fresh meat every morning, instead of the canned meats of other years. The supply stations can be, in safety, thirty miles from the front, and yet remain in effective communication with the troops. France is in grim earnest. The army is ready and competent. The terrible lessons of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 have been learned.
A French officer with whom we conversed on the subject of the French and German armies, spoke of the superiority of the French artillery over German guns in the recent Balkan war. He said that the French were counting upon their great advantage in this respect to offset the German superiority in numbers. Commenting on the wish of the Kaiser to visit Paris, he was quite sure that the Kaiser would never repeat the performance of his grandfather, Emperor William I, and arrive in Paris at the head of the German army.
Copyright by Underwood & Underwood
A miracle of Gothic splendor
Our lunch in Marmande reminded us of a banquet, but we were not yet French enough to do full justice to three kinds of meat. France is essentially a country of fields and gardens. How we looked forward to every déjeuner and every dîner so bountifully spread with the famous products of her soil! The cuisine of these small towns would not suffer in comparison with the hotels of larger cities. One is served more generously for half the price, and the cooking is just as good.
A delightful succession of little foreign touches brightened the ride from Marmande,—the sluggish bullock carts, and vineyards interspersed with tobacco fields, small churches with bell cotes guarded by solemn, century-old cypress trees; or perhaps it was an old Gothic house or an ancient gateway with a piece of mediæval wall still clinging to it. In one village we saw bizarre stores, where the doorway and window were one. This must be a survival of Roman times, because we had seen the same thing in Pompeii. We were quickly called back from antiquity, however, by the cement telegraph poles which lined the road for some miles. It was a surprise to see such evidence of progress in a region where the years leave so few traces of their march.