One little boy had his bicycle to follow the flight, another a pair of opera glasses. But look around in the sky as I might, I could see nothing. Then a little boy, this one about six or seven years old, pulled my coat. "Straight up, madame; straight up, over my head!" That's how they frightened our little kiddies!
The next day I was passing through a thickly populated neighbourhood over which they had been flying for an hour. Suddenly a child bolted out of a house as fast as it could go. But his mother caught him and administered two resounding slaps. "I told you to stay in the house." "Ah," protested the urchin, "ye don't only keep me from seein' de tobe, but cher lick me in der bargain."
These are trifles, will perhaps be said. Do you think so? Nothing is small that reveals the immortal soul of a people. And we found it so everywhere. Don't lose patience with me if I speak without order. My words resemble the days I am living. They have a unity, however, as from them always shines forth the trials, the smiles, the bravery of my country.
V—"THEY ARE ALL DEAD NOW"
What have I seen?... I saw a white glove stained with a gray spot and a brown spot. Here is its history. When war was declared all the young students of the Saint Cyr Army School were promoted second lieutenants. Their average age was about twenty years. How happy they were to fight for France. But to fight was not enough. They must do it with grace, with style, carelessly, according to French traditions. They all swore, those boys, to go to the first battle wearing white gloves. They kept their word. But the white gloves made them a mark for the ambushed sharpshooters. They are all dead. The glove I saw belonged to one of them. The gray spot is of brain—the brown spot is blood. Piously this relic was brought to the mother of the dead young man. This special one was only nineteen years old.
And let us not think that it was a useless sacrifice. It is well that in the beginning of this war of surprises, mud and shadow, some of our children died in the light, facing the enemy, and facing the sun, for the good renown of French allegiance.
What I have seen ... Yesterday I received a letter. It came from a sergeant in the Argonne, an uneducated workman. Here it is, with the spelling and punctuation corrected:
"Madame, thanks for letting me know that my wife has had a little girl. But do not think I am worried. We love our families, but our duty is to love our country first. And if I do, those at home will be taken care of, I know it, madame.
"I'm going to tell you something you'll be glad to hear, not at the beginning, but you'll see at the end. A couple of weeks ago we lost a trench and almost everybody was massacred, including our commander. I escaped with a few more of my men. From our new trench we could see the bodies of our comrades and officers down there. The worst of it was that the Germans would get behind them to shoot at us. Ah, that all those Frenchmen, dead for their country, were made to protect the enemy! I couldn't look at that. So here's what I did. I said to my men, 'I'm going for them, but if I stay there I don't want my body to be made a rampart. Tie a rope around my body and if you see I'm done for, pull me back by it.' At first things went all right. I got back three of our comrades' corpses. But the Germans began to see something was up. To mix them up I ordered a feint on the right—another on the left. I kept on.