We got there early. Nearly all the old "Peloton" lot were to meet there that evening. The large room at the back had been put at our disposal. Punch was served to everyone. Toasts were drunk half as a rag. There was a tap-room atmosphere. Everyone was in uproarious spirits—feverish with the excitement of the departure which was so close at hand. A school-master named Groningaire started off with a song—he had a good voice—then some patriotic verses, while we sang the refrain in chorus.
Miquel went to the piano.
"Go it! Play us something!"
He was known to be a performer.
"What style do you want?"
"Oh, anything! Improvise something!"
"The 'Battle,' g-r-r-r-r-r and symphony!"
There was a general laugh. He sat down on the music stool.
"First part. Four o'clock in the morning."
His fingers raced over the keys. A running accompaniment in the bass suggested the army sleeping. A high note, the bugle call, suddenly burst forth followed instantaneously by shouts, the stir of troops[Pg 104] awakening and moving to and fro, and the neighing of horses....
"Bravo!"
Reminiscences no doubt of melodies he had composed or learnt. His rare skill soldered them into a sort of pot-pourri, which was at the same time both genial and burlesque. He jerked out the titles of motifs: the start at dawn, the approach of the enemy, the deployment, then the surprise of the first shots, the scattering, and the reply.... The pianist's fancy multiplied and expanded, painting an extraordinary picture. In the left hand, the cannon rumbled ceaselessly in hollow tones. In the treble a frenzy of staccato notes crackled like a fusillade. Between the two, smothered vociferations, and the trampling of the combatants could be distinguished. To end up with there was the charge, swelling harmonies, and a roar of glory and madness, throughout which fragments of the famous "La Goutte à boire!!!" recurred persistently.
Miquel paused. There was a burst of applause.
"Hush!" he said. "Wait for the day after...."
He struck a minor chord, succeeded by two or three others, equally lugubrious, a gloomy arpeggio strengthened the impression of mourning.... The day after! yes. There was a slight shudder. I recognised Beethoven's Funeral March.
"How idiotic! What are you playing that for?"
Denais had got up, and was drawing his hand across his forehead. Then embarrassed by our glances he forced a wry smile.
"Rotting apart, it's not exactly cheerful!"
A few backed him up. Others shrugged their shoulders. A discussion began which degenerated[Pg 105] into an uproar. Laraque took possession of the piano and romped through a "tango" which was applauded. Miquel was called upon again; but he refused point blank this time, and it was not very long before he left, perhaps because he was offended.
Then Guillaumin and I went to swell a group which had formed in a corner, round Fortin, who was holding forth.
A robust fellow, with an enormous forehead, and a clever, ugly face, he was repeating the lessons he had just brought back from Germany where he had been living for some time. His rich voice carried wonderfully, supported by his energetic gestures. A frequenter of public meetings and debating societies, one was tempted to forgive him if he was rather inclined to like the sound of his own voice, because he spoke well.
To begin with, however, I only half listened to him. He was enlarging upon the industrial qualities of that race, their method, and patience, and tenacity of purpose, their thoroughness in perfecting detail; on their moral virtues too, from which the others sprang.
This sort of thing had been overdone! However at such a time it assumed a striking note of unexpectedness and daring. This Frenchman obviously overflowed with sympathy, or at all events admiration for the foe he was about to face.... And not one of us protested.... What impartiality, I thought. Was it to our credit, or discredit?
I now followed the speaker's arguments with interest. He occasionally spoke so decidedly and precisely that I suspected him of dishing up for our benefit certain passages already composed for the work he was meditating.
[Pg 106]
On the other hand one had the feeling that one was not the dupe of a rhetorician. I was able when necessary to verify the exactitude of his statements by my own recollections.
Here he was sketching the portrait of the young German, steady and strong, accustomed from his earliest childhood to long walks with his pack on his back, his first attempts at warlike frolics, keen on swimming, shooting, and gymnastics, more sporting in reality than we were who had been won over to the rough games from over the channel. They were chaste too and had no false shame about admitting it; not exhausted, depraved, and indeed contaminated, as a result of the stupid dissipation which we appear to think necessary for our young men. I could see the companions of my excursions round Iéna again,—Otto Kra?mer, merry, affectionate, and untiring—and so virtuous—questioning me with an innocent smile, quite free of any suspicion of envy, on the pleasures of Paris.
Fortin showed us how war had become inevitable for these people. Since they were suffocating at home! They were a prolific race; that was their foremost merit. The necessity and also the capacity for expansion in a country which in forty years doubles its population! There was the fruitful young sap. To them belonged the future.
We were listening, silent and engrossed, leaning on our elbows.... Ladmiraut demanded some detail from time to time. He had pulled out his note-book. Guillaumin, who was beside me, seemed to be the only one who could not listen to this language without impatience; he strummed nervously on the marble table-top.
[Pg 107]
Fortin went on to say that over there it was the entire populace from the Kaiser down to the last of the beggars, who dreamt of the greater Germany.... The fateful hour had struck.... He reminded us of the saying where the five sons of the German family came to demand a share of his heritage from the only son of the French family. We certainly had no luck in just happening to be the neighbours and thus the picked adversaries of this terribly covetous race, and in holding so many rich provinces that they meant to annex again in the name of ancient traditions for the Germanic Empire! Any schoolboy coming from Germany would tell you of their ambitions. To begin with they must have what remained to us of Lorraine and Champagne and Flanders, they'd see about Burgundy and the Franche-Comté, when the occasion arose!
"Then you think we shall be beaten?" Guillaumin broke in harshly.
It was like a cold douche, we looked at each other. Fortin shrugged his broad shoulders.
"I'll tell you one thing, I think, and that is that we're fighting in a cause ... that is out of date. We no longer incarnate a great force worthy of existence. Our day is nearly done. Just think how long we have held the stage. Mark you, I do not say that our end will not be glorious. We are an old fighting race, we shall do wonders, I think, before succumbing. Nor do I say that our decline is not to be regretted in the superior interests of civilisation...."
"Then you see no hope of anything but decline and disappearance!"
Guillaumin's face was kindled, his big nose shone, his hand was clutching at a match stand.
[Pg 108]
"Sss...! I say. Chuck it at his head!" whispered Holveck.
Someone laughed, and there was a short relaxation.
I did not take my eyes off Fortin, wondering whether he would accept the challenge.
And he actually did! He made up his mind to it. It was a thankless task, he said, to go against all our prejudices and cherished illusions. But still, if he was driven to it.... And perhaps it would be better that we should realise what we were in for!...
"Yes, start away then!" Guillaumin exclaimed. "Tell us what you think and what you know!"
What he knew? The other protested that he was not admitted to the secrets of the gods, that he was lacking in the necessary technical knowledge concerning military matters, but that what he feared from certain reliable data, was the "kolossal" force—the word is laughable, not the thing it stands for—of this horde of invaders about to fall upon us. People in France reassured themselves by the aid of simplex calculations. They summarily compared the figures of the population, with the triumphant argument that the enemy must put so and so many men on the Russian front.... As if there was not an immense gulf fixed between the actual and the theoretical returns! As if it was not the vitality of the races that would have the last word! Or again, the total of Germany's effective forces was put at twenty-five corps against our twenty-one corps! Only another way of throwing dust in our eyes. Who suspected that on the two banks of the Rhine there were fifty or sixty corps, already complete with their full complement, ready to be set in motion at a sign and destined to be formed into twelve or fifteen formidable[Pg 109] armies. With them there was no waste of material; each individual had his own appointed place, the technicians in the factories; the smallest details were foreseen and provided for, the most recent discoveries in every sphere, exploited. The troops were young and sound, and their discipline was marvellous. Each soldier had his map and compass. Their uniform was far and away the least noticeable. Their equipment was faultless. Their heavy artillery unique (it would be our most unpleasant surprise!). They had adopted quite new principles for use in a?rial warfare.... What more was there? The best-regulated commissariat, propaganda among the neutrals, accomplices among their adversaries.... And then the spy system. Ah, yes! the spy system!
"Oh, magnificent!" muttered Guillaumin.
"I beg your pardon. As they wanted war, it was only right that they should be as well prepared for it as possible. One can't help admiring them for that!"
Guillaumin, still unconvinced, sneered:
"Oh, charming! There's nothing to be done then! And to-morrow a German Europe!"
Fortin having made a movement as if to say, "Why not?"............