The presentation of the Colours was announced for three o'clock. We would willingly have dispensed with climbing up to the parade-ground! Goodness knows I was not looking forward to the ceremony. Our company was the last to arrive. A major wearing an eye-glass, urged his horse past us. He was an insolent, bloated-looking creature, with a sallow complexion, and greeted our company officer with a bitter-sweet remark which the latter, to my delight, acknowledged in the same tone.
The colonel appeared. He was quite white, although still young, a cavalier of imperious bearing. With his manly face and his moustache he reminded one strongly of "Dumény" in La Flambée.
He rode slowly up and down among our ranks. Chests were thrown out at his approach. He made a few remarks in a firm but kindly tone. Then the order was given to the two battalions to close up into a semi-circle.
Controlling his mount, the colonel looked round on us proudly, and began to harangue us.
I listened. I had come in a sarcastic frame of mind. What could he say that would not be stale or commonplace?
[Pg 126]
Indeed I had foreseen this issue of ready-made phrases on the decisive importance of the struggle upon which we were embarking; it was a question of safeguarding our country and our lives against a nation which was becoming a menace to the human race.... But the inflections of a manly voice conferred a certain grandeur on the hackneyed theme.
"A fine actor," I repeated to myself. "More and more like Dumény!"
I tried, like this, to avoid being carried away, then I began to give in. I admitted that a certain beauty resulted from the perfect harmony between his words and their object. I read in the men's face the revelation of a virtue, until now unknown even to them. For the first time I had the intuition that these peasants and working-men and bourgeois, for the most part doltish, narrow-minded beings, would, if certain chords in them were touched, be capable of great things....
And what about me? Oh! I should be an on-looker as usual! That would be quite enough for me.
The colonel concluded:
"Now, my friends, you are about to march past your Colours. They are new, they have not been under fire, they do not bear the names of glorious victories in their folds like their seniors of the 1st.... Well, it is for us to dower them."
A thrill ran through the ranks, then the whole mass stood like stone. The bugles sounded the vehement, tragic call which always shakes me physically.
We marched rapidly in column of fours up towards the bugles which called and guided us with their heroic flourish. I suddenly wished I could shed my egoism and vibrate in unison with the two thousand men, who, in this hour, were being consecrated my brothers in[Pg 127] arms. I flogged my imagination. The Colours. The word echoed within me, awakening a procession of sacred memories and emotions. I could see myself as a child at the window with my mother leaning over me, clapping my hands to salute the standard of the "8th Cuirassiers" in front of which rode my father, very upright on his big black horse. At that time I used to revel in the many tales of heroes who let themselves be killed rather than abandon the staff, or expended a prodigious amount of cunning in order to save the remnants of it.
Were not these Colours the emblem of the country we had risen to defend, the symbol of everything that could raise our soldiers' hearts? My bosom swelled at these thoughts. We were drawing nearer to it; I fixed ardent eyes on it....
It was certainly beautiful, half unfurled in the breeze, with its rich fresh tints and fringe of gold. A sub-lieutenant, looking very pale and proud, was holding it firmly against his hip.
The din of the bugles increased, filling our hearts.... We passed by....
And yet no! No! My ... irreverence rebelled. To become excited over this tinsel, these few yards of painted stuff! Had I hoped for this thing? I had not yet got so far!
Our last evening—strict confinement to barracks.............