We left Paris determined to undertake the journey to the Front in
the true spirit of the French Poilu, and, no matter what happened,
"de ne pas s'en faire." This famous "motto" of the French Army is
probably derived from one of two slang sentences, de ne pas se
faire des cheveux ("to keep one's hair on,") or de ne pas se faire
de la bile, or, in other words, not to upset one's digestion by
unnecessary worrying. The phrase is typical of the mentality of the
Poilu, who accepts anything and everything that may happen,
whether it be merely slight physical discomfort, or intense
suffering, as part of the willing sacrifice which he made on the day
that, leaving his homestead and his daily occupation, he took up
arms "offering his body as a shield to defend the heart of France."
Everything might be worse than it is, says the Poilu, and so he has
composed a Litany. Every regiment has a different version, but
always with the same basis.
"Of two things one is certain: Either you're mobilised or you're not
mobilised. If you're not mobilised, there is no need to worry; if you
are mobilised, of two things one is certain: Either you're behind the
lines or you're on the Front. If you're behind the lines there is no
need to worry; if you're on the Front, of two things one is certain:
Either you're resting in a safe place or you're exposed to danger. If
you're resting in a safe place there is no need to worry; if you're
exposed to danger, of two things one is certain: Either you're
wounded or you're not wounded. If you're not wounded, there is no
need to worry; if you are wounded, of two things one is certain:
Either you're wounded seriously or you're wounded slightly. If
you're wounded slightly there is no need to worry; if you're
wounded seriously, of two things one is certain: Either you recover
or you die. If you recover there is no need to worry; if you die you
can't worry."
When once past the "Wall of China," as the French authorities call
the difficult approaches to the war zone, Meaux was the first town
of importance at which we stopped. We had an opportunity to
sample the army bread, as the driver of a passing bread wagon
flung a large round loaf into our motor.
According to all accounts received from the French soldiers who
are in the prison camps of Germany, one of the greatest hardships
is the lack of white bread, and they have employed various
subterfuges in the endeavour to let their relatives know that they
wish to have bread sent to them.
Some of the Bretons writing home nickname bread "Monsieur
Barras," and when there was a very great shortage they would
write to their families: "Ce pauvre Monsieur Barras ne se porte pas
tres bien a present." (M. Barras is not very well at present.) Finally
the Germans discovered the real significance of M. Barras and
they added to one of the letters: "Si M. Barras ne se porte pas tres
bien a present c'est bien la faute de vos amis les Anglais." (If M.
Barras is not well at present, it is the fault of your friends the
English.) And from then all the letters referring to M. Barras
were strictly suppressed.
While the German Press may not be above admitting a shortage
of food in Germany, it seriously annoys the Army that the French
prisoners or the French in the invaded regions should hear of it. I
heard one story of the wife of a French officer in Lille, who was
obliged to offer unwilling hospitality to a German Captain, who, in a
somewhat clumsy endeavour to be amiable, offered to try to get
news of her husband and to convey it to her. Appreciating the
seeming friendliness, of the Captain, she confided to him that she
had means of communicating with her husband who was on the
French Front. The Captain informed against her and the next day
she was sent for by the Kommandantur, who imposed a fine of fifty
francs upon her for having received a letter from the enemy lines.
Taking a one hundred franc note from her bag she placed it on the
desk, saying, "M. le Kommandantur, here is the fifty francs fine,
and also another fifty francs which I am glad to subscribe for the
starving women and children in Berlin." "No one starves in Berlin,"
replied the Kommandantur. "Oh, yes, they do," replied Madame X.,
"I know because the Captain who so kindly informed you that I had
received a letter from my husband showed me a letter the other
day from his wife in which she spoke of the sad condition of the
women and children of Germany, who, whilst not starving, were far
from happy." Thus she not only had the pleasure of seriously
annoying the Kommandantur, but also had a chance to get even
with the Captain who had informed against her, and who is no
longer in soft quarters in Lille, but paying the penalty of his
indiscretion by a sojourn on the Yser.