At his Headquarters next morning I had the honour of being
received by Generalissimo Joffre and telling him of the admiration
and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting
spirit of the troops under his able command. He replied modestly
by speaking of the British army. He referred to the offensive on the
Somme, and said, "You may well be proud of your young soldiers;
they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the Germans in every
way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the Germans hand to
hand with grenades or with the bayonet and push them back
everywhere; the Germans have been absolutely stupefied to find
such troops before them." The General then paid a tribute to the
Canadian and Australian troops and told me that that day the
Australians had taken new territory, adding, "And not only have
they taken it, but, like their British and Canadian brothers, what
they take they will hold."
I explained to General Joffre that, whilst I was not collecting
autographs, I had with me the menu of the dinner in the Citadel at
Verdun and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name
added to the signatures already on that menu. All the signatures
were on one side, so I turned the menu over in order to offer him a
clear space, but he turned it back again, saying, "Please let me
sign on this side. I find myself in good company with the defenders
of Verdun."
At departing he said to me, "We may all be happy now since
certainly we are on the right side of the hill." ("Nous sommes sur la
bonne pente.")
In case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who
has spent her time working for the men at the Front, I would like to
tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter
what they contain. Fraternity and Equality reign supreme in the
trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little
more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of
sharing his store of good things with his comrades. There is
seldom a request made to the French behind the lines that they do
not attempt to fulfil. I remember last winter, passing through a town
in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared to be
scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. It appeared
that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the
worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul
coats. Only those who are well acquainted with French provincial
life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of
opulence and commercial success.
It is perhaps in the Post Offices that you find yourself nearest to
the heart of "France behind the lines."
One morning I endeavoured to send a parcel to a French soldier. I
took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same
errand. A white-haired woman before me gave the Post Office
Clerk infinite trouble. They are not renowned for their patience and
I marvelled at his gentleness until he explained. "Her son died five
weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels."
To another old lady he pointed out that she had written two
numbers on the parcel. "You don't want two numbers, Mother.
Which is your boy's number? Tell me and I will strike out the
other." "Leave them both," she answered. "Who knows whether
my dear lad will be there to receive the parcel. If he is not, I want it
to go to some other Mother's son."
Affection means much to these men who are suffering, and they
respond at once to any sympathy shown to them. One man informed
us with pride that when he left his native village he was "decked
like an altar of the Blessed Virgin on the first of May." In
other words, covered with flowers.
There are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who have no
families to write to them receive letters and parcels from the
Godmothers who have adopted them. The men anxiously await
the news of their adopted relatives and spend hours writing replies.
They love to receive letters, but, needless to say, a parcel is even
more welcome.
I remember seeing one man writing page after page. I suggested
to him that he must have a particularly charming Godmother.
"Mademoiselle," he replied, "I have no time for a Godmother since
I myself am a Godfather." He then explained that far away in his
village there was a young assistant in his shop, "And God knows
the boy loves France, but both his lungs are touched, so they
won't take him, but I write and tell him that the good God has given
me strength for two, that I fight for him and for myself, and that we
are both doing well for France." I went back in imagination to the
village. I could see the glint in the boy's eyes, realised how the
blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the
personal pronoun "I" in the singular, but the plural "We are doing
well for France." For one glorious moment he was part of the hosts
of France and in spirit serving his Motherland. It is that spirit of the
French nation that their enemies will never understand.
On one occasion a young German officer, covered with mud from
head to foot, was brought before one of the French Generals. He
had been taken fighting cleanly, and the General was anxious to
show him kindness. He asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse
himself before examination. The young German drew himself up
and replied: "Look at me, General. I am covered from head to foot
with mud, and that mud is the soil of France--you will never
possess as much soil in Germany." The General turned to him
with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in
France and answered: "Monsieur, we may never possess as
much soil in Germany, but there is something that you will never
possess, and, until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish France,
and that is the spirit of the French people."
The French find it difficult to understand the arrogance which
appears ingrained in the German character and which existed
before the War.
I read once that in the guests' book of a French hotel a Teutonic
visitor wrote:
"L'AIlemagne est la premiere nation du monde."
The next French visitor merely added:
"Yes, 'Allemagne is the first country of the world' if we take them in
alphabetical order."