"But," added the captain, "look at the French soldiers at Verdun. One
had a helmet, one a hat, some were bareheaded; some had new rifles,
some old rifles, and some only a bayonet and revolver. When they were
within ten rods of the German trench they lifted up their bayonets and
sent out their battle cry, and hearing the hoarse voices, the Germans
flung away their guns, climbed out of their trenches, ran like rabbits
and bellowed like bulls; that night when the French division came
home for supper, they brought ten thousand Germans along with them.
You can't beat the French--they are fighting for their native land."
That is a reason, but it is not _the_ reason. The reason is this--the
Frenchman counts himself dead already. If he survives to-day's battle,
he says, The morrow will give me another chance to die for God and
beautiful France. The Frenchman never knows when he is defeated, and
therefore he cannot be beaten.
One day a lawyer from Paris came to the front to bring Jean a message
from a cousin. "The Americans have come, the Latin Quarter is reviving,
the shops are reopening, and your cousin offers to take down the
shutters that have been up for three years and try to make a little
money to take care of you if you are wounded, and have it ready for you
when you return." Jean shook his head,--he was not interested. He said
that he never expected to return; that his cousin must take the shop,
that everything therein was hers; that he asked only to die for France.
The lawyer could not reason with him, and so the attorney hastily wrote
out a paper, giving the cousin full power to act as if the property
were hers, and then the French soldier hurried back to the trenches,
having no time for even a farewell. If to-day every civilized city and
country looks with contempt upon Germany, and thinks of her as a wild
beast let loose to rend the white flesh of humanity, every country in
the world hails France, and admires and loves her for her chivalry, her
heroism, her fortitude and her faith.