THE CATHEDRAL
The notice had reached us at seven o'clock in the morning. At five
o'clock in the afternoon we arrived at St. Menehould, of which we saw
nothing but the station. At six we were in the train.
Just as it was getting under way--I was looking through the
ventilator--there was a sudden panic on the platform. Employees and
foremen began to run, flinging their arms up. What was it? There
was a noise, I understood. A Taube was flying over the station. The
men crowded to the doors. We had no time to distinguish anything. A
tremendous explosion flung us on top of each other, and a certain
number fell on to the floor of the waggon.
A bomb had just fallen thirty yards from us. There were instant yells
and a torrent of smoke. A waggon was pulverised on one of the adjacent
lines. Three men killed, and six wounded we heard. And two hours' delay
for us.
So we did not get away till night. The beginning of our misfortunes!
We had not been going twenty minutes, when we pulled up with a violent
jerk. An avalanche of rifles and packs--contusions and confusion.
The lantern was shivered, and went out. A chorus of imprecations
exploded in the darkness. We struck some matches. No serious damage
done. Prunelle's face was bleeding, and his glasses were broken. He
had a splinter of glass at the edge of his eyelashes. He was lucky. He
might have lost an eye.
And outside? We leant out. Shadows were swarming on the ballast, some
limping, others frightened. Bouchut had been sent for and came up in a
fury shouting at the top of his voice. An orderly was standing in front
of each waggon inquiring in a surly voice:
"Any casualties here?"
A commonplace stoppage. The tail carriages had turned over, and the
last one which contained among other things the officers' equipments
was reduced to atoms, to the great glee of the men.
"We'll lend 'em our tooth-brushes!" said Judsi.
They were not so delighted about it, when they heard that some more men
had been killed there, four or five apparently, including Sépot, the
chief laboratory man, a good sort, whom everybody loved.
"If this sorter thing goes on," Lamalou said, "there won't be many of
us by the time we gets to Paris!"
The stoppage was prolonged. I got out and walked up and down for a
little while. The sky was overcast, and there was no moon. I got back.
Our train hooted dismally in the darkness, like a ship in distress.
I fell asleep, and we started off again, and went bumping drowsily on
our way.
* * * * *
We woke up at dawn to find we had halted again, and were not to go on
for an hour at least. The cooks were getting coffee ready. There was
an autumnal feeling in the air. It was bitterly cold, and we stamped
our feet. It was a characteristic landscape, with its billows of bald
hillocks studded with little woods of conventional shapes.... The
surroundings of the Camp de Châlons.
De Valpic was shivering and stayed in his waggon. Guillaumin said to me
below his breath:
"I wonder--if I'm dreaming?"
"Why?"
"I thought I heard...."
"Well?"
"Firing!"
I listened attentively. No, there was nothing. I chaffed him on his
hallucinations! Was he profiting by Ravelli's teaching? Firing indeed!
An excellent joke! We had left the enemy more than a hundred and thirty
miles behind.
Guillaumin did not persist. The time which had been fixed passed by.
Then we were told that we should be there for another two hours.
I left the railway lines and went off into the open fields.
I noticed that our convoy was not the only one which had been stopped
there. The black line stretched away as far as eye could see, bordered
with a swarm of uniforms, and smoking bonfires. The line was badly
blocked.
As I had plenty of time before me, the idea occurred to me of climbing
the nearest hill. I followed a chalky path.
I had imagined that this crest was quite near by, and that I should
reach it without any difficulty. I only breasted it after twenty
minutes of breathless climbing.
* * * * *
A violent north wind lashed me, up there, and dried my perspiration.
A vast panorama lay before me: a series of desolate-looking humps
covered the ground, some of them bristling with vine poles, supporting
the good Champagne grapes. I took my bearings. Just to the south,
I made out the blue ridge of the more important hills, a sort of
promontory where I thought an army might have got a good hold. I
turned towards the west, a lifeless, colourless stretch of country.
The railway line with its telegraph posts disappeared between two low
hillocks on that side.
But I thought I could make out the haze and dust rising from a big
town. Yes--when I looked harder--there was a purple phantom, the
silhouette of a building, hardly discernible in the mist, which little
by little grew more distinct--those towers superb in their grace and
strength. In my wonder, I named it aloud--Rheims Cathedral.
By some strange chance I had forgotten that this Presence was so near
at hand, though on getting into the train that day before, I had
vaguely hoped that fate might lead us to it.
My veneration for this most sacred of all shrines dated from my
earliest childhood when I had admired a picture of it reproduced in my
prayer-book. Abbé Ygonel, my first teacher, had sung the praises of its
magnificent harmony in striking terms. I had made of this erection the
centre round which gravitated the whole of our history, enchanting as a
legend.
I had only once been to see it. I had gone to Rheims for a football
match, and before and after the game had left my comrades, and had gone
all alone to reflect on the faith which reared the poem of this portal
and these towers.
I unconsciously picked up the thread of that meditation again now. The
coronation cathedral! It was there that all the kings whose names were
landmarks in our annals, from Philippe-Auguste to Louis XVI. had come,
with bowed heads, to receive at the hands of holy men the crown and the
unction which made them more than men.
Detached from the present, I once more began to rejoice at this
glorious realisation--when my meditation was disturbed by an almost
imperceptible wave of sound--a distant echo. A storm beginning or
ending? I considered the sky. It was clear and serene. Again there
was a stifled rumble. This time I ceased to entertain any doubts.
Guillaumin's ears had not played him false. My heart contracted at the
first echoes of firing to awaken Champagne. I listened. I wanted to
find out ... the pale horizon guarded its secret. I looked again. The
bewildering part of it was that this rumbling seemed to come not from
the borders of Argonne, where we had left our trail only yesterday, but
from the opposite direction, stretching westwards towards Paris. Was
the enemy there? Could it be possible? Already barring this route!
I had mechanically turned my eyes towards the cathedral again. What
was I seeking? I believe it was help and comfort, from thee, the
representative city,--vision worthy of exalting us.
Why, on the contrary, did this unbounding sadness worm its way into my
heart?
What did this proud edifice declare? The power of Royalty, the glory
of the Catholicism.... The soul of ancient France, which was incarnate
in these living stones, had crumbled more quickly in the blast of
modern thought, than they had in the wear and tear of time. What bound
us, the sons of the twentieth century, to these traditions for which
our ancestors had lived, and piously lavished themselves in such
attestations?
Other thoughts obsessed me. Rheims, the heart of the country. This
city, which held such an illustrious place in our annals, to-day was
threatened, almost lost. How many of our ancient possessions had lately
fallen into the hands of the enemy? In 1871, Strassburg and Metz. This
time the downfall was more rapid--Flanders and Artois, Picardy, so many
treasures and marvels, our patrimony of art and land. The impious tide
was advancing. And what fate awaited these august arches, under which
our princes had prostrated themselves, the nave which had echoed to the
sublime chants of our religion? Would they become a Lutheran church
which we should be allowed to look over for the consideration of a few
pfennigs? Or was there a worse fate in store for them? I dared not put
it into words ... the crushing presentiment of ravage and crime, fire
and sword, devastating this miracle of human hands. I only know that
filling my consciousness with the gorgeous picture I secretly bid it
farewell.
What was to be done? Resist? No doubt. But so many legions had burst
from the Germanic reservoirs. What if it was the barbarians' turn to
spread across this corner of the world? An unwavering law--why not?
France would perhaps die away--the most civilised nation, ruined by her
intelligence, by her scepticism revolting against that which had formed
her grandeur. I glanced at the string of stationary trains below.
Should we ever get any farther? Were we not more likely to fight where
we were? An ironical fate to perish in sight of these towers, symbols
of our whilom virtue, of our repudiated creed!
It must be noticed that I was still convinced that we should all do our
utmost duty. We should merit the respect of those who would build on
our ruins. I closed my eyes. I almost wished that the hour of our noble
passing would strike as soon as possible. It seemed to me that, wounded
to the death, I might have closed my eyes, unregretfully, on my race
and on myself since we had achieved our destiny.
And yet compunction pursued me among these gloomy speculations. Where
was my dauntlessness of yesterday? Why did I suddenly flinch? I sought
for the torches which lit up my path. A dazzling beacon stood forth: My
love! Jeannine--Jeannine! I still adored her, but what fears interposed
themselves, chilling my hope. I counted the days, how many was it, five
or six, since I had heard from her. Our one chance of happiness was
exposed to so many risks.
What was happening over there? If there were strikes and riots, and the
attendant train of outrages? A fair-haired victim...! Would not our
future fall to pieces with the future of our nation? Or again--other
thoughts assailed me. The turgid surge of uncertainty. Had I deceived
myself? Had I not relied too much on a few friendly letters? Had the
exalted tone of my missives suddenly alarmed her?
And then I took pity on myself. So that was the only cause of my
depression. The delay in our correspondence. But was there any one
round me, never mind who it was, more favoured than I? I tried in vain
to bring about a reaction.
I went back into the valley. Guillaumin was watching for me and greeted
me by asking:
"Well, are you convinced now?"
Yes, it certainly was firing. It could be heard quite distinctly. The
men had recognised it, and seemed exhilarated by it.
Judsi announced:
"Boom! There now! We missed the band!"
Primitive souls, who did not know what anxiety was.