We were met at a poste de commandement by the officers in
charge, who were waiting for us. And later we found that we were
always thus met. The highest officer present--General, Colonel, or
Commandant--was at every place at our disposition to explain
things--and to explain them with that clarity of which the French
alone have the secret and of which a superlative example exists in
the official report of the earlier phases of the war, offered to the
Anglo-Saxon public through Reuter. Automobiles and chauffeurs
abounded for our small party of four. Never once at any moment of
the day, whether driving furiously along somewhat deteriorated
roads in the car, or walking about the land, did I lack a Staff officer
who produced in me the illusion that he was living solely in order to
be of use to me. All details of the excursions were elaborately
organised; never once did the organisation break down. No pre-
Lusitania American correspondent could have been more spoiled by
Germans desperately anxious for his goodwill than I was spoiled by
these French who could not gain my goodwill because they had the
whole of it already. After the rites of greeting, we walked up to the
high terrace of a considerable chateau close by, and France lay
before us in a shimmering vast semicircle. In the distance, a low
range of hills, irregularly wooded; then a river; then woods and
spinneys; then vineyards--boundless vineyards which climbed in
varying slopes out of the valley almost to our feet. Far to the left was
a town with lofty factory chimneys, smokeless.
Peasant women were stooping in the vineyards; the whole of the
earth seemed to be cultivated and to be yielding bounteously. It was
a magnificent summer afternoon. The sun was high and a few huge
purple shadows moved with august deliberation across the brilliant
greens. An impression of peace, majesty, grandeur; and of the mild,
splendid richness of the soil of France.
"You see that white line on the hills opposite," said an officer,
opening a large-scale map.