Here is another cross-roads, a good mile farther forward--and less
than a hundred yards behind the fire-trench. It is dawn.
The roads themselves are not so distinct as they were. They are
becoming grass-grown: for more than a year--in daylight at least--no
human foot has trodden them. The place is like hundreds of others that
you may see scattered up and down this countryside--two straight,
flat, metalled country roads, running north and south and east and
west, crossing one another at a faultless right angle.
Of the four corners thus created, one is--or was--occupied by an
estaminet: you can still see the sign, _Estaminet au Commerce_, over
the door. Two others contain cottages,--the remains of cottages. At
the fourth, facing south and east, stands what is locally known as a
"Calvaire,"--bank of stone, a lofty cross, and a life-size figure of
Christ, facing east, towards the German lines.
This spot is shelled every day--has been shelled every day for months.
Possibly the enemy suspects a machine-gun or an observation post amid
the tumble-down buildings. Hardly one brick remains upon another.
And yet--the sorrowful Figure is unbroken. The Body is riddled
with bullets--in the glowing dawn you may Count not five but fifty
wounds--but the Face is untouched. It is the standing miracle of this
most materialistic war. Throughout the length of France you will see
the same thing.