THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY
We may not have been sure of the peace. We were sure of the victory. The
soldiers had done their part. Academic newspaper discussion as to when
the victory parade would be held amused us. The only uncertainty was the
date of signing the Treaty. Once the Treaty was signed, it was taken for
granted that the Quatorze would be the day. Protests about shortness of
time were overruled. It was not a matter for discussion. Nobody paid any
attention to the argument of those intrusted with the organization of
the event. Public opinion demanded that the Allied Armies march under
the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées on July Fourteenth.
After the Quatorze of testing, the Quatorze of victory. There was no
question about it. So the powers that be got to work.
There was no need to decide upon the route of the procession. Ever since
August 1, 1914, Parisians who lived on the Avenue de la Grande Armée,
the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, the Rue Royale and the Grands Boulevards,
had been realizing how numerous were their friends. From every part of
France letters had come from forgotten relatives, passing
acquaintances, business associates, who wanted to be remembered when
Le jour de la victoire est arrivé.
Public opinion dictated, also, two changes in the program as it was
announced. Marshal Joffre must ride the entire length of the route from
the Porte Maillot to the Place de la République beside Marshal Foch. And
the grandstands put up around the Arc de Triomphe and along the Avenue
Champs-Elysées for those who had "pull" must come down. This was to be
the day of the people, and everybody was to have an equal chance. When
it was seen that selling windows and standing place on roofs at fabulous
sums was to give the rich an unfair advantage, the Chamber of Deputies
was forced to pass a bill declaring these gains war-profits and taxing
them eighty per cent. This resulted in the offering of hospitality to
the wounded that big profits might have prevented.
In looking down my vistas of the past year, I see Paris reacting
differently to almost every great day.
On Armistice Night we went mad. From the _exaltés_ to the saddest and
most imperturbable, Parisians spent their feelings. The joy was acute
because it was the celebration of the end of the killing. When a soldier
is frank and you know him well he will tell you, "Any man who claims not
to be afraid at the front is lying." That fear was gone. Men could
unlearn blood-lust: and with honor now. Along with the relief of the
end of the fighting was the joy of the end of separations.
On June 28, Paris thought her own thoughts, pondering over the peace
that had been won. Friends dined with us that night. My victrola played
The Star Spangled Banner--La Marseillaise--Sambre et Meuse--Marche
Lorraine.
"Why don't you dance?" I said to the Inspecteur-Général d'Instruction
Publique. "It's peace! I want to celebrate. I need to shake off the
impression of Versailles this afternoon."
"I asked my concierge that same question," said he, "and she answered,
'We don't rejoice to-day--we wait.' _Les Parisiens ne s'emballent pas._
Wise woman, my concierge."
On the night of July 13, Paris paid her tribute to the dead. Respect for
_les morts_ is ingrained in French character. At the moment of victory
those who had fallen were not forgotten. They came ahead of those who
lived. A gilded cenotaph, placed under the Arc de Triomphe, contained
earth from the many battlefields on which the French had fought. That
night we passed with the throng to pause for a moment with bowed heads
before this tomb that represented the sacrifice of more than a million
soldiers. I thought of Détaille's picture in the Panthéon, and looking
at the crowd about me, mostly women and children in mourning, I asked
myself if this were _La Gloire_. The level rays of the setting sun fell
upon the soldiers on guard. People spoke in whispers. None was tearless.
It was "_Debout les Morts_"! They passed first under the Arc de
Triomphe. Had they not blazed the way for those who would march on the
Quatorze of victory?
Half way down the Champs-Elysées, at the Rond-Point, were heaps of
captured cannon that had stood along the Avenue and in the Place de la
Concorde through the winter since the armistice. They had been gathered
here, and surmounting them was the _coq gaulois_. But around the
Rond-Point huge urns commemorated the most costly battles of the war,
and in them incense was burning.
"Are you going to see the parade?" I asked a friend who had lost two
brothers.
"Certainly," she replied. "Last week my mother went to the grave of my
little brother in the Argonne. She put wreaths on it and prayed there.
The other brother was blown up by a shell. There is no grave for him. So
to-night we shall think of him when we pray before the cenotaph. We
shall spend the night there to have a good place to-morrow."
Herbert and I thought of her and her mother and of many other friends
who were in the crowd around the Arc de Triomphe. We had our own reasons
for bowing before the cenotaph. Dear friends had been lost during those
awful years and in the last weeks one of our own family fell on the
front between the Le Cateau and Guise. It is strange how you go on
living in the midst of war, seeing others suffer, sharing their grief,
and never thinking that the death that is stalking about will enter your
own family circle until the telegram comes. You have helped others at
that moment: and then it is you.
There is a fine sense of balance in French character. One remembers the
dead, but one does not forget the living. Most of those who intended to
go with hearts rejoicing and smiles and laughter to greet the _défilé_
of the Quatorze could not have stood the ordeal unless it had been
preceded by the quiet night watch with the dead.
The Quatorze has always meant to us an early start for the Bois du
Bologne to see the review. Throughout the Third Republic the day had a
distinctly military atmosphere. Who does not remember Longchamp before
the war? Each year Paris went to the review with pride not unmixed with
anxiety. There was a serious aspect impossible for the stranger to
realize and appreciate. After all, the army was not a small body of men
who had given themselves to a military career. It was the youth of the
nation performing a duty imposed upon it by the geographical position of
France. The army was the nation in arms, an institution as necessary for
well-being and security as the police. Longchamp on the Quatorze was the
assurance that the job of protecting France was being well looked
after. And the spectators were the fathers and mothers, the brothers and
sisters, of the army. Every Parisian had passed through the mill. How
often after the review, when the soldiers came from the field, have I
seen middle-aged civilians joking with them in the way one only does
with comrades of one's own fraternity. It was hard for the Anglo-Saxon
to understand this before the war. The Barrack-room Ballads would be
incomprehensible to a Frenchman. "Tommy" was everybody in France.
But this review was different. The intimacy, the sense of the soldiers
belonging to the people and being of the people, had always been there.
Added to it now was the knowledge of what the army had done for France.
There is no country where _la patrie reconnaissante_ means more than in
France. And the great danger was so fresh in our minds! From the
standpoint of the soldier it was different, too. For five weary years
the _poilu_ constantly on duty and not knowing which day might be the
last saw in the soft blue rings of his cigarette smoke the _défilé_
under the Arc de Triomphe and prayed that he and his comrades would be
there. That was the only uncertainty--whether he himself would be spared
for the _jour de la victoire_. If France's soldiers had doubted that the
day would arrive, they could not have continued to sing the
Marseillaise--and the war would have been lost then and there. The
Quatorze of peace days was fun to the spectators but a _corvée_ for the
soldiers who marched. The Quatorze of victory was the realization of the
dream that sustained the soldiers throughout the war. It was the reward
for having believed what they muttered doggedly through their teeth,
"_Nous allons les écraser comme des pommes de terre cuites!_"
One of our _poilus_, a boy to whom we had been through the war as next
of kin, who wore the _médaille militaire_ and whose _croix de guerre_
carried several palms, came to us late in the night before the victory
parade. He said with tears in his eyes,
"The chains are down!"
"What chains?" I asked.
"The chains around the Arc de Triomphe. They have been there since
Soixante-Dix. Do you realize," he cried seizing my hands, "that the last
time soldiers marched under the arch it was Germans? Ah, the Huns, I
hate them! We are supposed to keep our eyes straight before us during
the march, but I shall look up under that arch. I shall never forget the
moment I have lived for."
"And Albert, the ideals that made you enlist, have they survived?"
"They are here," he replied, slapping his chest until his medals
jingled. I made up a lunch for Albert, and off he went to get to the
rendezvous at the Porte Maillot at two A. M.
We had determined that the whole family should see the _défilé de la
victoire_. The younger children might not remember it, but we never
wanted them to reproach us afterwards. How to get there was a problem
that needed working out. The children had an invitation, which did not
include grownups, from Lieutenant Mitchell whose window was in the
American barracks on the north side of the Avenue near the Rue de Berri.
Dr. Lines asked Herbert's mother and Herbert and me to the New York Life
Insurance Company's office at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Charron on
the south side of the Avenue. How take the children to the other side
and get back to our places? There was only one answer. Taxi-cabs that
could go around through the Bois du Bologne and Neuilly or the Place de
la République.
In the court of the building where we have our studios in the Rue
Campagne-Première lives Monsieur Robert, a taxi-chauffeur. Herbert
arranged with him to be in front of our house at six-thirty A. M.,
promising him forty francs, with a premium of ten francs if he got there
before six-fifteen. Then, to guard against break-downs, he found another
chauffeur to whom he made the same offer. On Sunday afternoon Herbert
began to worry. It was bad to have all your eggs in two baskets when you
are looking forward to the biggest day of your life. So a third
chauffeur was found to whom the same offer looked attractive.
We got up at five, had our breakfast, and prepared a mid-morning snack.
Lloyd was on the balcony before six to report. Three times he came to us
in triumph. Our faith in human nature was rewarded. When we got down to
the side-walk we found our chauffeurs examining their engines. My heart
sank. But they explained that feigning trouble with the works was the
only way of keeping from being taken by assault.
We sent Grandmother and the baby directly to Rue Pierre-Charron. That
part was easy. Then, in the other two autos, we started our long morning
ride to get to the other side of the Champs-Elysées and back.
Fortunately, the chauffeurs had seen in the papers that a route across
the Grands Boulevards would be kept open from the Rue de Richelieu to
the Rue Drouot. After waiting a long time in line, we managed to get
across, and made a wide detour by the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de
Berri. Shortly after seven we delivered the kiddies to the care of
Lieutenant Mitchell. Our own places were just across the Avenue. But it
took us another hour and a wider detour to get to them. We were glad of
the two taxis. If one broke down, there was always the other. We wanted
to play safe.
From our place on the balcony of the New York Life we had the sweep of
the Avenue des Champs-Elysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the
Rond-Point. On many buildings scaffolding had been run up to hold
spectators. People were gathered on roofs and chimneys. Every tree held
a perilous load of energetic boys. Hawkers with bright-colored
pasteboard periscopes did not have to cry their wares. Ladders and
chairs and boxes were bought up quickly. But the Avenue is wide. All may
not have been able to see. But those behind were not too crowded and at
no time during the morning was all the space taken from the side-walk to
the houses.
At half-past eight the cannon boomed. Another interval: then the low hum
that comes from a crowd when something is happening. Then cheers. The
_défilé de la victoire_ had begun. The head of the procession was like a
hospital contingent out for an airing. There were one-legged men on
crutches and the blind kept in line by holding on to empty sleeves of
their comrades. The more able-bodied pushed the crippled in
rolling-chairs. The choicest of the flowers, brought for the marshals
and generals, went spontaneously to the wounded. Once again the French
proved their marvelous sense of the fitness of things.
Then came the two leaders of France, Marshal Foch keeping his horse just
a little behind that of Marshal Joffre. For two hours we watched our
heroes pass. Aeroplanes, sailing above, dropped flowers and flags. The
best marching was done by the American troops. The French readily
acknowledged that. But they said:
"It is still the flower of your youth that you can put into the parade.
Ours fell _là-bas_ long ago."
After the crowd began to disperse, we made our way across the Avenue to
get the children. As I brought them out through the vestibule a soldier
caught sight of us. He cried:
"Gosh, these ain't no tadpoles!"
When the children acknowledged to being Americans, he asked Mimi whether
she liked rats.
"Yas, I do," said Mimi.
"You wait there a minute. I got a rat I bought from a _poilu_. It's a
tame one."
The soldier brought his rat and did wonderful stunts with it. Mimi
squealed when the rat ran from the soldier's arm to hers and up on her
head. She didn't know whether to like it or be afraid. But the rat
evidently won, for when asked later what she liked best about the
parade, she put that rat ahead of Pershing and Foch.
We never thanked our lucky stars for the view of Paris from our balcony
more than on the evening of the Quatorze of victory. To see all the
wonders of the illuminations we did not need to leave our apartment.
From every park roman candles and rockets burst into pots of flowers,
constellations, the flags of the Allies. The dome of the Panthéon
glowed red. Sacré Coeur stood out green and pink and white against the
northern sky. Revolving shafts of red, white and blue came from the Tour
Eiffel. Church bells rang and on every street corner there was music.
The dear old custom of the night of the Quatorze was revived. We looked
down at the lanterns across the Boulevard Raspail at the intersection of
the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Tables and chairs overflowed from the
side-walk into the street. But there was a large open place around the
impromptu band-stand. People were dancing and the music never stopped.
We heard the call. And we obeyed. When we reached the corner and got
into the street, Herbert held out his arms.
"To everything there is a season," he said.
"A time to mourn and a time to dance," I murmured.
THE END
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
against the use of alchohol=>against the use of alcohol
Eau fraiche=>Eau fraîche
fruits rafraichis=>fruits rafraîchis
which is fourty-four=>which is forty-four
Eglise Saint-Suplice=>Eglise Saint-Sulpice
You make a list of the woman=>You make a list of the women
I have known in them in their homes=>I have known them in their homes
pièce de resistance=>pièce de résistance
What a charming dining-room? Dear me, have I intruded=>What a charming
dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded
Lycé Charlemagne=>Lycée Charlemagne
Rue da la Mont Sainte-Geneviève=>Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève
find yourself in the Rue Mouffetord=>find yourself in the Rue Mouffetard
which are to found in every quarter=>which are to be found in every
quarter
But in the Bois de Bologne=>But in the Bois de Boulogne
Seminary of Saint-Suplice=>Seminary of Saint-Sulpice
undetermined the natural defences=>undermined the natural defences
Clichy and Montmarte=>Clichy and Montmartre
they probably will not come, and if you do=>they probably will not come,
and if they do
born or suffering=>born of suffering
all the grave _offiches_=>all the grave _affiches_
the Académie de Medecine=>the Académie de Médecine
Galéries Lafayette=>Galeries Lafayette
un charme extrème=>un charme extrême
permissioniares=>permissionniares
Rue Royal side of the Hotel de Coislin=>Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de
Coislin
Ca y est cette fois-ci!=>Ça y est cette fois-ci!
a l'américaine=>á l'américaine
cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honore=>cannon on the Rue du
Faubourg-Saint-Honoré
Minuit, Crétien,=>Minuit, Chrétien,
H.C. of L. is an abbrevation=>H.C. of L. is an abbreviation
Pate de foie=>Paté de foie
Coppen kitchen ware=>Copper kitchen ware
Hôtel des Reservoirs=>Hôtel des Réservoirs
la patrie reconnaisante=>la patrie reconnaissante
_la-bas_ long ago=>_là-bas_ long ago
consellations=>constellations
proprietaire=>propriétaire
Rue de Sevres=>Rue de Sèvres
Theâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin=>Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin
the Théatre Français=>the Théâtre Français