"You don't believe me? Well, I've come from Châlons--an aeroplane
dropped a bomb on the station just as my train left. And the Prussians
have got to other places as well, if you want to know. They are at
Compiègne! Do you hear?... At Compiègne ... it's certain. You've only
got to ask ... anybody here will tell you. They've got to Compiègne and
they took La Fère as they passed."
I began to tremble, everything seemed to be turning round me, and for
a moment I thought I should fall. Instinctively I pressed my knees into
my horse's sides and returned slowly to the camp with a haggard face
and an aching heart.
Hutin was there. I looked him straight in the eyes and said slowly:
"Hutin! The Germans are at Compiègne!"
"Where?"
"At Compiègne!"
He grew pale and shrugged his shoulders.
"No!"
"Yes, at Compiègne!"
"Compiègne! Compiègne! Why, that's less than sixty miles from Paris!
Oh, my God!"
We looked at each other.
"Who let them get through?"
"Those in the north, I suppose."
"Then it's worse than in '70!"
"At Compiègne!" repeated Hutin distractedly.
Dreadful thoughts of downfall, of treason, of all the bitterness of
defeat and of suffering endured to no purpose rose up like spectres in
each man's mind.
"I told you so; we've been sold!" declared the trumpeter.
In spite of everything, I still could not believe in treachery.
"Sold! Why sold? By whom?... By whom?"
"How should I know? But they wouldn't be at Compiègne if we hadn't been
betrayed. Oh, it's the old story!... Just like '70.... Bazaine in '70!"
"We may have been overwhelmed.... There are so many of them!... Three
times our numbers!... Besides, in 1870 the mistake made by the Châlons
army was that they didn't wait for the Germans at Paris. That is well
known. If MacMahon's army had not advanced, had not let itself be
bottled up at Sedan, perhaps we shouldn't have been beaten...."
I grasped at the idea of a strategic retreat, and tried to convince my
comrades in order to convince myself. But they all remained downcast
and sullen, and kept repeating:
"Just as in '70!"
What a refrain!
Bréjard, who had been listening as he smoked, was the only one who was
still confident.
"The worst of it is," said he, "that we don't know anything for
certain. But, if the other Army Corps are in the same condition as
ours, all is by no means lost. They've probably been pushed back a
bit in the north, like we have been in Belgium. But if they haven't
been taken, that is the main thing, and as for this being the same as
'70--why, there's absolutely no resemblance! In '70 we were alone,
whereas now we've got the English and Russians with us."
"Oh, don't talk to me about the English and Russians!" said the
trumpeter.
"Have you seen any of the English, sergeant?"
"No, but they're over here, all right."
"They are said to be," corrected Millon. "But it was also said that we
were advancing in the north. A brilliant advance!..."
"And the Russians!" went on Pelletier. "Why the hell aren't they in
Berlin by this time? They've nothing to stop them on their side...."
Bréjard shrugged his shoulders:
"Well, but all the same they can't get there by railway, you know!"
"But a month ought to be enough ... with their famous Cossacks,"
retorted the trumpeter.
And he continued:
"It's all tommy-rot! Shall I tell you what _I_ think of it, sergeant?
Well, these Russians and English, who have declared war on Germany ...
it's simply sham!... A put-up job! They've engineered the whole thing
together in order to do us in ... just like '70!"
"Just like '70!" repeated Blanchet, who, sitting cross-legged like a
tailor, was mending a rent in his coat.
This crushing catastrophe, which had descended upon us like the blow of
a sledge-hammer, made us begin to doubt everything and everybody.
Why, instead of beguiling us with imaginary victories, could they
not simply have told us: "We have to deal with an enemy superior
in numbers. We are obliged to retreat until we can complete our
concentration and until the English reinforcements arrive."
Were they afraid of frightening us by the word "retreat" when we were
already experiencing its reality?
Why? Why had we been deceived, demoralized?...
Accompanied by Déprez and Lebidois I turned into the garden of a
restaurant and ordered luncheon. Under the leafy arbour of virginia
creepers and viburnum, pierced here and there with dancing rays of
sunlight, blazed a medley of officers' uniforms--chemists, Medical
Corps men, infantry officers of all denominations, A.S.C. officers
and pay-masters, the latter in green uniforms which gave them the
appearance of foresters.
For fifteen days we had not eaten off proper plates nor drunk from
glasses. The luncheon would have been an untold delight had we not all
three been haunted by the spectre of defeat....
* * * * *
When night fell we entrained. The long platform, littered with straw,
was illuminated at lengthy intervals by oil-lamps. The horses, overcome
by exhaustion, their heads drooping, allowed the drivers to lead them
into their boxes without offering any resistance. The gunners finished
loading up the guns on the trucks, and soon all became silent. The men
installed themselves for the night, thirty in each van, some stretched
out on the seats and others lying underneath, using their cloaks as
pillows. Rifles and swords had been cast into a corner. And, just as
the western sky had ceased to glow, leaving the dreary platform dark
and desolate, the train slowly started.
_Saturday, September 5_
I had hardly any sleep last night. Every quarter of an hour the train
stopped, and men attacked by dysentery trod on me as they hurriedly
made for the doors in order to jump down on the permanent way. This
morning the same scramble continues. As soon as the train stops one has
a vision of files of gunners making for the bushes, whence they hastily
return when the whistle blows. Luckily the train gathers speed very
slowly.
* * * * *
A melancholy day--spent in absently watching the country roll past,
one's mind always hypnotized by the thought of defeat....
Often the train does not go faster than a man walking.