_Told by Maurice Barrès, in memory of Max Barthou, who volunteered at
eighteen_
I believe that young heroes abound at this moment when every family is
cruelly involved in the war. The son dreams of helping his father, his
elder brothers, of joining them, of avenging them. Are his city and
his home invaded? With his whole heart he tries and examines himself
as to what his duty and his honour demand. I remember how the minds of
my companions, some 10 years old, and our slightly older brothers were
fired in 1870....
Do you wish me to bring you my contribution to the monument of our
young patriots?
First, a little story. On Nov. 24, 1914, on a cold day, about 3 in
the afternoon, the Prussians, whom they call "Boches," are once again
trying to cross the frontier, to enter France. It is very cold, there
is a high wind, and snow covers the ground. Who tells the story? A
workman at the front, who, from the neighbourhood of Pont-à-Mousson,
writes to his two little children at his home at Neuillez sur Marne.
They gave me his letter. I should spoil it if I retouched it. I
transcribe it just as it is:
"My dear little Marcella, this story, which happened to some French
soldiers, you are to tell to your little Charlie and your companions,
and you are to show them how two little children saved the lives of
twenty-eight papas.
"In a lonely farmhouse a detachment of reservists, composed of thirty
men, are resting from the labours of the night in an underground
cellar, waiting for the next night to begin their work again and
accomplish their mission.
In a room about them, two children, Liza and John, are sitting beside
their mamma near the fire. All three talk the old country dialect.
All at once the mother rises, runs to the door and sees some horsemen
coming from a distance.
"'My children,' she says, pressing them to her heart, 'I think the
Prussians are coming. They will see that we have lodged and fed French
soldiers, and they will surely want to make us tell where they are.
They will take them and shoot them.'
"'We must say they have gone away there, just in the opposite
direction!' said little John.
"'Oh, no!' said their mamma; 'if we deceive them with a lie they will
come back and take vengeance. Listen rather! I shall speak to the
Prussians only in dialect, and they won't understand a word. Do you
also do as I do, and, to everything they say, answer always in the
same phrase, in dialect.'
"The clatter of hoofs was heard, and the rattle of weapons.
"'Courage, my children!' said their mamma. The door opens. The Boches
enter. They ask questions, but the mother's answers are unintelligible
to them.
"'Look at these two children! They must learn French at school,' said
the officer, who spoke a little French.
"One of the Germans seized little Lisa, while another caught little
John.
"'Where is your father?' he asked in a harsh voice. 'Where are the
French that passed here?'
"Lisa raised her blue eyes to this foreign soldier and, all trembling,
replied in dialect. John did the same. The soldiers, irritated,
suspecting a trick, searched the house, but did not find the trap-door
which had been previously covered with dirty straw. They threatened
to cut the children's throats. They told them they would kill their
mother, too, if they did not answer. The poor children began to cry,
but, faithful to their mother's directions, they repeated, through
their tears, the same phrase.
"The French soldiers who were in the cellar and who heard everything
through a ventilator felt their blood boil, and, but for their officer,
would have come forth to protect the poor children, and, without doubt,
would have been killed, for they were outnumbered.
"The Prussians did not think that such young children, threatened
with death, would be capable of such heroic discretion; they ended by
believing that they could not make themselves understood and rode away.
"And that is how two little children, Lisa, aged 8, and John, aged
10, by their obedience to their mother and by courage kept thirty men
from being killed, twenty-eight wives still have their husbands, and
forty-seven little children have their papas. Among these forty-seven
little children my little Marcella and my little Charlie will perhaps
see their papa again."
I leave this story in its fine simplicity. A workman who had become a
soldier chats with his children far away. But the chief attraction in
it for me is that the fact reported is quite authentic. I know the farm
in the district of Meurthe et Moselle, and later on I shall tell its
name, as well as those of the farmer's wife and the two children, who
have received a well-earned reward.