I am still without any news of Paul, and enduring the misery of not
knowing where he is.
I particularly asked a soldier who was starting for Dijon to find out
if F., the airman, was there. But will he do it?
The road to Fontainebleau passes this house, and all day long troops
and horses go by, and men who have been called up and are joining
their regiments, and cars bringing back others from their holidays to
go to the front.
And already there is fighting on the frontier. Germany, like an
octopus, has put out her tentacles to wrest from us our sons, our
husbands, and our country. How monstrous a thing is war! I could not,
if I would, describe my thoughts and feelings, and who would dare to do
so in the midst of such desolation!
* * * * *
The continuous stream flows out towards death--soldiers pass singing
and shouting, "To Berlin!" Others go by in silence, fierce-looking, and
determined.
The women make superhuman efforts not to cry as they accompany them to
the stations. Everything is well organized. Yesterday thirty trains
went through at intervals of five minutes, all full of young men.
Fontainebleau is in a ferment, so is Paris; they say that the principal
hospital will be at Fontainebleau, and a whole nursing staff is being
organized to attend to the first wounded who come in. A great many
officers' wives have volunteered as nurses. They have put up hospital
tents all round the station at Moret.
This morning I at last received news of my darling son. Alas! he has
apparently been sent to Belfort. It seems the irony of fate that he who
is so madly keen on aeroplanes should be sent to look after balloons,
in which he takes no interest. However, Paul is brave and energetic,
he is also fortunately devoid of the sort of recklessness which leads
people to expose themselves uselessly. Drumont said to me the other
day: "The sound common sense he inherits from you will be worth a
fortune to him."
My dear boy's letter has stirred me to the very depths of my being. Day
or night I will never part with the lock of his hair which we cut off
just as he was going.
Since six o'clock this morning there has been an unending stream of
horses and carts which have been mobilized. With incredible insolence
the Germans have crossed the frontier before declaring war. Near
Belfort they have rounded up all the cattle. Their plan seems to be
a sudden shattering attack which will cause a panic and bring the
half-finished mobilization to a standstill.
I sat in a brown study brooding over all this news, whilst poor old
Black, upset by his young master's absence, wandered forlornly round me.
* * * * *
_August._--An anxious letter from Muncho--what an affectionate little
thing she is, and she really does love my son, "our Paul," as she
calls him. He has written to her, and she is delighted, though it is a
delight largely mingled with pain.
I find on analyzing my feelings for my future daughter-in-law that I am
not at all jealous of her, or afraid of any paltry rivalry between us
in my son's affections. On the contrary, it seems to me that when there
are two people to love him so much it should be a sort of protection to
him.
* * * * *
_August._--Belgium is putting up a heroic defence--what a debt we shall
owe to her! What a hero her King is, and what a fine race of men! They
are amazing us by their serenity under the most crushing and undeserved
misfortunes, and the way in which, at a word from their sovereign, they
are sacrificing themselves for the cause they believe to be right.
Our gratitude must be as great as our admiration, and we shall not
forget Mr. Asquith's pledge on behalf of the Allies never to sheathe
the sword while a German remains in Belgium. We, the mothers of
France, offer to their noble Queen, who does her duty with such dignity
and simplicity, our homage and our boundless gratitude, a gratitude
proportionate to the greatness of her sacrifice.