the high-road for some hundred yards. The shells had transformed it
into a series of gorges, peaks, ravines, and hills. We had to jump
over big branches cut from the trees by the projectiles. It was a road
that would not be a cheerful one on moonless nights. Fortunately for
us, that particular night was extremely bright. Everything around us
could be distinguished; we could even divine about fifteen hundred
yards to our right the "solitary tree," the famous tree, standing
alone in the middle of the vast bare plain, which marked the centre of
our sector of trenches, and where I knew I should find the "dug-out"
belonging to the officers of our regiment. I was very much tempted to
jump the ditch at the side of the road and cut across the fields to
the final point of our march. It would have taken about twenty
minutes, and have saved us the long difficult journey through the
communication trench. But our orders were very precise: we were not to
take short cuts even on dark nights, much less on starlit nights. Our
chiefs do well to be cautious on our behalf, for it is certain that,
though fully alive to the danger of such a route, there was not one of
my hundred fellows who would have hesitated to dash across country
just to save himself a few hundred yards.
We came to the mouth of the approach trench, four or five huge steps
cut in the chalky clay. The frost had made them slippery, and we had
to keep close to the edge of the bank to avoid stumbling. Behind me I
heard some of the men sliding down heavily, and a din of mess-tins
rolling away amidst laughter and jokes. "A merry heart goes all the
way," and I knew my Chasseurs would soon pick themselves up and make
up for lost time. This was essential, for the approach trench had
ramifications and unexpected cross-passages which might have led a
laggard astray.
We went forward slowly. The communication trench was at right angles
to the enemy's trenches. To prevent him from enfilading it with his
shells, it had been cut in zigzags. And I hardly know of a more
laborious method of progression than that of taking ten paces to the
right, making a sharp turn, and then again taking ten paces to the
left, and so on, in order to cover a distance which, as the crow
flies, would not be more than fifteen hundred yards. The passage was
so narrow that we touched the walls on either side. The moonlight
could not reach the ground we trod on, and we stumbled incessantly
over the holes and inequalities caused by the late rains and hardened
by the frost. Now and again we slid over ice that had formed on the
little pools through which our comrades had been paddling two days
before. And this was some consolation for the severity of the frost,
preferable a hundred times to the horrors of the rain.
At last we debouched into our trenches, where our predecessors were
impatiently waiting for us. Two days and two nights is a long time to
go without sleeping, without washing, without having any other view
than the walls of earth that shut you in. They were all eager to go
back over the same road they had come by two days before, to get to
their horses again, their quarters, their friends--in short, their
home. So we found them quite ready to go, blankets rolled up and slung
over their shoulders, and knapsacks in their places under their
cloaks.
Whilst the non-commissioned officers of each squadron went to relieve
the men at the listening posts, I brushed past the men lined up
against the wall, and went towards the "solitary tree," which seemed
to be stretching out its gaunt arms to protect our retreat. I had to
turn to the right in a narrow passage which went round the tree, and
ended in three steep steps cut in the earth, down which I had to go to
reach the dug-out.
My old friend La G. was waiting for me at the bottom of this den,
stretched on two chairs, warming his feet at a tiny iron stove perched
upon a heap of bricks. By the light of the one candle he looked
imposing and serious. His tawny beard, which he had allowed to grow
since the war, spread like a fan over his chest, and gave him a look
of Henri IV. I knew that this formidable exterior concealed the
merriest companion and the most delightful sly joker that ever lived.
So I was not much impressed by his thoughtful brow and his dreamy eye.
"Well, what's the news?" I asked.
"We are all freezing," he replied.
I rather suspected it. Besides this fact, which we had discovered
before him, La G. could only confirm what the infantry captain had
told me shortly before:
"You are going to have a most restful night, my dear fellow; and I
advise you to have a Christmas manger arranged at the foot of the
'solitary tree,' and at midnight to sing 'Christians, awake,' in
chorus.... We know some hymns as well as the Germans."
I had no lack of desire to put this proposal into action, but such
pious customs as these would not perhaps have been quite in harmony
with the tactical ideas of our commanding officer. Still I promised
La G. I would do my best for the realisation of his dream.
"Good-bye and good luck!" he said.
"Good-bye," I replied.
And he went away into the darkness. At the end of the little passage
that led to the trench I could see the men who had just been relieved
passing in single file going towards the communication trench by which
we had come. Their dark forms defiled in closely and rapidly. Having
completed their task, they were happy to be free to get back to their
squadrons, and as they passed they cracked their jokes at the others
who had to stay. These answered back, but not in the most amiable
manner. Then, little by little, silence settled down upon the scene.
Every man was at his post: some kept watch, others walked about at the
bottom of the trench or busied themselves with repairing or improving
the indifferent shelters their predecessors had left them.
G. had gone to take the watch on which the junior officers of the
units defending the sector relieved each other every three hours. So
there I was alone, alone in the midst of my brave Chasseurs, with the
duty of guarding those five hundred yards of trenches--a very small
piece at that time of the immense French line. Behind us thousands of
our fellows were sleeping in perfect confidence, relying upon the thin
rampart we formed in front of them; and farther away still there were
millions of Frenchmen and Frenchwomen, who, under their family roof or
under that of their hosts, were resting in peace because of our
sleepless nights, our limbs stiffened by the cold, our carbines
pointed through the loopholes of the trenches.
Thus were we to celebrate the merry festival of Christmas. There was
no doubt that far away among those who were keeping the sacred vigil
more than one would think of us and sympathise with us.... No doubt
many a one among us would feel a touch of sadness that evening,
thinking of his home. But none, not one, I felt sure, would wish to
quit his post to get away from the Front. Military honour! glorious
legacy of our ancestors! Who could have foreseen that it would be
implanted so naturally and so easily in the young souls of our
soldiers? Within their youthful bodies the same hearts were already
beating as those of the immortal veterans of the epic days of France.
Men are fashioned by war.
Ten o'clock came on Christmas Eve to find that our day had passed in
almost absolute calm. It had been a glorious winter day, a day of
bright sunshine and pure clear air. The Germans had hardly fired at
all. A few cannon-shots only had replied to our artillery, which let
off its heavy guns every now and then upon their positions from the
heights behind us.
And then night came. B. and I had just finished our frugal meal. We
had promised to pay a visit to the Territorials who occupied the
trenches right and left of ours. Our Chasseurs had been posted in that
particular section so that in case of attack they might form a solid
base for the Territorials to rely upon. They did not conceal their
confidence in our men or their admiration for them; and their officers
had no scruples in asking for our advice when difficult cases arose.
In fact, that very afternoon the captain commanding the company to our
right had come to my dug-out to arrange with me about the patrols that
had to be sent that night in advance of the line.
Wrapped in our cloaks, we came out of our warm retreat. The night was
just like the previous one, starlit, bright, and frosty, a true
Christmas night for times of peace. In our trenches one half of the
men were awake, in obedience to orders. Carbines were loaded and
placed in the loopholes, and the guns were trained upon the enemy. In
front of us, at the end of the narrow passages which led out to the
listening posts, I knew that our sentries were alert with eye and ear,
crouching in their holes in pairs. No one could approach the broad
network of wire which protected us without being immediately perceived
and shot. At the bottom of the trenches the men on watch were talking
softly together and stamping on the ground to combat the intense
cold.
Those who were at rest, lying close together at the bottom of the
little dug-outs they had made for themselves in the bank, were
sleeping or trying to sleep. More than one of them had succeeded, for
resounding snores could be heard behind the blankets, pieces of tent
canvas and sacking, and all the various rags with which they had
ingeniously stuffed up the entrances to their rustic alcoves. One
wondered how they could have overcome the sufferings the cold must
have caused them so far as to be able to sleep calmly. The five months
of war had hardened their bodies and accustomed them to face cold,
heat, rain, dust, or mud, with impunity. In this hard school, better
than in any other, men of iron are fashioned, who last out a whole
campaign and are capable of the supreme effort when the hour comes.
We arrived at the Territorials' trench.
"_Bon-soir, mon cher camarade._"
It was the Second-Lieutenant whom I met at the entrance. He was a man
of forty-two, thin, pale, and bearded. In the shadow his eyes shone
strangely. Under the skirts of his great-coat he had his hands buried
in his trouser pockets. His elbows stuck out from his body, his knees
were bent, his teeth chattered, and he was gently knocking his heels
together.
"It isn't warm, eh?" I asked.
"Oh, no; and then, you see, this sort of work is hardly the thing for
fellows of our age. Our blood isn't warm enough, and, however you
cover yourself up, there's always a chink by which the cold gets in.
The worst of all is one's hands and feet; and there's nothing to be
done for it. Wouldn't it be much better to trust to us, give us the
order to fix bayonets and drive those Boches out of their trenches
over there? You'd see if the Territorials couldn't do it as well as
the Regulars.... And then one would have a chance of getting warm."
I felt sure that he spoke the truth, and that his opinion was shared
by the majority of his companions. But our good comrades of the
Territorial Force have no conception of the vigour, the suppleness,
and of the fulness of youth required to charge up to the enemy's line
under concentrated fire and to cut the complex network of barbed wire
that bars the road. Our chiefs were well advised in placing these
troops where they were, in those lines of trenches scientifically
constructed and protected, where their courage and tenacity would be
invaluable in case of attack, and where they would know better than
any others how to carry out the orders given to us: "Hold on till
death." Leave to the young soldiers the sublime and perilous task of
rushing upon the enemy when he is hidden behind the shelter of his
_fougades_, his parapets, and his artificial brambles; and entrust to
the brave Territorials the more obscure but not less glorious work of
mounting guard along our front.
I could make them out in the moonlight, standing silent and alert, in
groups of two or three. Perched on the ledge of earth which raised
them to the height of the parapet, they had their eyes wide open in
the darkness, looking towards the enemy. Their loaded rifles were
placed in front of them, between two clods of hardened earth. They
neither complained nor uttered a word, but suffered nobly. They
understand that they must. Ah! where now were the fine tirades of
pothouse orators and public meetings? Where now were the oaths to
revolt, the solemn denials and the blasphemies pronounced against the
Fatherland? All was forgotten, wiped out from the records. If we could
have questioned those men who stood there shivering, chilled to the
bone, watching over the safety of the country, not one of them,
certainly, would have confessed that he was ever one of the renegades
of yore. And yet if one were to search among the bravest, among the
most resigned, among the best, thousands of them would be discovered.
Heaven grant that this miracle, wrought by the war, may be prolonged
far beyond the days of the struggle, and then we shall not think that
our brothers' blood has been spilt in vain.
We brushed past them, but they did not even turn round. Eyes, mind,
and will were absorbed in the dark mystery of the silent landscape
stretching out before them. But the night, though it was so bright,
gave everything a strange appearance; transformed all living things
and increased their size; made the stones, the stacks, and the trees
move, as it seemed to our weary eyes; cast fitful shadows where there
were none; and made us hear murmurs which sounded like the muffled
tramp of troops marching cautiously. Those men watched because they
felt that there was always the danger of a surprise attack, of a
sudden rush of Teutons who had crawled up through the grass of the
fields. They had piled on their backs empty sacks, blankets, and old
rags, for warmth, and wound their mufflers two or three times round
their necks; they had taken all possible precautions for carrying out
their duty to the very last. And although our hearts had been
hardened by the unprecedented miseries of this war, we were seized
with pity and admiration. Presently one of them turned round and said
to us:
"Hallo! They are lighting up over there now."
I jumped up on to the ledge and saw, in fact, lights shining in three
different places some way off. After looking attentively I guessed the
meaning of this quite unusual illumination in the rear of the
trenches. The lights came from some large fir-trees, placed there
under cover of night, and beautifully lighted up. With my glasses I
could make them out distinctly, and even the figures dancing round
them; and we could hear their voices and shouts of merriment. How well
they had arranged the whole thing! They had even gone as far as to
light up their Christmas trees with electricity, so as to prevent our
gunners from using them as an easy target. In fact, every few minutes
all the lights on a tree were suddenly put out, and only appeared some
minutes afterwards.
We had thrilled instinctively. Suddenly there arose, all over the wide
plain, solemn and melodious singing. We still remembered singing of a
similar kind we had recently heard at Bixschoote on a tragic occasion;
and here were the same tuneful voices again, singing a hymn of the
same kind as those they sang further to the north before shouting
their hurrahs for the attack. But we did not fear anything of that
kind now. We had the impression that this singing was not a special
prayer in front of our little sector of trenches, but that it was
general, and extended without limits over the whole of our provinces
violated by the enemy: over Champagne, Lorraine, and Picardy,
resounding from the North Sea to the Rhine.
The Territorial trench was full of noiseless animation. The men came
up out of their little dug-outs without a word, and the whole company
was soon perched upon the ledge. There was a silence among our men, as
if each man felt uneasy or perhaps jealous of what was going on over
there. Then, as if to order, along the line of the German trenches
other hymns rang out, and one choir seemed to answer the other. The
singing became general. Quite close to us, in the trenches themselves,
in the distance, round their brightly lighted trees, to the right, to
the left, it resounded, softened by the distance. What a stirring,
nay, grandiose, impression those hymns made, floating over the vast
field of death! I felt intuitively that all this had been arranged
long before, that they might celebrate their Christmas with religious
calm and peace.
At any other time, no doubt, many a clumsy joke would have been made,
and no little abuse hurled at the singers. But all that has been
changed. I divined some regret among our brave fellows that we were
not taking part in a similar festival. Was it not Christmas Eve? Had
we not been obliged by our duty to give up the delightful family
gathering which reunites us yearly around the symbolic Yule-log? This
year our mothers, our sisters, and our children were keeping up the
time-honoured and pious custom alone. Why did not our larger family of
to-day join in singing together around lighted fir-trees? Our
Territorials did not speak; but their thoughts flew away from the
trenches, and the regrets of all were fused in a common feeling of
melancholy.
Little by little the singing died away, and absolute silence fell once
more upon the country.
* * * * *
I went with G. as far as his watch-post. He had to resume his duty as
officer of the watch from eleven o'clock in the evening to two o'clock
in the morning. The post consisted of a kind of small blockhouse,
strongly built and protected by two casemates with machine-guns placed
so as to command the enemy's trenches. A machine-gunner was always on
guard, and could call the others, at the slightest alarm, to work the
gun. These men were quartered in a kind of tunnel hollowed out close
by, and at the first signal would have been ready to open fire with
their terrible engines of destruction. In the centre of the
block-house a padded sentry-box was arranged made of a number of
sand-bags, in which, by means of a loophole, the officer of the watch
could observe the whole sector entrusted to us; and by means of a
telephone station, close at hand, he could communicate at any moment
with the commander of the sector at the glass-works.
G. had put on the goatskin coat handed to him by the officer he
relieved. This officer was a Second-Lieutenant of Territorials, and
looked completely frozen.
"Here, my dear fellow," he said, "I leave you the goatskin provided
for the use of the officer on duty. I should have liked to give it you
well warmed, but I feel like an icicle myself."
G. was nevertheless glad to have it. After wishing him good luck, I
left him to get back to my hut, for, in spite of my cloak, the frost
was taking hold of me too. The faithful Wattrelot had done his best to
keep our little stove going. Profiting by La G.'s example, I
stretched myself on two chairs, with my feet towards the fire. I
gradually got warmer, and at the same time somewhat melancholy. What a
curious Christmas Eve! Certainly I had never passed one in such a
place. The walls were made of a greyish, friable earth, which still
showed the marks of the pick that had been used for the excavation.
The furniture was simple and not very comfortable. At the back was the
bed, made out of a little straw already well tossed over by a number
of sleepers. This straw was kept in by a plank fixed to the ground and
forming the side of the modest couch. Against the wall, opposite the
stove, was the table. This table, which had to serve for writing and
feeding, and perhaps for a game of cards, this table, which was
required to fill the part of all the tables of all the rooms of any
house, was, strange to say, a night-table. I wondered who had brought
it there, and who had chosen it. But, such as it was, it served its
purpose pretty well. We used it for dinner, and found it almost
comfortable, and upon it I signed a number of reports and orders.
Together with the two chairs, the stove, the bed, and some nails to
hang my clothes on, that table completed the furniture of the "home"
where I meditated on that December night. The candle, stuck in a
bottle, flickered at the slightest breath, and threw strange shadows
on the walls.
It was the hour of solitude and silence, the hour of meditation and of
sadness too now and then. That evening dark thoughts were flying about
in that smoky den, assailing me in crowds, and taking possession of my
mind; I could not drive them away. It was one of those moments--those
very fleeting moments!--when courage seems to fail, and one gives way
with a kind of bitter satisfaction. I remembered that months and
months had passed since I had seen any of those belonging to me, and I
conjured up in my mind the picture of the Christmas Eve they were
keeping, too, at that same hour, at the other end of France. And the
dear, good friends I had left in Paris and in Rouen--where were they
at that moment? What were they doing? Were they thinking of me? How I
should have liked to enjoy the wonderful power possessed by certain
heroes in the Arabian Nights, which would have allowed me to see at
that moment a vision of the loved ones far away. Were they talking
about me, sitting together round the fire? I thought that this war had
been a splendid thing to us Chasseurs as long as we were fighting as
cavalry, scouring the plains, searching the woods, galloping in
advance of our infantry, and bringing them information which enabled
them to deal their blows or parry those of the enemy, trying to come
up with the Prussian cavalry which fled before us. But this trench
warfare, this warfare in which one stays for days and days in the same
position, in which ground is gained yard by yard, in which artifice
tries to outdo artifice, in which each side clings to the ground it
has won, digs into it, buries itself in it, and dies in it sooner than
give it up! What warfare for cavalry! We have devoted ourselves to it
with all our hearts, and the chiefs who have had us under their
orders have never failed to commend us; but at times we feel very
weary, and during inaction and solitude our imaginations begin to
work. Then we recall our regiment in full gallop over field and plain;
we hear the clank of swords and bits; we see once more the flash of
the blades, the motley line of the horses; we evoke the well-known
figures of our chiefs on their chargers. That night my mind became
more restless than ever before; it broke loose, it leapt away, and
lived again the unforgettable stages of this war: Charleroi, Guise,
the Marne, the defence of the Jaulgonne bridge, Montmirail, Reims, ...
Belgium, Bixschoote; and then it fell back into the gloomy dug-out
where the flame of the single candle traced disquieting shadows on the
wall.
Suddenly a cold breath of air blew into my retreat. The door opened
abruptly, and at the top of the steps a man, stooping over the floor
of the passage, called me in an undertone:
"_Mon Lieutenant_, come and see.... Something is happening...."
With a bound, I sprang from my shelter and climbed up the ledge.
"Listen, _mon Lieutenant_."
That night in the trenches was destined to overwhelm me with
astonishment, and this one surpassed all that I could imagine. I
should like to be able to impart the extraordinary impression I felt;
but one would have to have been there that night to be capable of
realising it. Over that vast and silent plain, in which everything
seemed to sleep and where no other sound was heard, there resounded
from afar a voice whose notes, in spite of the distance, reached our
ears. What an extraordinary thing it was! That song, vibrating through
the boundless night, made our hearts beat and stirred us more than the
most perfectly ordered concert given by the most famous singers.