. OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 A SOLDIER OF FRANCE 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 
 
 RENE BENJAMIN 
 
 BY SELMER FOUGNER 
 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1916
 
 Copyright, 1916, by Brentano's
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 2129372
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 A SOLDIER OF FRANCE 
 
 IT was during the great week of August, 1914, 
 when each town in every province offered a regi- 
 ment to France. The city of A , the county 
 
 seat of a corner of Normandy, did its share as well 
 as all the others in organizing and equipping its quota 
 of men. 
 
 The houses and their inhabitants have nothing of 
 a warlike character in A . The people of Nor- 
 mandy are above everything else of a practical na- 
 ture. In every eye you can first of all see that two 
 and two are four, while many seem to regret that 
 two and two cannot make five. But in none may be 
 found a really ardent desire to go to war. The sol- 
 diers' barracks appear almost to be hidden away from 
 the public eye ; it is impossible to find them without 
 a guide, and the guide must necessarily be a soldier. 
 
 The first of these barracks is an ancient convent 
 at the extreme end of a narrow passage. When the 
 soldiers are consigned to their barracks, when the 
 streets are deserted as is often the case during the
 
 2 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 summer in the early part of the afternoon when 
 the town is half asleep and the clouds roll slowly by 
 
 it would be difficult to imagine that the town of A 
 
 could actually be capable of producing a real regi- 
 ment, strong and well disciplined, marching by with 
 the rattling of the bayonets and the steps of the 
 iron-shod shoes. 
 
 And yet this miracle was accomplished. 
 
 First of all the shopkeepers fill the streets. M. 
 Romarin, the barber of the Grand Rue, was the first 
 to come out. Raising both arms skyward as though 
 he were waving a flag, he motioned to the grocer, M. 
 Clopurte, that he was preparing to go to the front. 
 M. Clopurte was also preparing, but with less enthu- 
 siasm than the barber. One never knows what might 
 happen, he thought. A poster had just been dis- 
 played at the front of the town hall, with what was 
 intended to be a word of consolation by the Presi- 
 dent of the republic : "Citizens, mobilization does not 
 mean war." 
 
 "No, it's all intended as a joke," sarcastically re- 
 marked the clerk of Maitre Farce, the notary. 
 
 The latter was just crossing the Place d'Armes on 
 his way from the law courts, where he had just met 
 M. Fosse, the department store owner. 
 
 "How do you like the idea of getting yourself 
 killed?" 
 
 M. Fosse, pale and nervous, said nothing in reply.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 3 
 
 These four men unconsciously represented the four 
 different lines of thought to be found in the minds 
 of the inhabitants of A . 
 
 One, youthful and enthusiastic, was shouting 
 "Vive la France!" He was thinking of a pretty 
 Alsatian girl of picture books and postal cards, con- 
 vinced that the only outcome of the war could be 
 the return to France of the lost provinces. 
 
 M. Clopurte, on the other hand, was bald headed 
 and thin ; the top of his head was as smooth as the 
 candles for sale in his store, and his body seemed 
 as dry as his brooms. He was thinking of the war 
 in the same way in which he was wont to consider 
 a new customer. M. Clopurte's sole thoughts were 
 for his business and he was the soul of his grocery 
 store. 
 
 The notary's clerk, on the contrary, presented a 
 sorrowful sight, but despite all his terror he was 
 doing his utmost to appear cheerful and to laugh 
 at those who were imbued with the spirit of war. 
 His main subject of worry just then concerned his 
 saleswoman, Mile. Romance, who had just consented 
 to meet him on Sunday afternoon in the suburbs 
 along the river. "Good-bye; to-morrow, love," he 
 was saying to himself. "War battles dead and 
 so young!" The thought made him sick. 
 
 As to M 1 . Fosse, he had a conception of duty 
 against which nothing could be said. The son of
 
 4 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a schoolmaster, he had spent his entire life compil- 
 ing figures ; the dates of payments due were the 
 chief events of his life. It was in this light that 
 he considered August 2, date of mobilization. 
 
 Half of the inhabitants of A thought of the 
 
 war in one of the ways particular to these four men ; 
 the other half gave it no thought whatever. 
 
 To those who lacked good cheer the setting sun 
 of this beautiful summer evening was doing its best 
 to give more courage. Not a cloud could be seen 
 in the pale blue sky as the day was coming to an 
 end. 
 
 The following day the streets of the city were 
 filled with the lads from the surrounding farms. 
 They came by train, in hay wagons, on bicycles or 
 afoot from every farm within a radius of ten miles. 
 Big, strong and healthy, their small belongings 
 wrapped in a handkerchief, they came along in threes 
 or fours, dressed in checked trousers, soft hats and 
 long sleeved waistcoats. They were the men of 
 the fields, tillers of the soil, of an entirely different 
 race from the men of the city. They had left their 
 apple trees, their cattle and their wives to answer 
 to the call of their country, and still uncertain as 
 to what was to come, had lost none of their good hu- 
 mor and gay spirits. War and farm talk mingled 
 in their remarks as they greeted each other. 
 
 "Here comes Pinceloup! How goes it?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 5 
 
 "Fine, my lad. Have you come to get yourself 
 killed?" 
 
 "Maybe; who knows?" 
 
 "Looks pretty bad, eh?" 
 
 "No more hunting, pop; I suppose we'll be the 
 game now." 
 
 "How about the others, you fool?" 
 
 "Right you are! And who cares?" 
 
 "What are you going to do about the girls, Jean ?" 
 
 "Bah, we'll find all we want where we're going." 
 
 And thus the merry throng went on through the 
 
 narrow streets of A . In appearance they had 
 
 nothing in common with the citizens of the town, 
 but they represented strength, brute force, and their 
 
 appearance gave to A the character which it 
 
 lacked. With these lads in the street the county 
 seat assumed an unusual and more warlike appear- 
 ance; far from the frontier it was nevertheless get- 
 ting ready with feverish activity, counting and pre- 
 paring its men one by one. 
 
 During the night the wind changed suddenly and 
 a heavy rainfall drenched the streets. Although the 
 sky was once again of a perfect blue when the town 
 awoke in the early morning, the weather changed 
 again just as suddenly and black clouds emptied 
 their torrents upon the town. From time to time 
 the sun would reappear, but the beautiful weather 
 of the day before had disappeared. Half the towns-
 
 6 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 people were opening their shutters when the news 
 went around that a train bringing soldiers from 
 Paris had just arrived. The men of Normandy have 
 little respect for the Parisians. "Parigots," as they 
 call them, cannot in their opinion compare with the 
 tillers of the soil. 
 
 Loud were the greetings, nevertheless, when the 
 train pulled up at the local station. 
 
 The first man to jump to the platform as the sta- 
 tion master was opening the doors of the compart- 
 ment tapped him on the shoulder, exclaiming, "Hello, 
 there, old scout! How's the village?" Resenting 
 this undue familiarity the white capped official with- 
 drew to his private office. He had seen enough of the 
 Parisians. 
 
 They came 700 or 800 strong from the Mont- 
 parnasse quarter, from the Avenue du Maine, the 
 Rue de la Gaite and other outlying districts of the 
 capital on their mission of bringing the men of Nor- 
 mandy to the front. For the Parisians are in a 
 way the bugles of a regiment; they start the march 
 and mark the step. 
 
 They seem to be 10,000 in number, talking, laugh- 
 ing, shouting at the station and in the surrounding 
 
 streets, hailing the citizens of A as though they 
 
 had known them for years, worrying not at all over 
 the lack of response. 
 
 Their first welcome came from a rotund wine shop
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 7 
 
 keeper, waving a napkin through the door of his 
 shop on the Place du Chemin-de-Fer. 
 
 "Here they are! Some men, I tell you. How's 
 the Fourteenth, boys?" 
 
 In one rush the men from Paris ran to him, while 
 cheering this, their only friend. 
 
 "Sure, I'm from Paris ! I lived ten years in the 
 Rue d'la Gaite." 
 
 "D'la Gaite! Then you must know Gaspard?" 
 
 "Maybe I do. Who is he?" 
 
 "Gaspard! Eh, Gaspard! Now where is the 
 fool?" 
 
 While waiting for Gaspard fifteen volunteered to 
 sing his praise. 
 
 "He's a wonder ! He's got a nose like a hook and 
 a face that will make a fish laugh. He kept us 
 laughing all night." 
 
 "What's his business?" said the wine seller. 
 
 "He's had about a dozen, from porter at the Halles 
 to dealer in snails. He is a real poilu !" /^ 
 
 "Well, bring him out. I want to see him." 
 
 They all marched by, but Gaspard was not there. 
 Laborers, bourgeois, wearing caps or hats or any 
 other kind of headwear. Rocton, an upholsterer, 
 came by with Moreau, a machinist, both eager to 
 point out to the wine seller a short and stout com- 
 panion wearing a straw hat too small for his large 
 red face.
 
 8 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "You see that fellow! He's a journalist. Lives 
 in the Avenue du Maine. A real swell and, believe 
 me, some talker." 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "Gaspard knows; he's Gaspard's friend." 
 
 Gaspard knew everything, but Gaspard was not 
 to be found. Even the journalist was looking for 
 him. He went back to the railroad station and 
 found Gaspard arguing with an employee. The lat- 
 ter had resented the fact that Gaspard had entered 
 the station singing at the top of his voice an old 
 marching song, the first line of which contained a 
 doubt as to the faithfulness of the station master's 
 wife. 
 
 "There you are! As soon as a Frenchman puts 
 on a military coat he loses all sense of decency." 
 
 "All sense of what? Repeat it, and I'll eat you 
 up !" said Gaspard. 
 
 And for the last five minutes insults had been ex- 
 changed at quick fire rate. 
 
 "Swanking because you've got cap and a little 
 braid, eh? I wouldn't wear your braid! So don't 
 come here putting on any airs with your rotten rail- 
 road that takes twelve hours to get up here from 
 Paris ! I'll talk about the station master so long as 
 I feel like it and if you object to my talking about 
 his wife it's probably because you're mixed up in 
 that business yourself. So just lie low, you poor
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 9 
 
 fool! We're going to the front to fight, to get 
 killed, while you'll be here punching holes in tickets !" 
 
 "Come on, Gaspard, cool off!" said the journalist. 
 
 "Well, you've got here just in time! Take me 
 away or there'll be trouble." 
 
 They went out together. 
 
 In the square loud cries greeted them. 
 
 "Here he is ! Don't hurry, we'll wait all night." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Gaspard. "What are 
 you waiting for me for? Go right ahead, I'll catch 
 up with you. What do you want to know? The 
 road to Berlin? Straight ahead, and don't turn 
 around." 
 
 His green eyes were shining like those of a wolf. 
 
 Suddenly he burst out laughing. After a search 
 in his pockets he called out to Burette, the journalist: 
 
 "Look here! I swiped his whistle! Here's where 
 my war booty begins! Don't worry, sport, we're 
 going to have some time." 
 
 Typical of all that was to come, this was the spirit 
 of Paris asserting itself in the provinces the frank 
 gayety and ever undismayed cheerfulness ; laughing 
 at the battle, scoffing at the enemy, trying out the 
 joke of the end of the war before it even had begun. 
 
 Gaspard was of high stature, as behooves a man 
 who is ever ready not only to joke at the expense 
 of those smaller than he but also to meet on their 
 own ground those of his own size. Although his
 
 10 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 hands were those of a man who docs not work with 
 his brain he had the brain of one who knew well how 
 to use his hands. With heavy set features, a search- 
 ing eye, a rebellious head of hair and an impertinent 
 little mustache, the most remarkable thing about 
 him was his nose, which was obnoxiously long and 
 of the hooked variety. It seemed to lean to the left, 
 as though it were trying to discover in Gaspard's 
 head new ideas and inspirations for his never end- 
 ing series of jokes. 
 
 The notary's clerk, who was standing near the 
 station, looked amazed as Gaspard went by. While 
 admitting the Parisian's determined attitude and his 
 jovial spirit, he could not help feeling that however 
 much of a Parisian this man might be he was obvious- 
 ly a workman and therefore not of the clerk's class. 
 
 Gaspard must have read the clerk's thoughts, for 
 he exclaimed as he passed by: "Eh, eh you of the 
 black coat, aren't you getting a ticket for Berlin?" 
 
 The clerk could not repress somewhat of a shiver 
 as he replied "Sure I am !" 
 
 But the passing of the Parisian had had its effect ; 
 the clerk suddenly felt as though he would like to 
 run after Gaspard and follow him to the very front 
 line of the fighting. Gaspard noticed the change, 
 
 but was in no way surprised. He went on to A 
 
 as though he knew every street and every inhabitant. 
 As a matter of fact he had already visited the town
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 11 
 
 on three previous occasions, and as he went along 
 with a twinkle in his eye he seemed to say: "Come 
 on, provincials ; we've come to fight with you and 
 there's no time to be lost." 
 
 At the corner of the Rue Saint Eloi he heard some 
 one exclaim: "Well, well, here's my live wire!" 
 
 Gaspard turned quickly. 
 
 "The Captain! . . . Good morning, Captain! 
 . . . How are you, Captain?" 
 
 "And how about yourself?" 
 
 "I'm all right. . . . Well, we're going to it! 
 We'll give them something to think of!" 
 
 "So we will, with Gaspard's aid !" 
 
 "No doubt, in that case! Gaspard has enlisted! 
 Wages still one sou per day! Fine! Where'll I in- 
 vest it all?" 
 
 The gleam in his eyes showed his great delight at 
 meeting his Captain, to whom he had always been 
 tenderly devoted during his first period of military 
 service. Remembering all the officer's kind attention 
 to him he at once offered his services. 
 
 "If there is anything I can do, Captain " 
 
 The Captain replied: "You can take care of the 
 equipment of my company." 
 
 "Fine! Where do I go?" 
 
 "Come right along with me." 
 
 Gaspard was delighted. Here he was, marching 
 
 along with his Captain. Both were from Paris. Gas- 
 2
 
 12 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 pard felt extremely proud. When they passed 
 through the gates of the barracks the sentinel on 
 guard saluted the officer and Gaspard replied with 
 a very superior smile. 
 
 In the yard of the barracks the Captain pointed 
 out a group of men. 
 
 "Here are our soldiers," he said. 
 
 The group included men from Paris, from provin- 
 cial towns and from the country. Two days later, 
 thanks to Gaspard, they had all become real sol- 
 diers. 
 
 To get the equipment together he had requisi- 
 tions ; pay wagons and the military effects were 
 gathered quickly. Gaspard employed none but Pa- 
 risians as his assistants and no time was lost. The 
 work was carried out with an uninterrupted fire of. 
 amusing remarks by Gaspard and his aids, foremost 
 among whom was Burette, the journalist. His ad- 
 miration for Gaspard was boundless and his enthu- 
 siasm as great as that of his friends. 
 
 "So they want war, the alboches ? Well, we'll give 
 them war ! And we'll go to it in the right way, well 
 equipped and well armed! Come on, boys, fill up 
 the wagons ! We'll get the swine !" 
 
 "I'm used to this," said Moreau, who had been a 
 stagehand at the Chatelet Theatre in Paris. "Over- 
 ture, beginners, down stage!" 
 
 "I'm waiting for the ballet," said Gaspard, "and
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 13 
 
 believe me there'll be some dancing with the German 
 girls." 
 
 "How about me?" said Burette. 
 
 "You'll come in for the last curtain call !" 
 
 Greatly amused by these remarks the men worked 
 on feverishly, piling up into the wagons the various 
 articles of equipment which they were collecting. 
 
 A large bundle of nightcaps arrested Moreau's 
 attention. 
 
 "What are these good for in summer?" 
 
 "Don't interfere," exclaimed Gaspard. "Don't 
 you know that as a coffee filter nothing can beat a 
 nightcap ?" 
 
 The work was over and the entire storehouse had 
 been emptied. As a parting joke Gaspard took a 
 large piece of cardboard upon which the inscribed in 
 heavy black letters the words "To Let, Furnished," 
 and suspended it on the front door of the building. 
 When everything had been carried to the company 
 the work had been accomplished so quickly and so 
 well that even the Captain could not conceal his sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Don't worry, Captain," said Gaspard. "Send 
 me the men one by one and I'll fix them up in less 
 than no time." 
 
 Gaspard displayed the same activity in supplying 
 the men with the various articles of clothing to which 
 they were entitled. No time was lost. "Try this
 
 14 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 shirt on quick and get a move on," he would say, 
 and when the men would risk a mild protest to the 
 effect that the article submitted was rather short, 
 Gaspard would shout: "What do you mean, short! 
 You'll be hot enough when the fighting starts and 
 you'll bless me for it!" 
 
 Another found the shirt too long and this time 
 Gaspard exclaimed: "Yes and I suppose that when 
 winter comes you'll want another piece sewed onto 
 it!" 
 
 Burette was the only one to receive better treat- 
 ment at his hands. While the newspaper man Avas 
 saying "This is all right, it's a fine fit," Gaspard 
 exlaimed : 
 
 "Shut up! What do you know about it? You're 
 a journalist! I'm going to fit you up according to 
 my own idea, because you're a pal and not proud 
 either, although you are a college man. ... I know 
 you and I know how to treat you." 
 
 "But, what's the use?" 
 
 "Be quiet and do as I say. . . . Take it off quick. 
 I'll find a better one for you." 
 
 "Well, you're not going to send it all back?" 
 
 "I'll do just as I feel like doing. I tell you that 
 you're my pal and when I meet one I know it. It's 
 not because, we're going to war that I'm going to 
 forget either. . . . Take these trousers; they'll just 
 fit you. . . . My pals are sacred to me, just as much
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 16 
 
 as my old woman and my kids. . . . Here, try this 
 coat on. ... I may be joking here, but, believe 
 me, when it comes to the people I care for. . . . 
 There was some sadness in the house two days ago, 
 I tell you. . . . When I took the kid into my arms 
 and kissed him as he was saying, 'You're not going 
 away, papa, are you?' . . . Ah, believe me. . . . 
 Here, this tunic ought to fit you, try it on. ... I 
 said to myself, 'I wish I was still a Socialist.' "... 
 
 He sat down on the floor on a heap of garments, 
 shrugging his shoulders. A moment of silence fol- 
 lowed. Then Burette said slowly : "And even if you 
 were a Socialist, you wouldn't have run away." 
 
 Gaspard laughed: 
 
 "Well, I don't think! Where to? Here are the 
 swine going through Belgium! . . . Well, that 
 coat's all right! What's your kick? . . . Here's a 
 cap. . . . And how about your wife, was she sorry 
 to see you go?" 
 
 "You bet . . ." 
 
 "Is your wife good looking?" 
 
 "None better." 
 
 "Lucky dog! Mine's all right; not that she's 
 pretty, but she's mighty neat, and, believe me, she 
 takes good care of the kid." 
 
 "Fine! . . . And . . . Are you married?" 
 
 "Married. . . . Well, not at the church . . . But 
 I'm married according to my idea."
 
 16 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Sure, and in any case it's pretty hard to break 
 away." 
 
 "You bet, son." 
 
 "And especially at this time of the year when the 
 girls are wearing those fine transparent summer 
 dresses." 
 
 "Now, that'll do . . ." 
 
 "Well, it's pretty fine to get a nice cool refresh- 
 ing drink at home in this weather." 
 
 "Ah, don't let's talk about it ... Here, it's 5 
 o'clock. Let's get away and get something to eat. 
 I'll pay the bill." 
 
 They went out and passed through the Grand' 
 Rue, which goes up toward the Prefecture, where 
 in the distance they could see a number of soldiers. 
 Clopurte, the grocer, was standing at his front door 
 in uniform, and other soldiers were to be seen on 
 all sides. In the soft light of the setting sun the 
 bright colors of the new uniforms stood out in strik- 
 ing manner and the appearance of the whole town 
 was similar to that which it generally assumed on 
 the 14th of July, the national holiday, each year. 
 
 In front of the Prefecture a large crowd was 
 pushing its way toward the entrance gates where a 
 despatch had just been posted. A priest standing 
 in the front row offered to read the message to those 
 who could not see it. Loud applause greeted the 
 offer, followed by a profound silence. The priest
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 17 
 
 began his reading in a stentorian voice while the 
 few white hairs remaining on his head waved in the 
 evening breeze. Germany had declared war upon 
 Belgium, whereupon England declared war on Ger- 
 many! And the Czar had kissed the French Am- 
 bassador ! 
 
 After the reading came a new outburst of ap- 
 plause. The men looked at each other. All agreed: 
 "They are mad! Everybody fighting! What do 
 they expect to do !" 
 
 Gaspard said: "Come on and eat. I tell you, 
 they're crazy!" 
 
 Burette was beaming with joy. 
 
 "The whole thing will last a month! Why, we'll 
 get them right away. On all sides! In three weeks 
 they will be begging for mercy!" 
 
 "It's sure going to be worth while," said Gas- 
 pard. 
 
 Laughingly they went on to the Place du Chemin- 
 de-Fer, where Burette, who was an expert on good 
 eating, knew of a little restaurant kept by a woman 
 who for twenty years had been cook in a wealthy 
 family. 
 
 They met there a soldier of their own company 
 who had just received an outfit from Gaspard, and 
 a big fat butcher from Vaugirard, who had been un- 
 able to find a coat to fit him. The butcher stood 
 up and welcomed the newcomer.
 
 18 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Gaspard questioned the other soldier. 
 
 "What's your name?" 
 
 "Hommage." 
 
 "Where the dickens did you get that name? 
 What's your business?" 
 
 "Real estate agent." 
 
 "Nothing small about you. And what are you 
 looking so sad for? Any one dead in your house?" 
 
 "I'm not feeling very well." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I am suffering from endocarditis." 
 
 "Endo what?" 
 
 "I will never be able to go to the front." 
 
 "Well, then, stay home and we'll send you a postal 
 card." 
 
 Turning toward the butcher, Gaspard consulted 
 him as to the menu. The butcher was a remarkable 
 type. His head was enormous and of a bestial ap- 
 pearance. His nose was large and fat and resembled 
 that of a steer; his eyes, exceptionally small, re- 
 called the pig; his heavy, fleshy cheeks seemed to 
 have nothing human about them and the complete 
 absence of a forehead made his appearance still more 
 curious. His mouth lost itself in his neck, his chin 
 also being absent. There was no doubt about his 
 being a man, but at first glance he resembled a mon- 
 ster. Who weuld ever have believed that he made a 
 profession of taking life? He was talkative, jovial
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 19 
 
 and merry. Gaspard had not been seated for two 
 minutes before he exclaimed: "This man's a won- 
 der!" 
 
 The man was apparently used to being flattered. 
 His first action was to try to tickle the waitress. 
 
 "What's your name ? Prudence ? Good name ! 
 That's the one they first gave me. For more than 
 a year they thought I was a girl. . . . Every one 
 said I was so good looking and sweet." 
 
 The waitress laughed herself red in the face, while 
 Burette kept on smiling. Waitress or whatever she 
 might be, Burette was always happy when he was 
 near a woman. The dinner was another reason for 
 rejoicing, and his last words before attacking the 
 soup was, "Come on, let's eat and not a word about 
 the war." 
 
 "The war?" said the butcher, his mouth full of 
 food. "Why, we won't even see the alboches." 
 
 Burette approved. But Gaspard thought this was 
 going a bit too far. 
 
 "What reasons have you for saying that?" 
 
 The butcher winked his eye. 
 
 "Reasons? Do you know how to read?" 
 
 "Slightly, my son." 
 
 "Well, then read, father! Read what the papers 
 say. In Berlin they are already scared to death. 
 In Vienna the same. And as to Wilhelm, he's 
 changed the twist of his mustache already."
 
 20 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 The butcher swallowed a large mouthful of food 
 and continued: 
 
 "And believe me, I'll show them something my- 
 self." 
 
 He removed his cap, displaying a head so closely 
 clipped that the only hair discernible was a small 
 curly lock which jumped up and down as a sort of 
 accompaniment to his speech. The effect was so 
 amusing that Gaspard burst out laughing. 
 
 "This fellow's a wonder. I say, pal." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You're with us, eh! We're all friends here. Bu- 
 rette, who is a journalist, is one of the best of 
 fellows." 
 
 "Can't be done," replied the butcher gravely. 
 "I'm with the meat." 
 
 Gaspard displayed real sorrow at the news. "No 
 luck," he said, and he never laughed again during 
 the entire dinner. 
 
 When they returned to the barracks and went to 
 bed Gaspard was in bad humor, and when a sergeant 
 came along to take the names of the men's nearest 
 relatives in order to notify them in case of death, 
 he burst forth in anger. 
 
 "What do you mean! . . . Pretty rotten, I say. 
 . . . I'm willing to get myself killed, but I'll be 
 hanged if I want any one to talk to me about it. 
 Sorry I told them the truth."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 21 
 
 Fortunately, however, August nights are short 
 and however depressed one may be before retiring, 
 the blues are generally dissipated by the morning 
 sun, particularly in this part of France where the 
 bright, laughing rays penetrate everywhere, through 
 windows, doors and every opening available. No 
 better awakening could be found than that brought 
 about by one of the bright beams of the beautiful 
 sun of sunny Normandy. 
 
 Half organized, half equipped and also half 
 asleep, the regiment came out at the call of the 
 drum and quickly recovered in the bright sunshine 
 its good spirits of the day before. The men greeted 
 each other with loud exclamations and proceeded at 
 once to look up their friends. The men of Normandy 
 and the Parisians formed separate groups while the 
 sergeants were carefully noting names and other 
 means of identification. 
 
 Gaspard, who had resumed his work of equipping 
 the men, called out to the sergeant: 
 
 "I'm with Burette. He's my pal." 
 
 "You bet, and we'll die together, won't we?" Bu- 
 rette replied. 
 
 When the companies had been organized the men 
 discussed freely the non-commissioned officers who 
 had been assigned to them. 
 
 "Who's the sergeant we've got?" said one. 
 
 "Oh, he's all right."
 
 22 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "You bet he is. I've known him for a long time. 
 Pity the men who are under that other fellow over 
 there." 
 
 On the other side the same impressions were ex- 
 changed and on the whole all were satisfied. 
 
 Concerning the Captains there was but one view. 
 Every company was convinced that it had the best 
 of them all, but according to Gaspard the Twenty- 
 fourth had fared better than any other. When he 
 uttered the name of his Captain, Puche, he spoke 
 with as much respect as if he were mentioning the 
 name of the Almighty. 
 
 "The best in the world, pal. And we'll see if we 
 get the best kind of grub too. Believe me, we'll do 
 some work with him." 
 
 Most of the work, however, was done by Gaspard 
 himself. He was kept busy giving out the various 
 articles of the soldiers' equipment, such as field dress- 
 ings, neckties, shoulder straps, badges, shoelaces, 
 neck protectors, leather belts and many other ar- 
 ticles. In the centre of the yard he piled bags of 
 coffee, sugar, biscuits, cans of meat and medical 
 supplies. The men were lined up to receive their 
 share and Gaspard had an amusing remark for each 
 one. 
 
 "Here you, hold out your hand. Another one 
 who doesn't seem to know that the Germans are on 
 their way."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 23 
 
 "On their way to where?" 
 
 "On their way to your wife. So get a move on." 
 
 Gaspard's popularity was growing every minute. 
 In twenty-four hours he had become the counsellor 
 and the confidant of an entire company, for in addi- 
 tion to his practical usefulness the moral effect of 
 his presence was excellent. To those who were dis- 
 satisfied he would say: 
 
 "Come on, kid, don't bother us with your baby 
 talk. You're going with us to the country and Gas- 
 pard will see that you have a good time." 
 
 He had no use for the loud talker and would 
 promptly silence those who pretended to know every- 
 thing about the war and just what was going to 
 happen. 
 
 "We'll let you talk if you know how after you've 
 shown us what you're worth. We're not paying 
 you a sou per day for nothing. Before bragging 
 go out and kill a few Prussians. We'll pay one sou 
 per hundred." 
 
 When a man complained that his cap was too 
 small Gaspard took him at once to the barber. 
 
 "By order of the Captain, this man is to have his 
 hair clipped until his cap fits him." 
 
 When the time came to start and the men were 
 lined up before their officers the Major's horse per- 
 sisted in standing on his hind legs. Gaspard went 
 up to the horse and spoke in its ear.
 
 24 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Come on, Pegasus. Be quiet." And the horse 
 immediately stood still. 
 
 A youthful sub-lieutenant was wrestling with the 
 regimental flag, which he was unable to extricate 
 from the leather cover in which it was enclosed. 
 Again Gaspard came to his assistance, and after a 
 long effort succeeded in disentangling the tricolor. 
 
 When the march was started every man in the 
 company would have been proud to walk beside Gas- 
 pard, including even the lads from Normandy, who 
 were still keeping aloof from the Parisians. But 
 Gaspard picked his own companions. 
 
 "The Rue d'la Gaite comes first !" 
 
 He said it with pride, for as he mentioned the 
 name he pictured in his mind the district of which 
 he was so fond, his own Rue de la Gaite, back of the 
 Montparnasse Station, with its bars, music halls and 
 food shops. In that street the entire district gets 
 both its food and its fun. During the daytime the 
 fried potato sellers hold sway there, as well as in 
 the Rue Montorgueil, and the crowd is greater than 
 in the Rue de Belleville. At night the streets sparkle 
 with thousands of lights and the screeching tunes of 
 gramophones are wafted out to the evening breeze 
 from almost every house. 
 
 Gaspard, the snail dealer of the Rue de la Gaite, 
 was unable to conceal his emotion at the thought of 
 his home and the street he knew so well.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 25 
 
 "Come on, men of my street!" he proudly 
 called. 
 
 Moreau, the machinist, was the first to step out, 
 with the air of a staff officer standing beside his 
 chief. 
 
 Burette stood out to the left. Gaspard looked 
 him over. 
 
 "Well, you don't belong to the street, but you're 
 a pal, so you're all right. And now, on to Berlin. 
 Give the address to the Colonel !" 
 
 The men formed fours and the officers whistled a 
 merry tune as the regiment moved on. 
 
 Two thousand men in this country town, which 
 only a few days ago had been half asleep two 
 thousand men had been gathered suddenly and were 
 marching off, all with the same regiment number on 
 their coat collars and caps, all with the same rifles 
 on their shoulders, the same question plainly written 
 on their faces : 
 
 "Well, we're on our way. But where to?" And 
 behind these few words could be discovered the en- 
 thusiasm of some and the fears of the others. 
 
 One of the most striking things about a regiment 
 on its first march is the uniform, which naturally is 
 the first thing to be noticed. But under the same 
 caps similar thoughts may also be found, and it 
 seems to each man that destiny is leading the march 
 immediately after the first command has been given.
 
 26 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Love, interests, fears, all disappear as the men 
 march along. 
 
 Women and children delight in watching the sol- 
 diers march by, but the men are just as proud of 
 doing the marching. Individuality disappears ; the 
 men no longer think of "I," but speak only of "we," 
 and their courage and determination increase as they 
 advance. Those who have not served with the colors, 
 who have not marched through some town rifle in 
 hand, have missed one of the greatest sensations 
 which come to mankind, although each man knows 
 well that he is only a very small wheel in the social 
 machine depending in every respect upon thousands 
 of other factors, but it is a servitude which fills a 
 man with pride, for he is bound to realize that he 
 has become a national asset. An armed man march- 
 ing along realizes his strength and his mission ; he 
 has become a symbol; he is wearing the colors of 
 his country and he knows well that a regiment on 
 its way to the front is a wonderful thing. 
 
 When the men of A started out, a soldier 
 
 without belt or bayonet went up to Burette and 
 Gaspard : 
 
 "Good-by, gentlemen and good luck." 
 
 It was M. Hommage, the real estate agent, who 
 was suffering from endocarditis, and who would ob- 
 tain from the sergeant permission to remain at 
 home. Burette, sympathetic, replied to the man,
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 27 
 
 but was unable to refrain from saying to Gas- 
 pard: 
 
 "Do you remember during the last seventeen days 
 of our military service when you asserted that if 
 war should come to be declared the land owners and 
 landlords could do the fighting, as they had their 
 money to protect, but that you, having nothing to 
 defend, would refuse to march? Well, Gaspard! 
 You're the one to march just now, and this landlord 
 is staying home !" 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Gaspard. "My argument 
 was all wrong. Having nothing, I have nothing to 
 lose, no hesitation, and out I go. But he is afraid 
 he might lose his money, so it's better to leave him 
 here to protect it." 
 
 In just about one minute his good sensible mind 
 had adapted to war a theory of peace. 
 
 As they went through the gate of the barracks 
 to the rolling of the drums and the merry notes of 
 the bugle the crowd poured out into the streets to 
 see them go by. 
 
 It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the sun's 
 shining rays brightened the hearts of every one and 
 dispelled the fears of the few. 
 
 Women came from all the shops, distributing 
 flowers to the soldiers. Gaspard received his share 
 and exclaimed to the fair ones: 
 
 "When we get back there'll be some kissing!" 
 3
 
 28 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 A rumor was current that 100,000 Germans had 
 fallen before Liege 100,000 ! It seemed there would 
 be none left. The men were marching faster, as 
 though eager to catch up with the enemy. 
 
 "Where's the train for Berlin?" and a loud cry 
 arose when the train was found. 
 
 The square in front of the railroad station was 
 thronged. The inhabitants had hastened to see the 
 soldiers march by, and now they were pushing each 
 other to bid the men farewell. It was Sunday and 
 the women wore light shirtwaists and their best hats 
 and shoes. Among them could be seen the wife of 
 M. Fosse, Mile. Romance, Mine. Clopurte and the 
 Colonel's wife. 
 
 "Too bad my own little woman is not there," said 
 Burette. 
 
 "Make up for it by looking at the others," Gas- 
 pard replied. And to give the good example he ex- 
 changed many a wink and passing salute with all the 
 good looking women. 
 
 The Colonel, nervous and grave, was walking up 
 and down the platform as though he were eager to 
 resume the march, and his wife, an imposing looking 
 woman, was presenting a bouquet of roses to a gal- 
 lant captain at whom she was staring through a 
 lorgnette. 
 
 The men finally entrained. They had been dis- 
 tributed in groups, and each one took a seat in the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 29 
 
 compartment to which he had been assigned. Within 
 five minutes the entire regiment disappeared in the 
 little black and brown boxes which were to carry to 
 the frontier these 2,000 men. Only the heads could 
 now be seen, and the doors and windows were filled 
 by the officers, eager to be the last to see and be 
 seen. 
 
 Gaspard, Burette and Moreau, however, were all 
 three in evidence. In their car the officers stood in 
 the background. 
 
 At 3 o'clock sharp the train left the station. 
 Loud applause and exclamations were heard on all 
 sides, both from the soldiers off for the front and 
 from those who had come to speed them on their 
 way. 
 
 "Hurrah! On to Berlin, down with the Kaiser!" 
 "Good-by, friends." "Good-by, my little blond 
 sweetheart!" "On to Berlin!" "Berlin!" "Good 
 luck!" "Buck up!" "Kill as many as you can and 
 come back quick!" 
 
 The Colonel's wife, still staring through her 
 lorgnette, threw more flowers toward the train and a 
 lieutenant caught the last bouquet as he was jump- 
 ing into his compartment. 
 
 The locomotive whistle was heard once again in 
 a last and ardent farewell to Normandy. The sta- 
 tion master stood on the platform waving his flag. 
 Suddenly a merry voice was heard, singing loudly
 
 30 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a well known tune, the same song concerning the 
 station master's wife at which an employee two days 
 ago had taken offence. It was Gaspard on his way 
 to the front.
 
 n 
 
 BEFORE the war there was nothing quite so 
 dull and lugubrious as a long string of cat- 
 tle cars moving along a railway in France, 
 but the war made of these ugly cars a sight which 
 filled with enthusiasm every citizen of the republic. 
 Women at level crossings acclaimed them. The in- 
 scription, written in chalk by the soldiers, "Excur- 
 sion train for Berlin," amused every one and the 
 soldiers never missed an opportunity to hail with 
 a cheering salute the women of France who came to 
 see them go by. "Good morning, Marie!" "How 
 goes it, Margot?" the soldiers would cry, and in 
 reply the women would wave frantically handker- 
 chiefs or scarfs and throw flowers into the passing 
 car. In this way the regiments going to the frontier 
 passed through the French provinces, the inhabitants 
 of which seemed to be celebrating some great na- 
 tional holiday. 
 
 Gaspard, Burette and Moreau soon realized that 
 they had never had so good a time. In order to get 
 a breath of air, to see everything along the road 
 
 31
 
 32 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 and to jump out of the train at even the shortest 
 stop they had taken possession of the door, the only 
 exit from their cattle car, and nothing or no one 
 could clear them out. If another soldier attempted 
 to pass Gaspard would say: 
 
 "Get away and don't bother us ! If you're not 
 satisfied go to the Captain and complain of Gaspard. 
 You'll see what will happen to you. Because Gas- 
 pard worked hard while you were watching the clouds 
 roll by. So believe me I have the right to travel 
 as I please. Gaspard and you are two different men, 
 and don't you forget it!" 
 
 "And how about the two others?" the complain- 
 ant would say. 
 
 "The others are my pals, see ! And now get away. 
 Some nerve, this fellow! He's from Normandy a 
 farmer, a peasant and trying to take the place of 
 a journalist and a machinist! Some nerve!" 
 
 "But listen here," said Burette. "I might move 
 for a few minutes." 
 
 "You're going to stay right where you are," said 
 Gaspard, "or you're no longer my pal." 
 
 "Sure," added Moreau, "a pal is a pal." 
 
 Gaspard had secured a fine place of vantage, 
 seated on the floor of the car with his legs dangling 
 outside, with only a short slide to make to jump out 
 whenever the train stopped. Several of his comrades 
 warned him.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 33 
 
 "They haven't given the signal ! The Colonel will 
 get you!" 
 
 "Well, I'll have to get a drink in order to give a 
 good account of myself." 
 
 With his coat off and his shirt open to leave his 
 neck free he would run across the tracks carrying 
 a half dozen empty water bottles which he endeav- 
 ored to fill before the train resumed its course. Pie 
 would call at every house or hut along the track, 
 but could hardly wait until the doors were open, and 
 most of his trips were failures. 
 
 "I'll go no further without water," he would ex- 
 claim, but the train would move on and Gaspard 
 would jump aboard at the very last minute. 
 
 At every stop his comrades encouraged him to re- 
 new the attempt, although Burette was greatly wor- 
 ried at the thought that his pal might be left behind. 
 But each time Gaspard would reappear at the very 
 last minute and finally he returned half drenched. 
 
 "I found a fountain and stood right under it and 
 here's a drink for all of you !" 
 
 Burette enjoyed the refreshing draught, but re- 
 marked : 
 
 "A glass of beer would taste better." 
 
 "Anything else you'd like?" asked Gaspard. 
 
 Two minutes later the train pulled into a large 
 station, and Gaspard, always on the lookout, dis- 
 covered a small keg of beer on the platform. Mira-
 
 34 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 cles like this have been known to happen. There 
 was neither name nor address on the keg, so Gaspard 
 took it for granted that it had no owner. Calling 
 Moreau to his assistance he placed the keg in the 
 car while no officer was in sight. 
 
 M. Fosse, who was a sergeant, protested. 
 
 "No, Gaspard, don't do it. This is robbery." 
 
 "Robbery !" said Gaspard. "No wonder you're 
 a sergeant! Only a sergeant could talk such rot." 
 
 With his bayonet he tried to pierce the thick wood 
 of the keg. 
 
 "Robbery ! On a state railway ! What is the 
 state ? Why, we are the state. Therefore, travelling 
 on our own railway whatever I find belongs to us. 
 Come on, pals, bring over your cups." 
 
 Burette passed his over and so did the others, but 
 the journalist thought a word of apology to M. 
 Fosse was in order. 
 
 "War is war! It would probably be lost any- 
 way." 
 
 "Oh, don't bother," said Gaspard. "Drink and 
 fill up again, and don't interfere." 
 
 There were three drinks of beer for every man 
 in the car, but unfortunately about one-third of the 
 contents of the keg was spilled on the floor. Verily, 
 this was the life ! 
 
 Their only source of worry was their destination. 
 Where were they going? To the east or to the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 35 
 
 north? All agreed that it must be the north, but 
 later on they changed their minds and decided for 
 the east. The train went around Paris and through 
 the suburbs of Champigny. 
 
 Heavy set and stout territorials were guarding 
 the bridges, and many amusing remarks were called 
 out to them from the train. 
 
 "Hello, George! How goes it? Don't worry." 
 
 When it came time to eat the men divided among 
 themselves their supplies of sardines, hard boiled 
 eggs, sausages and chocolate, after which all enjoyed 
 a short nap, resting on each other's shoulder. They 
 were already getting used to the hardships of war 
 and slept well despite the cracking of the wood and 
 the clanking of the wheels, which seemed at every 
 turning to be about to drop off. 
 
 After twenty-four hours of steady travel the train 
 pulled into the station at Rheims. 
 
 "Aren't they going to take us out soon?" queried 
 Moreau. "They're not going to ask HS to fight now, 
 are they? We're of the reserves and have families. 
 . . . What are the young ones doing?" 
 
 "That," replied Burette, "is a childish argument." 
 
 "Why so ?" said Moreau, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "Under what name do you write in the papers?" 
 
 "I sign my articles 'Socrates.' ' 
 
 "Oh, you Socrates ! . . . Well, you'd do better in 
 signing 'Simpleton.' When a man is a journalist
 
 36 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 he's supposed to write common sense, or else he's 
 trying to make fools of the public. 
 
 "And therefore I repeat that tomorrow we will be 
 at the frontier." 
 
 They arrived there the same night. 
 
 "This Socrates is bringing us hard luck," said 
 Moreau. 
 
 "Ah come on," replied Gaspard. "Who would 
 ever believe that you come from the Rue de la Gaite ! 
 . . . What kind of blood have you got in your veins ? 
 . . . We're going and we're on our way. As for me, 
 I'd rather see them and get through with them. Be- 
 lieve me, the first Alboche I see I'll get, and I'm 
 not going to ask him if he's a member of Parlia- 
 ment or if he's got any reference! I'll lose no time, 
 take it from me!" 
 
 It was with these parting words that he set foot 
 upon the beautiful land of Lorraine. 
 
 His words, however, failed to receive the reward 
 they deserved. The voice of an officer came out of 
 the shadow: 
 
 "Silence, damn you! This is no time for jokes! 
 We'll get shot down like rabbits !" 
 
 "Rabbits" . . . murmured Moreau, "well we're 
 really in for it ... they're right here waiting for 
 us." 
 
 Almost stupefied by the realization of the imme- 
 diate danger the soldiers, after their day and a half
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 37 
 
 spent in the cattle cars, remained silent. The regi- 
 ment disembarked on a platform, without a light, in 
 a country unknown to the men, and of which they 
 only knew that it was "the frontier." With mouths 
 half open the men raised their eyes to the sky, where 
 only a few pale stars could be seen. A strange, 
 weird wind was blowing through the high poplars 
 and the distant horizon seemed one long black line 
 intercepted by a high hill which seemed like a wall 
 behind which . . . the enemy. 
 
 Without a whisper the men moved on. They 
 passed over a river or a bridge well mined and care- 
 fully guarded. They then proceeded along the bank, 
 carefully, mysteriously, two by two. Here was war 
 in all its tragedy. . . . M. Fosse marched along 
 bravely without a whisper or even a murmur ; he was 
 beginning to do his duty. The men from Normandy 
 came dragging along; their careful instinct warned 
 them of the danger. Burette was thinking of his 
 wife; 11 o'clock at night, the hour at which he gen- 
 erally gave her his good-night kiss . . . and Gas- 
 pard followed along with the care-free step of the 
 Parisian wondering, "Where to? What does it all 
 mean ?" 
 
 The regiment went through two villages, both well 
 prepared for defensive purposes, with old hay wag- 
 ons and carts barring one-half of the road. Patrols 
 of dragoons passed them repeatedly and the in-
 
 38 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 fantrymen were often compelled to dodge quickly 
 aside to avoid the hoofs of the horses. 
 
 Moreau complained: 
 
 "This is worse than a nightmare, dodging these 
 fools on their horses." 
 
 Weary and tired, the men lost all desire to ex- 
 change any impressions. After three hours of quick 
 marching through the darkness of the night these 
 men gave no more thought to the invisible enemy, 
 but only to their feet and their backs and the won- 
 derful rest to come. 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Gaspard, dragging his 
 feet. "They must have all run away. We'll be in 
 Berlin tomorrow morning." 
 
 "Are you tired?" asked Captain Puche. 
 
 "Me? . . . Oh, no, I'm not tired. I just said 
 that to say something." 
 
 But at the break of dawn, when the regiment 
 finally came to a halt in a small village and the men 
 were sent to sleep in haylofts, Gaspard threw him- 
 self down on the hay without parting with his rifle 
 or any other part of his equipment, and paying no 
 attention whatsoever to the protests of the 
 others. 
 
 "There's no more room. Take your gun out of 
 the way! What do you think of that? . . . Well, 
 he should worry! There, he's already begun to 
 snore!"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 39 
 
 Even Burette was furious because he was unable 
 to find a comfortable spot for himself. 
 
 "He has taken all the hay ! And with my night- 
 cap on! I'm disgusted! I'm going to sleep right 
 on top of him!" 
 
 This didn't worry Gaspard. He was dreaming of 
 his snails and of the Rue de la Gaite, with deep sighs 
 interrupted here and there by one or two words. 
 
 After two hours of rest the men were ordered out 
 by the Colonel. 
 
 "I should worry about the Colonel," said Gaspard. 
 
 "The first one who bothers me," said Moreau, 
 "will be sorry for it. I'll fire my whole equipment 
 right square in the centre of his jaw." 
 
 "It's bad enough as it is," said Burette. "They 
 would do better to serve us a cup of chocolate." 
 
 "And other up to date improvements," added 
 Gaspard. 
 
 M. Fosse, his hair full of hay and half asleep 
 himself, tried to quiet the men. 
 
 "Come on, boys, be reasonable. We'll have to 
 make some coffee. Where's Gaspard?" 
 
 "Gaspard, he's snoring like a steam engine." 
 
 "I am surprised at you, Gaspard a Parisian !" 
 
 "Ah, don't talk about Paris ! What do you know 
 about Paris? In Paris when you're asleep they let 
 you alone. In Paris there's no sergeant to worry 
 you. In Paris well, you're in Paris, while here
 
 40 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 you're treated like a herd of cattle. Believe me, 
 this is no place to talk of Paris." 
 
 "Some brainstorm! But for the love of God, 
 we're at war." 
 
 "I should worry. Good night!" 
 
 "Attention !" 
 
 The Captain stuck his head through the door. 
 
 "Is Gaspard here?" 
 
 "Present ! Here I am." 
 
 "Well, it's up to you to give us some good coffee." 
 
 "Sure, Captain!" 
 
 "And bring some to me." 
 
 "Understood." 
 
 "And some to the Lieutenant." 
 
 "Don't worry ; they'll all get it." 
 
 The Captain disappeared. M. Fosse remarked: 
 
 "When it's the Captain " 
 
 Gaspard looked him straight in the face. 
 
 "Well, I hope you're not going to compare your- 
 self to him. He's polite, knows how to talk to you." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose you felt flattered because he 
 asked you for some of your coffee." 
 
 "I suppose you believe that you asked me." 
 
 "I'm not speaking about myself." 
 
 "Well, good for you, because, you know, your 
 sergeant's braid has no effect on me." 
 
 "Well, that will do," said M. Fosse. "Go no 
 further or I shall have to punish you."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 41 
 
 "Don't try any airs with me." 
 
 "Go on with your coffee." 
 
 "Now you're not talking to a kid." 
 
 "Go on with your coffee." 
 
 "I'm the father of a family, my boy, and take it 
 from me, I'm doing some work here." 
 
 "Now stop it!" 
 
 M. Fosse went out, his eyes aflame. Gaspard 
 looked at Moreau. 
 
 "Something wrong with that fellow. It's pretty 
 bad when you have to go to war with half luna- 
 tics." 
 
 "What kind of sugar have you got for your cof- 
 fee?" queried Burette. 
 
 "I suppose my lord would like some special 
 brand!" 
 
 "And how about brandy? Have they got any 
 brandy in this one horse town? Have you seen any 
 of the natives?" 
 
 "No, but I'm going to explore." 
 
 As Gaspard was going out Burette called him 
 back. 
 
 "Don't forget that if you find a sweet little 
 girl " 
 
 "I'll keep her for myself!" 
 
 Gaspard made his coffee. Two hours later he 
 made soup for the company and later on he cooked 
 the evening meal. The next day he did the same.
 
 42 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 The regiment was encamped 100 meters from the 
 Meuse, in a poor little village of Lorraine, with flat 
 topped houses, the roofs of which seemed to have 
 been patched up with tiles of many descriptions by 
 inexperienced hands. The houses along the road 
 seemed to have been placed any old way, regardless 
 of symmetry. The belfry of the church seemed 
 about to collapse, while the church itself appeared 
 to be the work of a child trying its hand at archi- 
 tecture. The whole place seemed lamentably de- 
 serted and desolate and the approaching misfor- 
 tunes recalled all that this country had suffered in 
 days gone by. 
 
 Forever war-ravaged, this province has grown 
 accustomed to go through an invasion as another 
 district experiences a storm, and forever expecting 
 the enemy, the inhabitants show no surprise when 
 they find out that he has actually come. The vil- 
 lage had been hastily rebuilt as though it was pre- 
 pared to go down again at the shortest notice. The 
 inhabitants are hardened and resigned. And the 
 soldiers who come from more fortunate provinces 
 cannot understand that if the inhabitants of these 
 parts seem rude it is because they have suffered so 
 much already. 
 
 Gaspard, who had been going from one door to 
 another, calling for butter, onions, potatoes and 
 other provisions, returned in rage.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 43 
 
 "A fine lot of brutes ! It's a pretty mean deal to 
 have to go out and fight for that kind of idiots !" 
 
 But his remarks found no response, for his com- 
 rades had been taken down to the banks of the river 
 by the Captain, who was putting them through a 
 morning drill just as in time of peace. 
 
 A general order to that effect had been issued 
 to the entire regiment, but Captain Puche had such 
 a quiet and peaceful way of carrying it out that his 
 interesting personality is worthy of more careful 
 description. 
 
 The Colonel and the other officer had during the 
 past five days been outspoken in their patriotic talk 
 and had never lost an opportunity to deliver a 
 stirring war speech. The Captain, on the contrary, 
 had never made any reference whatsoever to the war. 
 He was going there without the slightest hesitation, 
 but saw no reason for stirring speeches ; he was not 
 a lawyer, but a Captain, and before thinking of 
 the battle of which he and his men knew nothing 
 his first thought was of his duty to see that his men 
 were well fed and well trained. He never thought 
 of saying : "Soldiers . . . your country . . . glory 
 . . . the flag . . . sacrifice . . . bloodshed . . ." 
 No; his idea was to say to his men: "My boys, are 
 your rations satisfactory? Are the potatoes well 
 cooked? Have all the men received their reserve 
 supply of provisions?" 
 4
 
 44 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 As a matter of fact this attitude was not under- 
 stood. The French people love stirring speeches. 
 This chief, despite all his tender attentions, was too 
 much of a materialist to please the 250 men of his 
 company ; they wanted more verbal patriotism. The 
 men tired of the Captain's questions and failed to 
 understand his excellent intentions. 
 
 What the men resented more than anything else 
 was the fact that when only a very short distance 
 from the enemy's line the Captain gave his orders 
 for the drill with the petty dulness and lack of ex- 
 citement which he displayed at home in time of peace. 
 
 "Fine business this is! What does he think we're 
 here for? I suppose he'll have us polishing up our 
 buttons this afternoon !" 
 
 He probably would if the equipment had included 
 the necessary polishing powder. For to Captain 
 Puche the polishing of a soldier's brass buttons was 
 another form of discipline, and a good way of keep- 
 ing his troops well in hand. Whenever he brought 
 them back to their encampment he would say while 
 dismounting: "Equipment and traps to be cleaned 
 at once; I will come around and inspect them my- 
 self." And the order was given in the same tone 
 of friendly seriousness. 
 
 The war had brought about no change in this 
 most peculiar man. He remained in Lorraine just 
 exactly what he was in the provincial quarters of
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 45 
 
 the military school, where he made out at night de- 
 tailed accounts of the condition of the men's shirts 
 and shoes. He was a pure type of a respectable 
 bourgeois, who carefully puts up jam every summer 
 for the following winter, and who, forever practical, 
 continues during the most momentous hours to be- 
 lieve in the importance of all small things of life. 
 This attention to the smaller details is generally 
 most offensive to more exalted minds who cannot 
 believe in the usefulness of an officer who is at the 
 same time an official and remains strictly in his own 
 place and at his own work, leaving to others the 
 discussion and consideration of higher thoughts. 
 
 War, life, death are all very beautiful subjects 
 for the civilian to discuss ; he has much time to spare. 
 But a Captain has no time to lose. He must watch 
 the supplies given to his men. He must take care 
 of their food and their stomachs. Philosophers, who 
 have not been mobilized, can take care of the weird 
 works of destiny, the great problems of human ex- 
 istence and the great unanswered questions of the 
 war. The military profession constitutes a barrier 
 erected in front of all these problems. The soldier 
 must act; he must not think. As soon as he begins 
 to think the enemy jumps on his back. The first 
 act of war is to forget every article of imagination. 
 Captain Puche, who seemed to have no imagination 
 whatsoever, was therefore a most valuable chief.
 
 46 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 None of his men, not even Burette, noticed this 
 during the first few days. Gaspard, who remained 
 at his pots and pans and therefore did not attend 
 the drills, spoke of these exercises in a highly con- 
 temptuous manner. He thought them entirely un- 
 called for and untimely, but 
 
 "In this business you're not supposed to try to 
 understand. They're our bosses and we're just plain 
 numbers." 
 
 "Well, that's going a bit too < far," said Moreau. 
 
 Romarin, the barber's assistant from A , 
 
 proved more energetic. 
 
 "Well, I've come here to fight and that's all I 
 want now." 
 
 Clopurte, the grocer, had nothing to say. 
 
 At times young Pinceloup, a big, heavy set farmer 
 with a face thoroughly baked in the sun, would say : 
 
 "For all we know we may never see the alboches." 
 
 "Don't be foolish," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Foolish nothing; don't forget that we belong to 
 the reserves." 
 
 "Go on ; I like to hear you talk." 
 
 "If the active troops do their job well " 
 
 "Poor fool, where do you come from? Were you 
 born this morning?" 
 
 "I'm no more of a fool than you are." 
 
 "You're not a fool; you're a damn fool." 
 
 "Well, all I know is that we've been here five
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 47 
 
 days and the others have skipped. Why do you 
 think they beat it?" 
 
 "Where do you come from?" said Gaspard. 
 
 "My home is in Pin-la-Garenne." 
 
 "Are there many fools like you there?" 
 
 Sergeant Fosse rushed into the hayloft and said: 
 
 "We're going! You'll have to get ready in fif- 
 teen minutes." 
 
 "Where are we going?" asked Moreau. 
 
 "We're going right to it, my boy. You'd better 
 number your arms and legs." 
 
 "The deuce you say!" exclaimed Gaspard. "Are 
 you sure of it?" 
 
 "I heard the Colonel say it to Puche." 
 
 "Hurray, pals, this is the life !" 
 
 He cornered poor Pinceloup, exclaiming, "You're 
 some prophet." 
 
 Pinceloup had turned white and so had Clopurte, 
 while Romarin was beaming with joy. Gaspard 
 danced around the place with Burette. 
 
 "Didn't you hear him?" 
 
 "Of course I did." 
 
 "Well, how about you; aren't you happy?" 
 
 "You bet I'm happy !" 
 
 "Well, then, it's time to begin to laugh, old pal. 
 We're going to see just what the alboche is made 
 of." 
 
 His happiness was so sincere that it put courage
 
 48 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 into the hearts of the weakest. As he was prepar- 
 ing for the march his parting remark was : "At 
 last we'll get a chance of a real fight without fear 
 of the cops." 
 
 The regiment started at once. 
 
 The weather was exceptionally fine and the morn- 
 ing breeze gave courage to these inexperienced 
 troops on the first day of their misery. Gaspard 
 kept on smoking, talking, singing or eating while 
 marching along. From time to time he would be 
 seen carrying two rifles while Moreau was shaking 
 a prune tree. The latter would return with his 
 cap full of prunes which he distributed to the others, 
 but the fruit was not ripe. Two minutes later Mo- 
 reau was carrying two rifles, Gaspard having dis- 
 appeared in a farm. He reappeared shortly, exhib- 
 iting to his friends what he had found: 
 
 "Butter, pals ; yes, real butter. And fresh too." 
 
 "Just like in the Avenue du Maine," said Moreau. 
 
 And it was just as in the Avenue du Maine. A 
 line of twelve motor buses from Paris passed the 
 men on the road. Gaspard inquired where the bus 
 stopped, while Moreau imitated a stout woman try- 
 ing to get into the bus and saying: 
 
 "See that you're more polite, conductor." 
 
 Even the men from the country who recalled their 
 visits to the capital during the world's fair or on 
 the occasion of the marriage of some relative were
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 49 
 
 greatly amused in listening to these merry jesters 
 who helped them to pass the time away and forget 
 the heavy load which they were carrying. 
 
 Even Pinceloup and Clopurte recovered their 
 good spirits, as the enemy seemed as far away as 
 ever. They were marching through a beautiful dis- 
 trict and were swinging along at a good pace while 
 Gaspard was singing at the top of his voice a merry 
 marching song. 
 
 He had just come to the end of the first verse 
 when suddenly the air was shaken by a formidable 
 rumble. The regiment understood. 
 
 "The cannons !" said almost every voice. 
 
 Gaspard's face revealed nothing but pure delight. 
 
 "Go to it!" he said. "I hope that one hits them 
 square in the eye." 
 
 The men laughed ; although they had been march- 
 ing since 6 o'clock in the morning, they were merry 
 and in fine spirits. At the same time a wonderful 
 rumor was current among them: A revolution had 
 broken out in Germany. Yes, actually a revolution. 
 Great rejoicing followed, but none of the men was 
 surprised, for the thing had been expected ever since 
 August 2. Is it not always the case that when all 
 of a country's neighbors turn against it the people 
 turn against their own leaders? 
 
 "Burette told us so," said Gaspard. "Believe me, 
 he knows."
 
 50 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "It was bound to come," said Burette quietly, his 
 face beaming with joy. In the newspapers it had 
 been predicted and every one expected it. A gen- 
 eral coalition against Germany would inevitably 
 mean bankruptcy, starvation and civil war in the 
 course of one month. 
 
 "Sure !" said Gaspard. "Maybe they are already 
 eating their shoe soles !" 
 
 The Captain came along on his horse. 
 
 "Captain, is it true that there's a revolution in 
 Germany ?" 
 
 Puche replied simply: "So they say." And ex- 
 plained nothing further, as his mount was eager to 
 go on ahead. 
 
 Gaspard laughed. 
 
 "Well, the Captain doesn't worry at least!" 
 
 One hour later they reached a village, where they 
 encamped. Nothing further had been heard from 
 the guns. 
 
 "I told you so," said Pinceloup. "We'll never 
 see the alboches." 
 
 As a matter of fact this other little village of 
 Lorraine seemed quite peaceful and far removed from 
 the scene of any fighting. This one was just as 
 poor as the other one with cracked walls and dilapi- 
 dated houses, but the weather was so beautiful that 
 it seemed much brighter than the first village 
 through which the regiment had passed.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 51 
 
 "Where are we?" said Gaspard to an old 
 woman who, with her rusty key, was trying to 
 open the door to a hayloft to be used by the com- 
 pany. 
 
 "Why, you're right here in our village," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "But are we far from them?" 
 
 "From here to Metz it is eight miles." 
 
 "Eight miles? Good! We belong to the reserve, 
 so we should worry. Eh, pals? Meanwhile we'll re- 
 cuperate with a good hot soup, and some soup it's 
 going to be!" 
 
 At every stop Gaspard would throw his haversack 
 and rifle into some corner and ask Burette to watch 
 them while he set out to find food. 
 
 On that particular evening he decided that he 
 would go in person to fetch meat for the company. 
 
 He recalled that at A he had dined with the 
 
 butcher and was now going to take advantage of 
 that man's beneficial friendship. 
 
 The supply wagons were lined up in the church 
 square and through the open door of the great truck 
 could be seen the enormous head of the butcher be- 
 tween huge quarters of beef suspended around him. 
 He appeared, then disappeared behind the masses 
 of meat which he would take down, cut up and hang 
 back on their hooks without apparently the slightest 
 effort. He seemed to delight in digging his huge
 
 52 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 knife into the meat and was surely enjoying im- 
 mensely his work. 
 
 "This is for me," said Gaspard, "and see that 
 I'm well served. A good sirloin, as fine as they 
 come." 
 
 The butcher winked his eye. 
 
 "Are you taking care of the food?" 
 
 "That's me," said Gaspard. "Can't get the others 
 to do any work." 
 
 He said it with pride, for he knew well that in a 
 company there are two important men: its leader 
 and the man who makes the soup, the Captain and 
 the cook. He was the cook. 
 
 To the average soldier, the man who is "serving" 
 in the real meaning of the word, war is chiefly a 
 long series of trials for the body, marching with all 
 your luggage on your back in weather either too 
 hot or too cold and all the other sufferings and, at 
 last, starvation, the great enemy, and death. But 
 in death one forgets the straps which shorten the 
 breath or the sufferings which make one's feet feel 
 heavier than the boots. And then again, death is 
 often instantaneous, without suffering, while hunger 
 pursues and tortures an army for many, many days. 
 
 There is no terror in death, but hunger is the 
 arch enemy who wipes out all the perils of war. 
 And that is why the man who prepares the food is 
 so important a person. He is responsible for the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 53 
 
 good hot soup which helps the men to surmount all 
 their other troubles, to overcome fatigue and sleepi- 
 ness, making every man at the front merry and 
 bright and happy. 
 
 Gaspard knew it well, and in his pride as a Pa- 
 risian, happy in the knowledge that he was indis- 
 pensable, he went at his work with great enthusiasm. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, I'll fix it for you." 
 
 There was no earthly reason why he should have 
 been selected to do the cooking. He was clever and 
 bright, but the business of buying and preparing 
 snails was the only thing he knew well and it had 
 nothing in common with making soup. The result 
 was that his concoction was deplorably bad. Every- 
 thing he cooked was practically sodden. Neverthe- 
 less, it was with great pride that he announced: "It's 
 ready! Go on and eat." 
 
 The men, knowing that a cook is generally very 
 sensitive, were lavish in their compliments, and would 
 often stop eating to exclaim "Fine!" 
 
 "Well," said Gaspard, "you'll have to leave it to 
 me to get around; I found butter and onions and 
 when it comes to soup I think you've got it." 
 
 The others, swallowing their spoonfuls of hot 
 water, replied: 
 
 "You bet . . . you surely know how." 
 
 "All that's missing," said Burette, "is a little glass 
 of sherry or port."
 
 54 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 He was sprawling on the hay, his eyes wandering 
 around the loft, resting on the beams supporting 
 the roof, where the spider webs were so thick that 
 they looked like pieces of cloth. The loft was im- 
 mense, with many dark corners where the hay was 
 piled up in high stacks. Meantime nightfall had 
 come and only a small ray of light came through 
 a half open door, displaying weird shadows on the 
 walls. In the back some of the men were already 
 snoring. Gaspard resumed his song and one by one 
 the men fell asleep. 
 
 On the following morning it was raining. Gas- 
 pard was furious. 
 
 "Where the deuce am I going to do my cooking 
 in this weather?" 
 
 Burette grumbled as he arose. 
 
 "Oh, my poor back ... no more of this. I've 
 got to have a bed. It's bad enough to be without 
 your wife." 
 
 Bang! The big guns were heard again. 
 
 "I suppose we're just about taking Metz from 
 them," said Moreau. 
 
 "Metz or no Metz," said Gaspard, "where am I 
 going to do my cooking?" 
 
 "You give me a pain with your cooking," said 
 Romarin. 
 
 "I give you what! . . . Well, young sport, just 
 try to come round like yesterday and ask me for any
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 55 
 
 special cut of the meat ... I give you a pain, 
 do I?" 
 
 "Come on," said Burette, "none of this fighting. 
 You'd do better to go out and get me some fresh 
 eggs. I'm beginning to feel real hungry." 
 
 He took Gaspard's arm. 
 
 "Let's go and visit the chicken coops." 
 
 In the village Gaspard again began to worry. 
 
 "What am I going to do about the food?" 
 
 "All you have to do," Burette replied, "is to stand 
 here behind the church where you will be sheltered 
 from the rain." 
 
 "And what if the priest objects?" 
 
 "The priest is a good chap, as they all are." 
 
 "Well, when it comes to that you have nothing 
 to tell me," said Gaspard. "I know the priests and 
 haven't got much use for them." 
 
 "What did they ever do to you?" queried Bu- 
 rette. "But while telling me your grievances, 
 don't forget that I'm still looking for a chicken 
 coop." 
 
 "Chicken coops ! Why, there are hundreds of 
 them ! Look here, let's try that nice looking house 
 over there." 
 
 After knocking at the door he returned to his 
 favorite subject. 
 
 "Priests are men with money, believe me; I know 
 what they get in their collection boxes. When I
 
 56 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 was 12 years old when my mother sent me to church 
 for my first communion . . ." 
 
 "Try the door again," said Burette. 
 
 "Nobody home? . . . These poor fools ought to 
 come and spend some time in Paris . . . Bang ! . . . 
 There go the big guns again . . . What a rotten 
 life ! . . . I'm sick of it ... But as to the priests 
 . . . When I was 12 years old I used to go to Sun- 
 day school with a corset-steel dipped in glue with 
 which I could fish pennies out of the poor box. And 
 believe me, it was an easy job to get pennies. . . . 
 But when we were caught we paid for it, take it 
 from me." 
 
 The door of the house was opened and the village 
 priest appeared on the threshold. 
 
 Gaspard stepped back, stupefied. 
 
 Burette said: 
 
 "Pardon us, monsieur le cure, we're trying to get 
 a few eggs." 
 
 "I have a few left. . . . Come in." 
 
 He was a typical priest of Lorraine, heavy set, with 
 large feet, broad shoulders and a severe look in his 
 eye, but friendly nevertheless and seemingly full of 
 life. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you will not object to a glass 
 of wine," he said. 
 
 This was a new shock to Gaspard, who stuttered: 
 
 "Well . . You know how we feel . ."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 57 
 
 There were new surprises in store for Gaspard, 
 for the priest added: 
 
 "And if you need any tobacco, chocolate, pencils 
 or paper, just put in your order. I will be going to 
 Verdun presently on my bicycle." 
 
 "This is really great," said Gaspard, "for the 
 truth is that we haven't been able to get anything. 
 . . . I'd like to have some chocolate . . . and also 
 some tobacco for my pipe. . . . What do you know 
 about this, Burette !" 
 
 "Well, you'll have it all to-night," said the priest, 
 "only don't forget that it's up to you to march into 
 Germany." 
 
 "You bet! . . . And if we can elope with their 
 Kaiser ..." 
 
 "What would you do with him?" asked the 
 priest. 
 
 "Oh," said Gaspard, "I wasn't thinking of having 
 him stuffed, but just of holding him tight and say- 
 ing, with a good straight look in his eyes : 'Now, you 
 reprobate, you poor damn fool, do you realize what 
 you have done ?' ' 
 
 Some one was knocking at the door. 
 
 It was Moreau who entered, out of breath. 
 
 "I saw you go in here! Get out quick! We are 
 moving on !" 
 
 "Come on," said Burette, "give us time to swallow 
 an egg!"
 
 58 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Oh, they're beginning to get on my nerves," said 
 Gaspard. 
 
 "Well, such is war," said the priest laughingly. 
 "I'm sorry I couldn't get you the chocolate and 
 tobacco." 
 
 "It isn't your fault," said Gaspard. "What a 
 rotten job! You'd think their only pleasure is to 
 bother people!" 
 
 Grumbling to each other the three soldiers left 
 the house. 
 
 "It's a shame to have to leave such a good place," 
 said Moreau. 
 
 "As to me, I've done enough walking since yester- 
 day," added Burette. 
 
 "The worst of it all," exclaimed Gaspard, "is 
 that we were just about to get something to 
 drink, because, you know, that priest was a 
 mighty fine old man ! For a priest, he was some 
 priest !" 
 
 After resuming the march they were still talking 
 about the priest. 
 
 "Well, I've known many of these father confessors, 
 but not one like that one !" 
 
 "But you are still young," said Burette. . . . 
 "Give me some tobacco." 
 
 "Well, I'm not saying that all priests are bad, 
 but I'm just talking about what I have seen myself, 
 see?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 59 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Burette. "Give me a piece 
 of cigarette paper." 
 
 "And what else would you like?" 
 
 "A match." 
 
 "I see that all you've got to smoke with is your 
 mouth." 
 
 "Yes, and my ears to listen to you. Go on, I 
 like to hear you talk." 
 
 "I'm through. I was just saying that fellow's a 
 real priest and not a bluff. He knows how to give 
 you a drink . . . and while I think of it, I swallowed 
 mine so quickly that I don't remember the taste, and 
 I'm pretty dry now." 
 
 They were passing a cottage in front of which 
 stood a woman. 
 
 "Eh, mamma, what have you got to drink?" said 
 Gaspard. 
 
 The woman looked on but made no reply. A 
 child came running up to her and Gaspard exclaimed : 
 
 "Good morning, Glory! Give papa a smile." 
 
 The rain had stopped, but in the course of the 
 night the roads had become a mass of soft mud 
 under the wheels of the supply wagons and gun car- 
 riages, which passed the men in a never ending 
 stream, compelling them often to step into the ditch. 
 Bang! . . . The guns were getting closer and were 
 firing away at shorter intervals. Pinceloup hadn't 
 spoken a word. Gaspard declared:
 
 60 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "We're going right to them now. I'm going to 
 ask the Captain." 
 
 He returned with a bright smile on his face. The 
 Captain had replied : 
 
 "To-day each man will eat his ration of canned 
 meat." 
 
 "He surely is a card," said Burette. "When we 
 get right under fire he'll probably ask us, 'Has every 
 man got his boots polished?'' 
 
 "Well, with all that we're still marching on," 
 grumbled Burette. 
 
 "The revolution in Germany has never been 
 confirmed," said Sergeant Fosse, weary and dis- 
 gusted. 
 
 The rain began to fall again and the mud was 
 getting thicker. They had left the level section 
 of the country and were marching up and down 
 hills, which proved extremely trying to the men. 
 
 "I'm getting sick of all this," said Gaspard. 
 "How can any one enjoy himself when he is turning 
 his back to the Eiffel Tower?" 
 
 "How about turning your back to your wife?" 
 asked Burette. 
 
 "I'm with you," said Moreau, "I'm pretty sick of 
 it all." 
 
 "Well, dig a grave and jump into it," said Gas- 
 pard. 
 
 Someone blew a whistle and the men stopped.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 61 
 
 "Line up !" ordered the sergeants. 
 
 "Ah, shut up !" grumbled Gaspard. 
 
 The men had a few minutes' rest while the rain 
 was still falling, a thin, penetrating rain, which 
 drenched their uniforms. 
 
 After a quick drink and a few strong remarks 
 regarding the division of the small quantity of stim- 
 ulants available the march was resumed. 
 
 Captain Puche had dismounted and was marching 
 alongside of his men and taking advantage of this 
 opportunity to give out a few words of advice as 
 to the proper way of opening tins of canned meat 
 with a knife: 
 
 "Only one tin for two, because after it is opened 
 the contents will not keep." 
 
 "Where are we going?" asked the men. 
 
 "We are getting closer," the Captain replied. 
 "We are going to support the active troops." 
 
 "Well, is there any chance of fighting to-day?" 
 said Romarin, his eyes afire. 
 
 "I couldn't tell you," said Captain Puche. "At 
 all events don't forget that we are entitled to one tin 
 of canned meat for each man." 
 
 It was true that they were entitled to it, but they 
 hardly found time to empty the tins. At every stop 
 as soon as Gaspard managed to open one of them a 
 whistle would be heard which brought the men to 
 their feet again and they were compelled to continue
 
 62 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 the eating during the march, which caused them 
 to long twice as much for a drink. 
 
 During the evening the rain stopped. The clouds 
 were rolling away and the setting sun could be seen 
 over the hills, giving a strange, savage and warlike 
 appearance to the surrounding country. The men 
 had been marching on for ten hours and Moreau 
 was limping. When night came they were still push- 
 ing forward. They were weary and worn out, with 
 drooping heads, and shoulders bent under the weight 
 of the haversacks. 
 
 The night was dry, without moon or stars, and 
 the men went on in the footsteps of those marching 
 ahead of them. 
 
 Toward midnight, after fifteen hours of march, 
 even Gaspard, whose throat was dry and whose feet 
 were painful, realized that fatigue was getting the 
 best of him. He had lost his good humor and was 
 beginning to grumble : 
 
 "Why don't they tell us what they are doing? 
 Why are they treating us like a herd of cattle? I 
 warn them, I'll give it all up!" 
 
 "It" meant the General Staff, the Generals, France. 
 He added: 
 
 "What does this mean, to keep on marching like 
 fools? When I want to get a man I wait for him 
 at the corner of a street, I don't keep on marching 
 all night."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 63 
 
 There was almost a tone of hate in the voices 
 which replied approvingly to Gaspard's words. The 
 men were worn out. But Puche, who had overheard 
 their talk, came along and said: 
 
 "Gaspard, I bet that you and Moreau are the 
 least tired of all." 
 
 "Well, I'm not saying; it's quite possible," said 
 Gaspard. 
 
 "Well, then you two go ahead and get us a good 
 soup ready about eight miles from here where we are 
 going to halt." 
 
 "Soup! You bet I will !" 
 
 And taking Moreau's arm Gaspard left the ranks. 
 
 "If we find any oysters can we take them?" 
 
 "Go right ahead ; the company will settle the bill." 
 
 He found no oysters, but at the break of day 
 caught a duck roaming near a farm. He carried it 
 under his arm, caressing it all the way, and when the 
 time came to stop he prepared it for supper. 
 
 In the surrounding fields he found potatoes and 
 other vegetables and also a sheltered corner where 
 he could build a fire. Thanks to Gaspard, when the 
 company arrived hunger sat down to a capital meal 
 and fatigue disappeared immediately. 
 
 This time no one noticed that the cooking was 
 poor. Whatever the soup might have been like it 
 was hot and tasty and the men were so famished that 
 nothing could have given them more joy.
 
 64 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Gaspard's greatest pleasure was to watch the 
 other men eat. 
 
 But the rest was short. Hardly had they finished 
 their meal when the order was given to start on 
 again. Gaspard had made coffee and he quickly 
 filled the men's bottles. He was so generous in tak- 
 ing care of them all that he suddenly discovered 
 there was nothing left for himself; even the soup 
 had vanished to the last drop. He went into a blue 
 rage. 
 
 "After doing all the work not a thing left to the 
 cook !" 
 
 Moreau tried in vain to quiet him and a Lieuten- 
 ant also failed. He declared that he would refuse to 
 fight, that he had rather become a German and 
 that he was going to have himself placed on the 
 sick list. 
 
 When the march was resumed he was still grum- 
 bling. 
 
 The weather was oppressively hot and the sur- 
 rounding country seemed deserted and dead. Sud- 
 denly the guns were heard again, blazing away fast 
 and furiously. The men were exhausted, but could 
 not repress a feeling of terror. This time the battle 
 was at hand. 
 
 They went through a cornfield, passed along a 
 small wood, went through a village which seemed 
 abandoned and dead and after a bend in the road a
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 65 
 
 straight stretch could be seen going up to the top of 
 a hill. What would the men see after reaching that 
 point ? 
 
 What they did see was far more than even the 
 most fearful had expected. Their hearts almost 
 ceased beating and murmurs of fright and anguish 
 went through the ranks, for suddenly the regiment 
 had caught its first terrifying vision of war; the 
 horizon was in flames. 
 
 The Germans were there. This kind of fire was 
 their barrier. They were setting fire to the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 Gaspard felt a sharp pain in his heart; he knew 
 now what he was going to do; he remembered that 
 he was French. 
 
 Still marching on, the men never lost sight of the 
 scene of horrors before them. They were now go- 
 ing through the endless line of fugitives, human 
 beings and animals, women, children, old men piled 
 into rickety wagons, drawn by dilapidated horses 
 rejected by the army. 
 
 The alarm had been so sudden that the inhabi- 
 tants had been unable to gather their belongings in 
 any kind of order and they heaped upon the wagons 
 articles of furniture and clothing. 
 
 "Oh, the brutes!" said Gaspard, "I'll get their 
 skin ! I'll get their skin !" 
 
 The road at this point was narrow and the regi-
 
 66 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 ment halted to permit the long line of fugitives to 
 go by. Men, women and children, dogs and cows 
 dragged or pushed along the road. 
 
 A woman went by screaming, her hair in her eyes. 
 She had lost one of her three children and the two 
 others were running behind, holding on to her skirts. 
 Gaspard said to one of the children : 
 
 "What are you crying for, little boy?" 
 
 "We've lost Clementine." 
 
 "Is she your little sister? Well, you'll get her 
 back. Can't you see that we're going to it, we, the 
 poilus? . . . And then the Russians are coming on 
 the other side!" 
 
 The name of the Russians was uttered in such a 
 warm spirit of enthusiasm that the child stopped 
 crying immediately. But there was also another 
 reason, for Gaspard had taken out of his canvas bag 
 a bit of chocolate and a little round box. 
 
 "Take this, kid. This is pate d'foie, from the Rue 
 d'la Gaite. My old woman gave it to me and told 
 me to eat it only after I had been wounded. But 
 stop crying or you'll hear from me !" 
 
 He had to run to catch up with his comrades, but 
 before going he exclaimed : 
 
 "Good-by, my little man; we'll meet again; I'll 
 bring you a spike helmet." 
 
 While running along the road he kept on calling 
 out to the others :
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 67 
 
 "Don't worry, friends, our day will come ! We're 
 from Paris!" 
 
 Gripping tightly his rifle he went on as fast as he 
 could along the narrow roads. 
 
 The men kept on marching, but all thought of 
 fatigue had disappeared ; they were too excited. But 
 in one respect they were not like Gaspard, for not 
 one of the others had a word to say. The scene 
 before them was too tragic. 
 
 In front of a small group of cottages dominating 
 the surrounding country and from where an entire 
 district could be seen in flames three women, one old 
 and two young, the latter probably the daughters 
 of the first, were watching the flames and crying with 
 heartrending sobs. They remained at the same spot, 
 watching the destructive work created by the enemy 
 and sobbing: 
 
 "To-morrow it will be our turn! . . . To-morrow 
 . . . Our turn." 
 
 They were leaning against the front wall of their 
 cottage, all they owned, their sole property, which 
 was about to be destroyed by the advancing "bar- 
 barians." 
 
 It was evident to the men that the commanders 
 did not dare to advance directly against the bar- 
 barians. They could be seen directly ahead, a very 
 short distance away, but the men were not march- 
 ing in that direction. Why?
 
 68 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Moreau had an inspiration. 
 
 "We're going to try a flanking attack." 
 
 "Flanking? . . . You make me laugh," said Gas- 
 pard, highly indignant. "A fine way to make an 
 attack!" 
 
 He was in favor of being frank and of an attack 
 face to face, but his consolation was from the Rus- 
 sians. 
 
 "I suppose they're expecting them over there." 
 
 "Expecting who?" 
 
 "The Cossacks! We're just luring them on un- 
 til the Cossacks and believe me, the Cossacks lose 
 no time; I saw them in the movies they're just 
 waiting until the Cossacks come along and hit them 
 in the back." 
 
 "I don't understand," said Burette, "because for 
 the last three weeks the Russians must have gone 
 pretty deep into Germany and in that case how 
 is it that they have the nerve to keep on invading 
 our country?" 
 
 "It's a puzzle," said Gaspard, "enough to drive 
 you mad." 
 
 Meanwhile they still advanced, the men dragging 
 their feet and half of them limping. 
 
 Now that the road was again free and there was 
 no one else to speak to than each other, the men 
 were again beginning to feel tired and worn out. 
 Their necks were being roasted by the sun.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 69 
 
 "Tell the men to unbutton their coats," said the 
 Colonel. 
 
 Pinceloup grumbled. 
 
 "Coat or no coat, I'm going to drop down into 
 the ditch and you can go on without me." 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Gaspard. "And then we'll 
 bring you the boches all ready killed and you can 
 roast them to suit yourself !" 
 
 "I'll do the roasting better than you, believe me. 
 . . . The only reason I want to quit is because I've 
 had nothing to eat. All you give us to eat is just 
 hot water ; it's rotten !" 
 
 Gaspard turned red in the face. 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "I said that if you didn't hear me you can call me 
 up on the phone." 
 
 It was a critical minute and everyone realized it. 
 The time had come to choose between the truth and 
 the soup, however bad it might be ; but there was no 
 hesitation. Twenty furious voices were raised: 
 
 "I like your nerve! I suppose you'd like some 
 quail and salmon! And what next? You poor 
 fool !" 
 
 Gaspard was delighted. He was the cook, the 
 indispensable man, the one who had more admirers 
 and flatterers than anyone else; the only one whose 
 merits were not open for discussion, because discus- 
 sion meant fasting.
 
 70 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Burette, who was feeling the heat more than any- 
 one else and whose face was blood red, murmured: 
 
 "Talk about soup ! All I want is some ice cream. 
 . . . Just think of the delight of sitting down in 
 a cafe and ordering ice cream !" 
 
 The men's feet were raising clouds of dust and 
 the soldiers' hair and mustaches were gray. 
 
 "We're a fine looking lot ! Good time to get mar- 
 ried." 
 
 One by one a number of men were dropping out 
 of the ranks to get a few minutes' rest on the side 
 of the road and in the rear of the column, between 
 the last row and the Major's horse, there were about 
 fifty stragglers, limping along and dragging their 
 sacks and bags after them. Captain Puche was 
 greatly alarmed to find out that there were ten men 
 from his company among these stragglers. The 
 Colonel had just told him that a distance of six kilo- 
 meters still separated them from a village far from 
 the Germans, where they would spend the night. 
 All that was needed, therefore, was to encourage the 
 men to make a final effort. There would be no fight- 
 ing before the next day and it was therefore safe 
 to promise them a good rest ; the only trouble was 
 that they had been marching for about thirty hours, 
 and it is difficult to explain to men who are not fac- 
 ing any immediate danger that any special effort 
 or energy is required.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 71 
 
 It was necessary to discover a more persuasive 
 method than ordinary speeches and good luck brought 
 it to the Captain in the shape of a barrel of wine 
 which a farmer who was fleeing from the enemy was 
 carrying in a peculiar sort of vehicle made of two 
 cross ladders. 
 
 Puche brought his company to a halt and said to 
 the man: 
 
 "What do you want for your barrel?" 
 
 "Well," said the other, "it all depends. What 
 do you want to do with it? It's a good little wine 
 from my home town. If I'm taking it away it's be- 
 cause I don't care to sell it. What price would you 
 give ?" 
 
 Puche replied: 
 
 "Be reasonable ; it's for soldiers." 
 
 "Oh, soldiers. I know them ; that's all we see, 
 soldiers. A barrel of 120 litres costs 70 francs." 
 
 "Here you are," said the Captain. Whereupon 
 he called Gaspard, who came running along. 
 
 "This barrel is for our men. We've still got six 
 kilometers to go to-night. I hope you will all stand 
 by me." 
 
 "Well, I should hope so, Captain ! A man would 
 have to be pretty mean to drop out after this." 
 
 "Well, then, go to it." 
 
 Gaspard, with wide open eyes, took the barrel in 
 his arms as though he were going to kiss it; he
 
 72 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 turned it around and after opening up the canvas 
 pails the men went by one by one. They even came 
 back a second time, for there was enough for every- 
 one. 
 
 The farmer meanwhile was counting his notes, 
 and when he was quite sure that he had received the 
 correct amount he put the money in his pocket and 
 said: 
 
 "With all that I have nothing left to drink." 
 
 No one bothered about his complaint. The wine 
 was excellent. Pure nectar of France, it went 
 through the blood of these poor devils, bringing them 
 back to life and restoring their good humor. A 
 good drink of wine under such conditions is enough 
 to brace up anyone. 
 
 After the barrel had been emptied these 250 sol- 
 diers presented really a glorious appearance. Alert 
 and wide awake, they could no longer feel any of 
 their sufferings. With eyes afire and laughing 
 mouths they looked with expressions of tender grati- 
 tude toward the simple and quiet commander who 
 had conceived this wonderful fatherly idea. 
 
 Wine of France ! Beauty and vigor ! Of a group 
 of men downhearted and discouraged, weary and 
 worn out, it will make a happy, nervy company, 
 marching along with gay and happy songs. 
 
 Hardly had they started before Gaspard resumed 
 his joyous refrain.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 73 
 
 Burette protested. He was thinking of his wife and 
 called for a love song. 
 
 Gaspard winked his eye and began to sing: 
 
 "Mariez-vous done! mariez-vous done! 
 C'est si gentil, c'est si bon! 
 Pourquoi raster gargon? 
 
 Allons, . . . 
 Mariez-vous done! " 
 
 The words amused the men, including even Pince- 
 loup, and the first kilometers were passed in this 
 one outburst. 
 
 During the third Gaspard changed the tune and 
 sang the good old song of the man who, coming out 
 of the woods, met three young girls who were all 
 three so pretty that he could not make up his mind 
 as to which one to choose, and therefore made love 
 to them all. 
 
 Burette had recovered all his enthusiasm and good 
 humor and was saying: 
 
 "Ah, love! . . . Love! ... A man is a fine kind 
 of fool to go out and fight when he might be home 
 making love!" 
 
 Two kilometers remained to be covered and Gas- 
 pard undertook to establish beyond a doubt the 
 merits of the wine of France by causing the men to 
 forget their fatigue. 
 
 He had removed his necktie, turned up his sleeves
 
 74 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 and placed his cap on the top of his rifle. Covered 
 with dust from head to foot, with red cheeks and 
 wideawake eyes, he began to sing a ditty concern- 
 ing the effects of spring upon all young and pretty 
 women, which had been one of the big song successes 
 of the year. 
 
 "Quand les famines sont jolies, 
 Quand elles vous font envie, 
 C'est I'effet du printemps." 
 
 Bang! . . . Bang! The guns were off again. 
 
 "They must be hearing our songs," said Gaspard, 
 and to the accompaniment of the thunder of the guns 
 he went on: 
 
 "Quand les femmes sont jolies" . . . 
 
 The wine of France was laughing at the battle 
 and in its supreme generosity was driving from the 
 minds of these men all the sadness of life or the 
 sorrows of destiny. 
 
 After the wine they found a good bed of straw, 
 so why worry? . . . They halted in a small village 
 evacuated by the inhabitants. But they saw noth- 
 ing of the surrounding drama; little attention did 
 they pay to the fact that these poor dilapidated 
 houses had all been abandoned by the inhabitants, 
 who had fled in terror from the homes where they 
 were born. These men had been marching thirty-
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 75 
 
 two hours. The extreme fatigue and the effects of 
 the wine were beginning to tell and they were 
 glad to let themselves fall upon the straw with- 
 out a thought for anything else but sleep, just 
 sleep. 
 
 Gaspard, however, was too nervous to sleep ; he 
 was unable to remain in one spot. After trying in 
 vain to lie down he went out to get a breath of air. 
 His mind was confused; he was thinking suddenly 
 of death, of his home, of his son. ... A strange 
 noise aroused his attention. Long, whining cries 
 were issuing from the backs of the houses. A 
 thought crossed his mind. 
 
 "The poor brutes. ... I suppose the men thought 
 only of saving themselves and left the animals be- 
 hind to starve to death." 
 
 Without the slightest hesitation he dashed across 
 the road and visited the houses one by one. And 
 this man of the people, this gay and carefree 
 Parisian then showed his real metal. He who 
 had never handled anything but snails set about 
 at once, in the flittering light of a candle dis- 
 covered in the first house he visited, to give food 
 to the poor beasts, who after all were just as French 
 as he was. 
 
 He went from stable to stable consoling the cows, 
 who were moaning for food and drink. He talked 
 to them as he was wont to do to the soldiers of his 
 6
 
 76 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 regiment and went at his work with the same enthusi- 
 asm as when he was preparing the soup he had 
 been doing so many hours. When able to find 
 any food for the cattle he would go on to a 
 neighboring house and bring whatever he had dis- 
 covered, talking all the while to the unfortunate 
 animals. 
 
 All received food and drink, and no sooner had he 
 visited the stable than the moanings were silenced 
 and complete quiet restored. He slept only just 
 about one hour, but he was happy and no longer 
 felt any trace of fatigue. At the break of dawn, 
 when the order came to get ready and the men 
 learned that they were going to march, to march on 
 as they had been doing so many hours, when the men 
 were ready to start, Gaspard came around with 
 fresh milk which he had just obtained after a visit 
 to his mute friends in the stables. The men, how- 
 ever, had no use for the milk and called for white 
 wine instead. Gaspard took all their remarks quietly 
 and assumed only an air of supreme contempt. He 
 knew that he had done a good and charitable work 
 in milking the cows and cared little about what be- 
 came of the milk. 
 
 The houses which the men were now leaving were 
 situated at the top of a hill and on their way down 
 to a cornfield the men were under the impression that 
 they were going straight into the arms of the enemy.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 77 
 
 Gaspard noticed with great satisfaction that there 
 were no more moanings coming from the stables, and 
 said to himself as he was marching away : 
 
 "Now the poor brutes may be able to await the 
 arrival of the Russians."
 
 III. 
 
 THE regiment was going through a long stretch 
 of cultivated land without a tree, the corn 
 and wheat fields separated by a stone cross. 
 This is the most prosperous and at the same time 
 the most religious part of Lorraine, a beautiful 
 country where the horizon is so straight and the color 
 so uniform that even in the full morning light one 
 receives a strong impression of melancholy. A black 
 dog was following the soldiers in the hope of picking 
 up something to eat. Meanwhile the roar of the 
 cannon was still going on and the men looked almost 
 as worried as the dog. 
 
 After one hour of marching a halt was called 
 and the men had a bite to eat. Only the Twenty- 
 fourth Company was ordered to continue the march 
 and to encamp two kilometers away at the outposts. 
 
 "No wonder!" said Moreau. "The Twenty- 
 fourth is always the chosen one !" 
 
 Gaspard refused to worry and began a song at 
 the top of his voice. Captain Puche, however, or- 
 dered silence, as the Uhlans had been reported near 
 by. He gave the order quietly, while stroking the 
 
 78
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 79 
 
 neck of his horse, which was still dancing on his 
 hind legs. It was in exactly the same tone of voice 
 that he announced that "prisoners had been captured 
 whose morale was bad, inasmuch as they had had 
 nothing to eat." 
 
 "Best of all," he added, "their shells are not ex- 
 ploding," and he went on stroking his horse, calling 
 it by its pet name Cocotte. 
 
 "Well, then, we're going to have some fun," said 
 Gaspard. 
 
 "We are going to watch the approach to a small 
 wood," continued the Captain. "German patrols are 
 probably moving around there. We will have to 
 keep our eyes open." 
 
 "That's my job," said Gaspard. "At the Halles 
 we also have to keep our eyes open !" 
 
 This was considered as an offer to volunteer, so 
 when the edge of the wood was reached Gaspard 
 was sent out as first sentinel in the company of 
 Burette. They went out laughingly, juggling with 
 their rifles. Pinceloup watched them start and gave 
 vent to a fear: 
 
 "Something may happen to them." 
 
 They posted themselves among the trees, two 
 steps from a road coming out of the wood which 
 divided the plain into two parts. 
 
 "The first one I see," said Gaspard, "I'll finish and 
 I will cross-examine him later."
 
 80 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Well, we'll see," replied Burette. "Better be 
 careful." 
 
 "Quiet. Listen. I think I heard. Well, as to 
 me, I'm not going to miss them. At target practice 
 at Chalons I was right there when it came to hitting 
 the bullseye. Be quiet. Listen." 
 
 "Why, you're the one who's doing all the talking." 
 
 "Be quiet, I tell you. I hear something moving." 
 
 "It's a rabbit." 
 
 "It's coming nearer." 
 
 "Two rabbits." 
 
 "Fool! How many bullets have you got?" 
 
 "Ninety." 
 
 "Gee, what a fool! How many bullets have you 
 got in your rifle?" 
 
 "Eight." 
 
 "Eight and eight are sixteen. Good! Sixteen 
 bullets for the first one we see. Be quiet. It's prob- 
 ably a cavalryman. Now, pal, I'm going to aim 
 for the first shot." 
 
 "Don't be a fool." 
 
 "Oh, look here!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A woman!" 
 
 "Sure? Call her." 
 
 "Don't move. Can you see her? Is she pretty?" 
 
 "You bet!" 
 
 "But she might be a boche."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 81 
 
 "You poor fool! Eh, mademoiselle!" 
 
 "Come here, sweet stranger, child of my heart." 
 
 "Where are you going, mademoiselle?" 
 
 They came out from the shelter of their trees and 
 emerged on the road, where they saw a young wom- 
 an, possibly a young girl, with a sweet face, who 
 seemed amazed at the sight of the soldiers. She 
 said: 
 
 "Soldiers! Will you give me some information, 
 gentlemen ?" 
 
 They replied together: 
 
 "At your service, mademoiselle. That's what 
 we're here for." 
 
 She tried to speak, but had been running too 
 fast and had almost lost her breath. 
 
 Both looked at her and both were impressed by 
 her attractive features. She was extremely pretty 
 and the men felt deeply moved at being so close to 
 such an attractive person after all the hardships 
 they had gone through. She looked at them with 
 her great blue eyes, but without the slightest alarm. 
 
 Burette was twisting his mustache when Gaspard, 
 less bashful, stepped forward. 
 
 "Where do you come from, mademoiselle?" said 
 Burette. 
 
 "And where are you going?" added Gaspard. 
 "Remain here with us. You can do our cooking. 
 It's a pretty good thing for you that I am married."
 
 82 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 She laughed and turned her eyes away. She was 
 prettily dressed in a light summer frock, with bare 
 arms and neck. 
 
 Gaspard placed his rifle against a tree, while the 
 girl said with a smile: 
 
 "I was with my mother down there; she isn't 
 afraid; she says she knows them, that she saw them 
 in 1870, but I said, 'No, thanks, I'm going away.' 
 My mother is well taken care of; she is living at the 
 Mayor's house. They won't do her any harm. And 
 then . . . she is pretty old ..." 
 
 Again she turned away from the men. 
 
 "Yes," replied Burette, "whereas with you they 
 might have been different. ..." 
 
 "What are you talking about?" exclaimed Gas- 
 pard. "Are you mad? A pretty little girl like this 
 for the boches? Why don't you talk sense?" 
 
 "Well, you never can tell." 
 
 "Just let them come, let them touch her ! For the 
 boche! . . . I'd rather give oysters to my janitor's 
 cat." 
 
 The girl was greatly amused at this dialogue. 
 She said: 
 
 "Well, gentlemen . . . I'm going to try to reach 
 Verdun. ... Is this the right way? . . . Well, good 
 luck ... if you get into the fighting ..." 
 
 "But ..." exclaimed Gaspard, "you're not go- 
 ing to go away without giving us a kiss!"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 83 
 
 "Gentlemen, I am in a hurry." 
 
 "It won't take you long to give a kiss !" 
 
 "I must reach my destination before to-night as 
 I only have the password for the day guards. . . . 
 You two have such good faces that I didn't bother 
 about it. But if I find any sentinel giving me ugly 
 looks I'll lose no time in saying, 'Turenne !' * 
 
 "Turenne? Why, it isn't Turenne to-day," said 
 both soldiers together. 
 
 "It isn't Turenne?" 
 
 "No, it's Marceau." 
 
 "Marceau? ..." 
 
 She looked them straight in the face as though 
 afraid that they were trying to fool her. Meanwhile 
 Gaspard put his arms around her suddenly and gave 
 her a big kiss on the cheek, adding: 
 
 "Why, yes, it's Marceau!" 
 
 "Well, then, give me the other cheek!" said Bur- 
 ette. 
 
 He seized her by the waist, but she escaped, laugh- 
 ing, calling out "Au revoir" as she ran along. They 
 remained there, looking foolish. 
 
 "Gee, she was pretty ! . . . " 
 
 "Pretty! . . . Well, you bet!" 
 
 "What a beauty !" 
 
 Two men came up to relieve them, to whom they 
 said: 
 
 "Open your eyes, pals. There are some mighty
 
 84 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 pretty girls going through here. ... If you'd only 
 seen the beauty we've just been talking with. ..." 
 
 They went back to the other men in a jovial mood. 
 
 Their comrades were fast asleep and they followed 
 this example. Soon, however, the sergeant called 
 them. 
 
 "Eh, you . . . the Captain wants you." 
 
 "The Captain? . . . He gives me a pain. . . . 
 What does he want?" 
 
 "It seems there is a story of a spy, a woman they 
 have just caught. Didn't you two see a woman? 
 . . . They say she was pretty, and I hear she was 
 hiding two homing pigeons in her waist. It didn't 
 show a bit; she only seemed to have a pretty fig- 
 ure." 
 
 The sergeant was nervous. This first story of the 
 war had excited his imagination, and the two others, 
 who were rubbing their eyes, were listening to him 
 with a stupefied look on their faces. Gaspard said: 
 
 "But . . . what did she look like?" 
 
 "I don't know. I didn't see her. Did you?" 
 
 The two men stood up. Then Gaspard with both 
 hands in his pockets replied in his most natural voice : 
 
 "My, that's a funny story! . . . What does it all 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Believe me, it's no story," said the sergeant. 
 "She even knew the password Marceau. ... It 
 surely is the limit. . . . And when she was arrested
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 85 
 
 she opened her shirtwaist and the two pigeons flew 
 out together." 
 
 The two soldiers kept staring at him with big 
 eyes. The sergeant grew angry. 
 
 "You make me tired ! You don't even understand 
 what has been explained to you. Go on back to 
 sleep. I'll tell the Captain that you are two fools !" 
 
 He went away and the two men went back to the 
 ditch in which they had been lying. After getting 
 as close together as possible Burette said in a mur- 
 mur: 
 
 "Say . . . it's terrible. . . . What a story! . . ." 
 
 Gaspard, who was both frightened and disgusted, 
 replied : 
 
 "It's enough to make any one sick ! . . . We'll be 
 pretty lucky if we get out of it like this. ... If this 
 is war, good night!" 
 
 After a few minutes he added: 
 
 "That sure is the limit. . . . And such a pretty 
 little woman, too! ... A fine kind of a specimen. 
 . . . And pigeons! . . . What do you know about 
 that! . . . And we poor fools thought she had such 
 a beautiful figure!" 
 
 The gods were good to Gaspard, for the after- 
 noon went by without any further call for explana- 
 tion from the Captain. At nightfall there were 
 other things to worry about, for the gunfire was get- 
 ting closer and closer.
 
 86 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 The greater part of the regiment was now at the 
 outpost and it was rumored that the men were go- 
 ing to advance still further ; it appeared that a battle 
 had been fought and that a General was calling for 
 fresh troops, and the men's imaginations were work- 
 ing overtime in an effort to picture to themselves the 
 scene of a battle, with its terrific dangers and its 
 dead. 
 
 Suddenly, just as they were finishing a bad soup 
 prepared by Gaspard, there came before their eyes 
 a vision which was enough to brighten every heart. 
 A handful of mounted Chasseurs came from the very 
 midst of the distant firing line, where they had 
 had a hot encounter with the Uhlans. Barely 
 200 in number, they had cut down 1,500 of the 
 enemy. They were about thirty when they returned, 
 but they presented indeed a wonderful, stirring 
 sight ! 
 
 Their horses, covered with dust and blood, came 
 charging along as though they knew what had hap- 
 pened and were proud of their riders. They dashed 
 by in a wild rush, while their riders, without caps 
 and their hair flying to the wind, laughed, shouted 
 and screamed. They brought with them trium- 
 phantly three riderless mounts, which excited great 
 interest among the infantrymen. 
 
 "Uhlan's horses?" 
 
 "You bet they are, and no mistake!"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 87 
 
 The infantrymen opened their eyes and their 
 mouths, and Gaspard exclaimed: 
 
 "You bet they're German. Look at their mugs !" 
 
 All the men agreed that the horses did look ugly, 
 not on account of their saddles or bridles, but be- 
 cause they looked like real German, real Boches. 
 
 Still this was only the first beginning of the war. 
 The Chasseurs were merely a warning that the enemy 
 was near by, but the regiment was soon to meet him. 
 
 It was an unpleasant night, dull and heavy, with 
 a storm threatening. The sun had disappeared be- 
 hind reddish gray clouds and the air was oppressive. 
 The men had nothing to say, but remained with eyes 
 and ears open, frightened and worried. Toward 11 
 o'clock in a pitch dark night the march was resumed. 
 From time to time a stroke of lightning illuminated 
 the sky, lending an even more tragic look to the 
 stupendously dramatic situation. 
 
 The noise made by the iron shod boots of the 
 soldiers was all that could be heard as the men 
 marched along like a crowd of shadows. The effect 
 was formidable and terrifying. 
 
 Suddenly, brutally, the horizon became red and 
 the men exclaimed: 
 
 "The swine are setting fire again!" Five seconds 
 later, without the slightest warning, the regiment 
 found itself face to face with another body of troops, 
 several thousand active soldiers who were coming
 
 88 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 back from the battle line. Their condition was piti- 
 ful. This time the war was brought right home to 
 the men. They realized that they were no longer on 
 their way to the front, but that they were actually 
 there, right in the midst of war with all its terrors 
 and its horrors. 
 
 For these men they had just met were no longer 
 an army, but just a crowd of suffering human be- 
 ings, wounded, exhausted, limping and dragging 
 themselves along, with blood spotted bandages around 
 their limbs or their heads. Some were piled up on 
 carts with creaking wheels. Others came along in 
 closely formed groups as though they were holding 
 each other up. Their first question upon meeting 
 the men who were going to take their places at the 
 front was: How far away was the nearest vil- 
 lage? 
 
 Gaspard replied: 
 
 "You'll be there in a minute. Don't worry." 
 
 He questioned the men one by one. 
 
 "Where do you come from? Where have you 
 been? Why are you so worn out?" 
 
 The others in pitiful accents replied: 
 
 "We were twice as many when we went out. We 
 got it good and hard. Avenge us, boys !" 
 
 Moreau, discouraged, said: 
 
 "Well, are we lost?" 
 
 "You idiot!" exclaimed Gaspard. "Didn't you
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 89 
 
 hear what the Captain said? Their shells are not 
 exploding !" 
 
 "No, I didn't ; let's ask them." 
 
 He called out to the returning troops: 
 
 "Hey, pals, are their shells exploding?" 
 
 But there was no reply. All that could be heard 
 from the passing men was the same question: 
 
 "Where is the nearest village?" 
 
 Romarin, the young barber's assistant, encour- 
 aged his comrades, saying: 
 
 "We'll get them !" 
 
 Meanwhile Captain Puche, whose horse was fright- 
 ened, continued to stroke his neck, showing not the 
 slightest sign of alarm. 
 
 What proved most discouraging to the men was 
 the fact that these wounded, the first sinister victims 
 of the battle, kept on coming along from everywhere, 
 crowding the fields and the roads. The men had 
 never felt so depressed, and for the first time the 
 weight of the equipment seemed enormous to every 
 man in the ranks. They felt their hearts weakening, 
 their spirits gone, their souls bursting. On they 
 went without a stop, without a rest, with nothing 
 to eat but the loaf of bread in their canvas bags. 
 The sergeant overheard a remark. 
 
 "It's pretty bad to have to put up with this kind 
 of food." 
 
 "What's bad is to have to listen to such fool talk."
 
 90 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 After a few minutes' silence the men turned against 
 Gaspard, agreeing with Pinceloup that his cooking 
 was no good. Sharp remarks were passed, several 
 men declaring they were sick and tired of the hot 
 water which Gaspard was serving to them as soup, 
 but there was no reply from the cook, who seemed to 
 remain indifferent to the attack. A period of silence 
 followed, during which a pair of jaws could be heard 
 in action. 
 
 "Who's eating?" some one called out. 
 
 "I am," said a soldier named Courbecave. "I am 
 finishing my bread. It's a darn sight better than the 
 soup." 
 
 Gaspard had not a word to say, but he understood 
 that after this nocturnal outburst the only time in 
 which the men would have had the courage to attack 
 their cook he would never have the heart to boil 
 water and peel onions. Half of his power had sud- 
 denly collapsed. 
 
 Too tired or too proud to exhibit his anger in 
 front of the others he confided his feelings only to 
 Burette, for whom his friendship was ever growing. 
 Burette was a pal who "knew how to talk, had a lot 
 of instruction and didn't put on any airs." When 
 Gaspard thought of his friendship for Burette he 
 forgot all about everyone else in the regiment, in- 
 cluding even Moreau. No one else was of any ac- 
 count. Speaking to Burette he said:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 91 
 
 "They're a fine lot of ungrateful brutes! . . . 
 I've worked like a slave for them. Why, only yes- 
 terday they were all flattering me. But now that 
 they begin to see the danger they all turn against 
 me. I tell you they're a lot of brutes ! But don't 
 worry; if they have no one but me to cook their 
 meals they won't have a chance to eat too much. . . . 
 See, now, we're going on. Fine! We're going to 
 fight. I'm for it. Half of them will be killed. 
 Great!" 
 
 It was Burette's turn to laugh. 
 
 "You can do the cooking for the two of us. Begin- 
 ning to-day you will be my cook, but you will have 
 to live up to it. For to-day I would like a vol-au- 
 vent with a bottle of Bordeaux wine." 
 
 "Oh, don't get funny." 
 
 "I would like a good little lively wine." 
 
 "It would be all right if we just had to go along 
 with our hands in our pockets and nothing to worry 
 about . . . but what do we look like? . . . Less than 
 nothing cannon flesh, that's all. . . . And only 
 three months ago we were electing Members of 
 Parliament !" 
 
 Dawn was breaking and the men were beginning 
 to be able to see each other. All of a sudden in the 
 light of the gray morning the regiment realized 
 that they were no longer alone on their march. 
 Along a parallel road with long lines of trees on each 
 7
 
 92 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 side other bodies of troops could be seen advancing 
 in the same direction. 
 
 In the morning no more wounded were to be seen. 
 The rising sun was directly in front of the men. 
 They were marching toward the east and seemed to 
 be leaving the black night behind them, together with 
 the distressing convoys of wounded. The men were 
 breathing more freely. They felt stronger and more 
 determined. They knew they were going to their 
 destiny, but it seemed this morning rather more like 
 victory than disaster. 
 
 The hearts of the bravest, however, were to be 
 subjected to another test almost immediately, for the 
 regiment turned suddenly into a large field situated 
 between two woods, where 200 Frenchmen three days 
 before had been caught and mowed down to the last 
 man by a division of Uhlans who had dashed into 
 them with their lances and revolvers. The French- 
 men had tried their best to defend themselves ; they 
 had fought valiantly and had sought shelter in vain, 
 and the traces of their terrific struggle could be seen 
 on all sides. They had built impromptu breast- 
 works and fought until the last bullet was exhausted 
 and had been killed one by one. 
 
 This field, torn to pieces by feverish hands, by 
 men clinging to the earth as a drowning man will 
 hang on to a straw; this field was the living image 
 of 200 men who had died in a desperate attempt
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 93 
 
 to protect the first corner of France against the 
 invader. Of their heroic effort there was nothing 
 left but this torn up field; they themselves had dis- 
 appeared, buried under the soft soil in order to 
 make room for those still alive who were to follow 
 the wonderful example they had set. 
 
 Here the regiment realized in the most dramatic 
 manner the full extent of the tragedy of war. A 
 chill, almost a shiver, ran through these 2,000 men 
 and the entire column stepped suddenly out of the 
 way as a supreme tribute to the men buried in these 
 anonymous graves over which not one of those still 
 alive would have been willing to pass. 
 
 The guns were getting closer and closer and 
 heaven and earth were trembling. After passing the 
 field where the 200 had died the regiment went 
 through a small wood and suddenly came face to 
 face with the battery of 75s. No shot was being 
 fired from them; the men were waiting and watch- 
 ing. 
 
 "The battlefield at last!" said Gaspard. Captain 
 Puche, who was consulting his map, called a halt 
 and replied quietly: 
 
 "Yes, here we are." 
 
 But the regiment went on. They advanced a few 
 hundred meters so as not to be in the way of the 
 artillery. The men sought shelter behind huge piles 
 of red building stones.
 
 94 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "All we have to do now," said the Captain, "is 
 to wait . . . and watch." 
 
 He was still smiling and his little round eyes were 
 shining, eagerly awaiting what was going to hap- 
 pen. Two men assisted him to the top of one of 
 the stone heaps, where he sat down, opened his map 
 and raised his field glasses to his eyes with a satis- 
 fied smile indicating his delight at the prospect of 
 seeing at last that for which he had been waiting 
 for many years. From the top of his observation 
 post he lined up the men, permitted them to take off 
 their haversacks and ordered the soup to be made. 
 
 All eyes were turned immediately toward Cour- 
 becave, who had declared that he would rather eat 
 bread. Gaspard turned away, whistling a tune. 
 
 Courbecave was a bricklayer from Versailles, con- 
 scientious and attentive, who had from the start 
 realized the shortcomings of the cook and had always 
 envied him his honorable, although perilous, posi- 
 tion. He was prompted by pride. He had already 
 confided to two or three of the men : 
 
 "I know how to fry potatoes . . . and some pota- 
 toes ! When I cook a piece of meat I don't spoil it." 
 
 He had nothing but meat at his disposal and no 
 potatoes. He emptied into the boiling pot all that 
 was left in his canvas bag, including some carrots, 
 three onions and a few bits of chocolate. One of 
 the other men, on going through his pockets, found
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 95 
 
 two potatoes half squashed, which he added to the 
 mess, and Courbecave finally put into the pot two 
 or three pounds of soldier's bread. 
 
 "I'm going to make you a real soup which will 
 make your mouths water." 
 
 The men began at once to sing his praise without 
 regard to Gaspard, who pretended to be asleep. 
 
 "Talk about cooking! Now we're going to have 
 the real goods !" 
 
 One of the most enthusiastic flatterers of the new 
 cook went even so far as to add: 
 
 "We'll ask the Captain to taste it." 
 
 They called the Captain. From the top of his 
 stone heap he called out: 
 
 "Why, it's a treat just to look at. But beware! 
 If the Bodies see it through their glasses ! . . ." 
 
 Every one laughed. The little cook raised his 
 head full of pride. And no one was afraid, although 
 the shells were coming closer. Captain Puche could 
 see them from his observation post and was thus 
 getting his first vision of shell fire before being sub- 
 jected to it himself. But he was not in the least 
 surprised and maintained the same calm, undismayed 
 attitude which he had assumed ever since the begin- 
 ning. He was looking ahead with his small eyes, 
 where no trace of alarm could be seen, and a smile 
 on his lips, through which no cry of fright or terror 
 was ever to pass. Straight ahead, only one kilo-
 
 96 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 meter away, he could see the great white clouds of 
 smoke from the German shells, and although he re- 
 mained quite serious, his seriousness was not caused 
 by any feeling of fright, but merely by the deter- 
 mination of a loyal chief to do his duty. In a quiet 
 voice, so as not to frighten the men, he said: 
 
 "Hurry up, boys, if you want to finish your meal 
 before beginning the fighting." 
 
 It was true that from one minute to another the 
 order to move on might come. The enemy was in- 
 creasing his fire and Puche could see through his 
 glasses French regiments who were already advanc- 
 ing under the attack. 
 
 It was his duty to await with his company the 
 call for reenforcements. 
 
 With their rifles between their legs the men were 
 seated along the side of the road, while on the other 
 side the little bricklayer, all alone, was prepar- 
 ing the soup, which he was stirring with a piece of 
 wood. 
 
 The care with which he went about his work was 
 immense. He seemed to put all his soul into the 
 preparation of this meal under the eyes of his com- 
 rades. These soldiers, ready to fight, had no thought 
 as to whether or not they would be killed. Their 
 main source of worry was whether they would have 
 time to eat first. Every once in a while some one 
 would call out to the cook, "How goes it?" and the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 97; 
 
 cook would reply, "Fine! it's beginning to look 
 good." 
 
 He went about his work as if he had been making 
 bricks ; he wanted the soup to be thick and nourish- 
 ing. 
 
 But while they were admiring him with all the 
 strength of human egotism it came to pass that this 
 handful of Frenchmen, even before they had time 
 to think of it, received their first baptism of fire in 
 the most unexpected and the most horrible manner. 
 Gaspard, who had actually fallen asleep, awoke sud- 
 denly. He was saying, "Are we soon going to get 
 after the Boches?" when suddenly the sky seemed to 
 be torn apart by that queer whistling noise which 
 several generations will remember all their lives. A 
 shell came along, the first of many to follow. A 
 shell came, landed, roared and exploded . . . the lit- 
 tle cook was wiped off the surface of the earth. 
 
 The company remained silent, terrified, horrified. 
 Some of the men had thrown themselves face down 
 in the mud and remained there, hiding their eyes in 
 the ditch. . . . Slowly they looked up, one by one; 
 they watched the smoke of the death-dealing missile 
 slowly drifting away; and their terrified eyes could 
 see nothing but bits of human flesh at the spot where 
 their cook had stood. The scene was so horrible 
 that Gaspard was trembling all over. 
 
 And then ... as no other shell came along and
 
 98 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 the silence was restored to such an extent that a 
 bird could be heard singing ; and as the hunger still 
 remained and the big boiling pot, thanks to some 
 freak of luck, was intact, still sending skyward an 
 appetizing cloud, the Captain, in a low voice, or- 
 dered that the pot be removed and carried 100 meters 
 away. 
 
 In the soup they found three bits of iron and a 
 soldier's button, which they showed to each other 
 without a word of comment. Gaspard, with tears in 
 his eyes, fished out with his spoon a little black rib- 
 bon from which was suspended one of the small 
 identification medals worn by the soldiers of France. 
 It bore the inscription, "Courbecave, 1905." Poor 
 devil, so proud of his cooking; in his death he had 
 left his mark in his first and last soup. 
 
 Puche, by this time, had stepped down from his 
 stone heap. He came slowly toward the men. Gas- 
 pard, whose heart was bursting with anger, ex- 
 claimed in an ugly tone of voice: 
 
 "Captain, why did they tell us that their shells 
 did not explode? Why did they tell us that?" 
 
 "Gaspard," replied the Captain, "this is no longer 
 the time to ask why." (Another shell exploded with 
 a terrific report only fifty meters away.) "We 
 haven't even the time to eat. Turn the pot over." 
 
 "Turn it over?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 99 
 
 From the manner in which the last word was 
 spoken it was clear that the decision at which Puche 
 had arrived was irrevocable. Gaspard hesitated only 
 a second and then upset the pot, but not before hav- 
 ing rescued a large hunk of steaming beef, which 
 he placed in his canvas bag. 
 
 "Pick up your arms, my boys," said the Captain, 
 "and form fours." 
 
 The men obeyed the order in a deathlike silence. 
 The Captain, however, remained just as calm. Just 
 at that moment he was endeavoring to remove with 
 his finger nail a small spot on the sleeve of his tunic. 
 
 "Form fours," he said, "and in good order." 
 
 Pinceloup grumbled: 
 
 "We're going to be killed here. Why don't we 
 move?" 
 
 Gaspard replied in a tone of supreme contempt: 
 
 "Don't cry, baby, we'll take you back to your 
 mother." 
 
 "Come on," said the Captain. "Line up." 
 
 Even the bravest felt a shiver pass through his 
 body and a feeling of revolt in his heart. It seemed 
 horrible at such a time another shell had just ex- 
 ploded twenty-five meters away to attach any im- 
 portance to foolish details. 
 
 "Attention! . . . Parade rest! . . . Atten- 
 tion! . . ." 
 
 The men obeyed, scandalized.
 
 100 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 In no uncertain voice the Captain continued: 
 
 "Shoulder arms !" 
 
 He repeated the same order three times over. 
 
 Even Gaspard, failing to understand, was dis- 
 gusted. Burette, terrorized, was looking at the blue 
 sky, which seemed greater than ever. His heart was 
 beating quickly. He was begging to live through 
 what seemed to be an astounding nightmare. He 
 listened to the shells coming along and was saying 
 to himself: "Are we going to die? . . . Yes? . . . 
 No? . . ." He lowered his head while the Captain's 
 voice again was heard: 
 
 "Present arms !" 
 
 He as well as the others obeyed the orders. Sud- 
 denly in the midst of a deadly silence, while all the 
 men were anxiously awaiting a change, whatever 
 it might be, a murmur was heard between two 
 shells. 
 
 "Attention," said Puche. "We are going to start. 
 We have one and a half kilometers to cross under 
 fire . . ." 
 
 The report of an exploding shell silenced him for 
 a moment, after which he repeated: 
 
 "The fire is not violent . . . and after all we are 
 at war . . . There is nothing to surprise you. 
 Form fours and advance in sections." 
 
 He took out his whistle, motioned the men for- 
 ward without uttering a word, and with his eyes
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 101 
 
 glued on his map started out ahead of his men 
 through an open field. 
 
 Moreau remarked: 
 
 "We're in for it now." 
 
 Gaspard replied: 
 
 "Not even time to fill a pipe!" 
 
 Moreau continued: 
 
 "Where is our artillery? They don't give a damn 
 for us!" 
 
 "Well, we don't give a damn for them !" said 
 Gaspard. 
 
 The Captain blew his whistle and gave a signal 
 to the. men, in reply to which they all dropped flat 
 on the ground. A shell came along, with the same 
 whistling noise, and blew up a corner of the field 
 further on. 
 
 "Poor aim," said Gaspard, "too much to the 
 left!" 
 
 He was sneering and all the others, in whom this 
 first contact with gunfire was working an enormous 
 change, joined in the chorus of nervous sneers. They 
 were perspiring so much that their eyes were damp. 
 Lying on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, they 
 looked at each other, saying: 
 
 "Pretty hot, eh? God, what a life!" 
 
 The Parisians, however, did not lose their mind. 
 The explosions of the shells brought back to them 
 the everlasting rumbling of Parisian life, and Gas-
 
 102 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 pard remarked: "It sounds like one of the big foires 
 at home!" 
 
 The men stood up and dropped to the ground 
 again at the order of the Captain, who, however, 
 always remained standing, his map and field glasses 
 in his hands, holding his company together, support- 
 ing it and encouraging it by his example, unmoved, 
 cool and calm, wonderful in the way he accepted 
 quietly a reality which was becoming more and more 
 terrific every minute. The shells seemed to be com- 
 ing along faster, encircling this handful of men, 
 whose courage was being kept up by Gaspard's jokes 
 addressed to the shells: 
 
 "Maybe you'll get us! ... Maybe you won't. 
 Ah, the fools! . . . The damn fools! They've been 
 practising nothing else for forty years and this is 
 the best they can do!" 
 
 The men motioned their approval and every one 
 laughed; the joy at not being hit was enough to 
 strengthen every heart. 
 
 The most amazing part of it all and this had 
 not yet occurred to the men was that no one could 
 see the Germans. Nor could the French be seen. 
 This was not an open battle where the troops fight 
 man to man. This was evidently a battle on an im- 
 mense scale, with regiments spread along several 
 kilometers, facing an enemy far away who was firing 
 shells over hilltops and wood.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 103 
 
 But men are strangely pliable. They become ac- 
 customed to the worst adventure with a rapidity 
 which at first is astounding and finally becomes ad- 
 mirable. While exposed to this mysterious fire Gas- 
 pard gave vent to the following bit of philosophy: 
 
 "In this business it's foolish to try to understand 
 anything." 
 
 What was far more imperative just now was to find 
 something to eat, for the tragedy of the loss of the 
 soup was beginning to dawn upon the men. They 
 had had nothing to eat since the previous day and 
 had been inarching all night. The men felt a weight 
 upon their stomachs and their legs began to give 
 way. 
 
 After a quarter of an hour, when the shells began 
 to fall at greater intervals, the men had more 
 thought for something to eat than for the danger 
 of the enemy's fire. 
 
 Some one called out: 
 
 "Gaspard . . . let's have your beef, we're starv- 
 ing! . . ." 
 
 Gaspard replied in an angry tone: 
 
 "It isn't cut . . . Leave me alone . . . we'll eat 
 it to-night." 
 
 The men realized that this argument was irre- 
 futable. Meanwhile they found consolation in the 
 fact that after the field of beets which they had been 
 crossing they were now entering a cornfield, a beau-
 
 104 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 tiful field where the stalks reached up to their shoul- 
 ders, a real frontier field, of which the harvest would 
 make the Germans die of jealousy. In the midst of 
 the corn a few shells were still falling, causing a 
 golden cloud to mingle with the smoke and powder. 
 
 Every minute the Captain would blow his whistle 
 and the men would disappear among the cornstalks. 
 
 All fear had vanished now, for the men had found 
 something to eat. They were seizing the stalks in 
 large armfuls, removing the grain with feverish 
 hands and swallowing them by mouthfuls. This was 
 a new form of torture, and the men had no drink 
 to accompany the raw corn. Their hunger was 
 merely deadened and their thirst was driving them 
 mad. 
 
 They soon came to the end of the beautiful corn- 
 field and when out on the plain discovered a village 
 ahead of them. The houses were burning and the 
 entire battle scene was disclosed with its masses of 
 infantry, its exploding shells, and, on the other side, 
 the enemy's firing line made visible by the flames 
 issuing from a nearby wood. During the first min- 
 ute all the horrors of war were again brought home 
 with terrific force to the newcomers. 
 
 A new object of interest, however, suddenly ap- 
 peared on the scene in the shape of a rabbit bound- 
 ing across the field. Every eye followed it and the 
 men with open mouths prepared to give chase, but
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 105 
 
 the little animal disappeared in the wood. Gaspard, 
 wiping the perspiration from his forehead, said in 
 a painful voice to Burette: 
 
 "Rabbit! . . . Just think of it! ... A rabbit 
 with a good sauce!" 
 
 Burette offered all he had as a consolation. 
 
 "I've got my reserve ration of sugar ... do you 
 want it?" 
 
 "Well, hand it over, but it isn't going to help my 
 thirst. I think I'm beginning to like this war!" 
 
 "Look," said Burette; "look right ahead of 
 us " 
 
 He was pointing toward the flames across one of 
 those beautiful open spaces which Van der Meulen 
 excelled in painting and which can be seen in many 
 of his best works. But in this case the entire village 
 was afire like an enormous brasier, with one high 
 flame above all the others rapidly destroying the 
 belfry. Below, in the plain, the German shells were 
 coming along like a tide sweeping everything in 
 front of it, while regiments continued to descend by 
 leaps into the very midst of the shell fire. 
 
 The weather was exceptionally fine and the fight- 
 ing forces could easily be seen. The enormous 
 battlefield was right there, and presented a terrify- 
 ing sight to the newcomer. The sun was shining 
 and it seemed as if this province of Lorraine was 
 eager to show itself in all its splendor in order to
 
 106 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 encourage the troops. "Look how pretty I am! 
 Save me!" the country seemed to say to the sol- 
 diers, and the day was so beautiful that it seemed 
 as if the Almighty Himself was contributing His 
 share to the battle. 
 
 Burette, deeply moved, seized Gaspard by his 
 coat. 
 
 "Let's stay together, Gaspard; do not leave me 
 at any price !" 
 
 Gaspard replied: 
 
 "That's all right, friend, but meanwhile this piece 
 of beef in my bag is burning my side." 
 
 "This is no time to joke, Gaspard." 
 
 "Oh, we come from Paris, we're no farmers." 
 
 "It is 3 o'clock now, Gaspard; in fifteen minutes 
 we may be dead." 
 
 "In my case it will be twenty minutes ; my watch 
 is slow." 
 
 Gaspard was just as deeply moved as his friend, 
 but was determined not to show it. 
 
 The fire was increasing in violence and groups of 
 men were disappearing in the smoke ; the whole coun- 
 tryside seemed to be shaken as by an earthquake. 
 A cry was heard; another soldier had paid his toll. 
 Then two more, ten more, some wounded in the head, 
 others in the heart, fell as they were running toward 
 the enemy. They appeared to have been seized by 
 the neck by death and hurled to the ground.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 107 
 
 "They must think we're a set of bowling pins," 
 said Gaspard. 
 
 The ranks of the company were all broken up 
 and, although the Captain remained just as ad- 
 mirably calm as ever, he was unable to make himself 
 heard by the men. Gaspard hesitated. What should 
 he do? Run on ahead or stop to help the comrades 
 who had fallen? He called to Burette and the two 
 ran toward a poor lad who was calling them. 
 
 "Gaspard! . . . Gaspard! . . . Come here and 
 help me! ... God, how I suffer!" 
 
 Gaspard opened the soldier's coat. 
 
 "Where were you hit?" 
 
 "I don't know ... In the leg . . . Yes, in the 
 leg." 
 
 "Well, don't worry, boy; that isn't bad; you'll 
 be all right; we'll fix you up." 
 
 "Have you got anything to drink?" 
 
 "Not a drop, my poor boy." 
 
 Gaspard went through his canvas bag and 
 brought out the hunk of beef, still steaming. He 
 gave it to the wounded man and said: 
 
 "Hold this for a minute and don't let it go ... 
 Burette, give him some sugar. See, Burette; he's 
 a good pal. And here is my field dressing . . . 
 Now don't cry . . . Stop it now, don't cry . . . 
 The swine over there are looking through their 
 glasses and will see you." 
 8
 
 108 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 They did see him. Gaspard and Burette had 
 hardly left him when a shell tore him in two, muti- 
 lating his body in a terrific manner. The other two 
 men did not see this, for they were going straight 
 ahead while Gaspard kept on grumbling "Damn the 
 artillery . . . they're not supporting us !" 
 
 He understood nothing of this new method of 
 fighting, of this cruel battle where the enemy never 
 could be seen and where his regiment was being 
 mowed down by devilish fire. What was the object? 
 Why? But to express his disgust he could find 
 nothing but funny words even in the midst of all 
 these horrors. 
 
 Followed by Burette, he ran up to Moreau. 
 
 "Can you hear the damn fools with their coffee 
 grinders ?" 
 
 What he called coffee grinders were the machine 
 guns, which were now raining upon the men a con- 
 tinuous hail of death-dealing bullets and the soldiers 
 realized what an unequal battle they were fighting 
 against the Prussian artillery. Gaspard was the 
 first to venture a protest. He said to Burette: 
 
 "This is worse than a slaughter house! All they 
 have to do now is to mark us with red ink before 
 sending us out!" 
 
 He sat down on the road, discouraged and dis- 
 gusted. 
 
 Suddenly he felt something touching his hand and
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 109 
 
 turned around quickly. It was the dog which was 
 licking his hand, the black dog which had followed 
 the regiment, to which he had given food and which 
 was now at his side in the midst of the battle. 
 
 "Hello, old sport; glad to see you!" 
 
 He took the brute in his arms and caressed it 
 tenderly, saying: 
 
 "You've come to fight, haven't you? Would you 
 like to eat up some of the Boches? Well, you'll 
 get what you want, for, as you can see, a good deal 
 of work has already been done. And believe me, 
 we've done some marching; just ask Burette. You 
 know Burette ; he's a pal. And we're going to take 
 that village away from them. You see that village 
 right over there ? Come on, Burette ; we're off !" 
 
 While getting up from the road Gaspard put his 
 hand in a pool of blood. 
 
 "My God !" he exclaimed, "this is horrible." 
 
 The dog was barking, but Gaspard did not finish 
 his sentence. Right beside him terrifying reports 
 were heard. He jumped aside and looked at Bu- 
 rette, who was already staring at him. His friend 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "These are our guns, Gaspard. This time they're 
 going to it." 
 
 Gaspard's eyes were shining. 
 
 "What? Do you mean our artillery?" 
 
 "Sure ! Just listen."
 
 110 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 A long series of shots were heard coming from the 
 hilltop in the rear, and they sounded like a cold, 
 determined revenge. Gaspard was trembling with 
 emotion. 
 
 "It's the seventy-fives ! The seventy-fives ! Hur- 
 ray, boy; now we've got them!" 
 
 He started to run forward again, but the piece 
 of beef which he had replaced in his canvas bag was 
 still burning his side. Moreau said: 
 
 "Throw it away." 
 
 "Fine meat like that?" said Gaspard. "You poor 
 fool, who do you think I am?" 
 
 He went on by leaps and bounds, with the others 
 following closely. 
 
 Just then there happened one of those events 
 which men taking part in a battle can never under- 
 stand, for each soldier sees no further than the minor 
 action in which he and his friends are engaged. The 
 men stopped and drew back, and immediately after 
 came a panic in which even the bravest and the 
 strongest were overcome. The men turned and ran, 
 pushing each other, the unwilling being dragged 
 along with the others. It was a retreat, but no one 
 knew why. No one could tell just where it started; 
 some one began and the others followed. But when 
 one is a Parisian . . . from the Rue d'la Gaite, one 
 is not long in recovering one's spirits. The great 
 amount of good common sense with which all Pa-
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 111 
 
 risians are gifted is stronger than any idea of flight, 
 and it was for that reason that in the midst of the 
 rout Gaspard stopped suddenly and called out in a 
 thundering voice : 
 
 "Where are they going? Why are they running? 
 You fools ! What's the matter with you ?" 
 
 The explosion of a shell near by threw him to the 
 ground and he disappeared in a cloud of black 
 smoke. Burette's heart almost ceased to beat. He 
 called out: 
 
 "Gaspard! . . . Gaspard!" 
 
 A voice replied: 
 
 "All right, pal! Nothing happened this time!" 
 
 Gaspard jumped up and ran toward the fleeing 
 soldiers, followed by the dog, to which he was say- 
 ing: 
 
 "Bite them in the legs and don't be afraid! 
 They're not men, they're a lot of frightened chick- 
 ens ! Where's the General ? Eh, General, come over 
 here and give them each a medal with a picture of a 
 running hare !" 
 
 But there were no more officers nor even ser- 
 geants. 
 
 "Forward ! Forward !" Gaspard called out. 
 "That isn't the way to go home! Why, we're just 
 beginning and I haven't killed a single Boche yet!" 
 
 Fifty men immediately turned and followed their 
 new leader.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Just listen to the seventy-fives ! I tell you we're 
 giving it to them and we'll have them jumping like 
 fishes on a frying pan !" 
 
 Unfortunately they were doing the jumping them- 
 selves. Shells were falling to the right, to the left 
 and in front of them. One by one the men were 
 falling. Those who remained ran to the road, but 
 the shells followed them. Their bags and other 
 equipment were riddled with bullet holes. The earth 
 under them seemed to be opening up and the air 
 appeared to be on fire. Finally Gaspard and Bu- 
 rette received their share, struck by the same shell. 
 
 Burette did not fall at once. Standing erect he 
 announced bravely that he was hit. Gaspard re- 
 plied : 
 
 "So am I! Ah, the swine!" 
 
 He was white in the face and seemed to have 
 already lost weight. He was suffering excruciating 
 pains, but his will power was as strong as ever. 
 
 "Yes, I'm hit, but the pieces are still good." 
 
 He was holding his bag with both hands. The 
 idea of being wounded in the back was disgusting 
 to him. And when a new hail of bullets came alongr 
 
 Q 
 
 and Burette cried out, "Lie on your stomach !" he 
 replied: "Ah, leave me alone! I want to be hit on 
 the real side!" 
 
 His wish was not granted, however. He was still 
 able to limp along, but when he turned and no longer
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 113 
 
 saw Burette he stopped at once and called out : "Eh, 
 Burette ! Where are you ?" 
 
 There was no reply. He raised his head and called 
 out again: 
 
 "Burette ! . . . Burette ! . . . Where are you, my 
 old pal!" 
 
 As he was uttering the last word a bullet went 
 through his cap, and despite his wound he exclaimed : 
 
 "Good thing my mother didn't make me taller!" 
 
 He turned back and went looking for Burette. 
 He found him a few yards in the rear, on his knees, 
 his mouth open and a strange stare in his eyes. 
 Gaspard rapped him on the shoulder and the 
 wounded man collapsed. 
 
 "My God!" exclaimed Gaspard. 
 
 The song of the bullets was still going on. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Gaspard with a ner- 
 vous laugh. 
 
 "Ah! ... Ah! ..." was all Burette replied. 
 
 "Were you hit again? . . . Where? . . ." 
 
 His comrade pointed to his stomach and rolled 
 over on the ground with another deep sigh. 
 
 "The brutes !" said Gaspard. 
 
 He opened up his friend's clothes and said in a 
 tone of voice which he tried to make as merry as 
 possible : 
 
 "But it's nothing at all, pal; it's just a little 
 scratch, just a scratch."
 
 114 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "I'm done," murmured Burette. 
 
 "You're crazy . . . just lie down here . . . why, 
 you know me ... I'm Gaspard . . . And I'm not 
 going to leave you; we'll stay here together; we're 
 pals and good pals." 
 
 "I'm done . . ." 
 
 "Now don't be a fool !" 
 
 A shell exploded a few yards away and Gaspard 
 said: 
 
 "The worst of all is that they won't stop it ! Do 
 you think you could walk, pal?" 
 
 "Oh, no, ... no .. ." 
 
 "Not if I hold you up?" 
 
 "No, I'd rather die here ... Oh ! ... Oh ! ... 
 Tell my little wife . . ." 
 
 "Will you shut up ! Why, if you could see your- 
 self you'd see you have a face to last a hundred 
 years! . . . Why! . . . Just because you got hit 
 by some lead? . . . Well, what about it? . . . We'll 
 get it out of your system." 
 
 Another shell came along and Gaspard threw him- 
 self on top of Burette, protecting his comrade with 
 his own body. 
 
 "You're not going to get any more of it if I can 
 help it. Well, now, listen to me; we've got to get 
 out of here and that's no lie. . . . We're no longer 
 going to the village. We two have got our share. 
 . . . Just put your arms around my neck. . . ."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 115 
 
 "No! ... Oh, no! ... Gaspard . . . Don't 
 move me ... It hurts ... It hurts . . . God, 
 how I suffer . . . I'd rather . . . that you listen 
 to me . . ." 
 
 "Listen to you! Yes, as always! It's not for 
 nothing that you're a college graduate. That's the 
 way they all are in college. Now I'm not going to 
 ask you whether you like it or not. . . . I'm just go- 
 ing to take you along." 
 
 "No! . . . No! . . ." 
 
 "Come on along . . . Hold me tight. . . . Come 
 on. Forward, march!" 
 
 He had completely forgotten about his wound. 
 He threw away his haversack and rifle and kept only 
 his canvas bag because it contained the hunk of 
 beef; he took his friend in his arms as though he 
 were a child and began to walk over the same ground 
 which he had previously crossed under the enemy's 
 terrific fire. 
 
 The firing was going on with the same violence 
 and the Boches seemed to have no intention of stop- 
 ping it. Gaspard, out of breath, with his comrade 
 in his arms, went through a long field where the 
 bullets of the machine guns were flying fast and furi- 
 ously, singing through the air as they came along. 
 The soldiers hate the bullets more than the heavy 
 shells, for they are practically invisible and come 
 along by hundreds and by thousands. Unlike the
 
 116 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 machine guns, the shells give the soldiers some 
 breathing time. 
 
 "The brutes ! . . . The brutes S . . . The swine !" 
 murmured Gaspard. He felt his pluck giving way 
 in the midst of this rain of bullets, which seemed to 
 be pursuing him on his mission of mercy. Two or 
 three times he stopped, placing Burette quietly on 
 the ground, held his wounded back for a moment 
 and then picked up his comrade again and went on. 
 
 'Don't worry, pal, we're getting ahead. . . . 
 We'll soon reach the village and you'll be fixed up 
 in less than.no time." 
 
 The enemy, however, was extending his fire. From 
 an elevation in a wood where he could watch the en- 
 tire plain he had probably just discovered all these 
 wounded men, who, like Gaspard, were going along 
 back of the French lines alone or by twos or threes, 
 poor unfortunates limping to the ambulances while 
 holding their wounded limbs or heads. The enemy 
 arrived at the cruel decision that these men should 
 be exterminated. And a new rain of shells more 
 frightful than the others came along. None of the 
 poor unfortunates had the strength of the begin- 
 ning of the day when they were able to dodge the 
 explosions, jumping to the right or left or throw- 
 ing themselves on the ground. Many were hit again, 
 once, twice and even three times ; but they went on 
 in a supreme effort to reach assistance. Poor muti-
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 117 
 
 lated beings, they had done their share and paid 
 the price and still the German guns pursued 
 them. 
 
 Gaspard, however, was not frightened in the slight- 
 est degree. He was just simply wonderful. He went 
 along, perspiring and suffering, but kept on encour- 
 aging his friend and his own self. 
 
 "I should worry ! . . . I don't care what they do ! 
 . . . I'll take a chance any time! ... If we die to- 
 gether, well, then we'll die together!" 
 
 "Yes . . . Yes," . . . murmured Burette, "but 
 don't shake me too much." 
 
 "Well, you know, old sport, you're pretty heavy." 
 
 At these words Burette, who was suffering intense- 
 ly, reopened his eyes suddenly and said: 
 
 "Gas . . . Gaspard . . . You're the best friend 
 I ever had." 
 
 Gaspard, bent down by the weight of his pal, did 
 not reply. Both were deeply moved. 
 
 To the right, to the left, on the battlefield, which 
 they were crossing for the second time, voices called 
 out: 
 
 "Eh, you ... eh, friend . . . give me a drink! 
 A drink ! . . . Haven't you even got a draught ?" 
 
 All made the same request. At the same time the 
 names of women could be heard, softly murmured 
 by wounded men who were uttering their last words 
 in this world : "Jeanne ! Jeanne ! . , Marie ! .
 
 118 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Marie! . . . My poor wife . . . Mother! ... A 
 drink . . . Please, a drink !" 
 
 Gaspard was as white as a sheet, although he was 
 still very hot. He was staring right in front of him 
 so as to avoid all the pitiful looks of the other 
 wounded ; he was walking straight ahead, carefully 
 avoiding, however, the bodies of the dead. Some of 
 them had fallen on their backs and their open eyes 
 were turned heavenward in a cold, distressful glance. 
 Others were lying face downward, half buried in the 
 mud. 
 
 The sun was setting in all its glory flooding with 
 its last rays the surrounding country; and in front 
 of this flaming sky, over which blood red clouds were 
 rolling, the Germans were trying their best to out- 
 rival the work of nature by setting fire to more vil- 
 lages, more homes. 
 
 The night was yet to come . . . the night, which 
 would probably mean death to many of them, and 
 Gaspard, staggering along with his human burden, 
 realized it quite well. 
 
 He reached the ambulance only after an extra- 
 ordinary effort, bleeding all over, for the long march 
 had torn his wound still further apart. He was not 
 in the slightest alarmed, however; his sole idea was 
 that he had a pal and that he was saving the life of 
 that pal. 
 
 He placed him on the ground by a stone wall and
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 119 
 
 went away to see a sergeant. In the darkness which 
 was already covering the village about 1,000 men, 
 piled up along the roads, were crying, sobbing, help- 
 ing each other and swearing at each other. Wounded 
 men, Red Cross attendants and fugitives intermingled 
 with the fresh troops on their way to take the places 
 of the dead. 
 
 Gaspard's first step was to go to a fountain where 
 about 100 soldiers were in line, waiting for a drink. 
 Gaspard's loud voice and the air of authority which 
 he always assumed helped him to get to the front row 
 and he soon had his head and arms under the refresh- 
 ing stream of water, after which he called out to the 
 others : 
 
 "I want a surgeon ! . . . Where can I find a sur- 
 geon?" 
 
 He found three of them who were actively engaged 
 in assisting a number of wounded who had sought ref- 
 uge in a hay loft. They were saying : 
 
 "This is horrible . . . horrible. ... If they go 
 on like this there'll be no one left in a couple of 
 days !" 
 
 "That's a sure thing," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Who asked you for your opinion," said the sur- 
 geon. "Shut up !" 
 
 Gaspard replied: 
 
 "Shut up? . . . Why should I shut up? . . . Fve 
 received my share and I have a right to talk. . . .
 
 120 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Anyhow, I'm not talking for myself, but for Burette, 
 my pal. . . . Yes, my pal. He's got a bullet in his 
 stomach and I want a wagon." 
 
 "A wagon ! Go and see the stretcher bearer and 
 leave us alone !" 
 
 He went out, highly indignant. But when he came 
 to the stretcher bearers nothing could stop him. He 
 seized one by the arm and held on to him. The man, 
 however, was unable to give any assistance and Gas- 
 pard said: 
 
 "You poor fool, why did they put crosses on your 
 sleeves? Were you trying to look pretty, you poor 
 idiot!" 
 
 He turned away, but stumbled over the legs of a 
 man lying across the road. He was pushing on with 
 a strong oath when he heard some one call and turned 
 around. It was Captain Puche, but he could hardly 
 recognize him, for the officer's face seemed just one 
 large blot of blood. 
 
 "And you too!" said Gaspard. . . . Ah, isn't it 
 the limit. . . . And hit in the head, too! . . . Does 
 it hurt?" 
 
 "It's nothing," said Puche in a low voice. His 
 head was all wrapped up in bandages. He could 
 hardly talk, but in his hand he held a pencil and a 
 piece of paper, and as the sergeant-major came along 
 with a lantern in his hand he beckoned to him and 
 said:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 121 
 
 "I've finished the account. ... It makes . . . 
 eight hundred and thirty . . . francs. . . ." 
 
 He turned back his head so as not to get too much 
 blood in his mouth. 
 
 Gaspard didn't know just what to say. 
 
 "Captain . . . Burette has been hit too. . . . 
 He's got a bullet in his stomach. . . ." 
 
 "Burette? . . . Poor Burette," said Puche. "Is 
 he dead?" 
 
 "No ; but in pretty bad shape." 
 
 "To die for one's country . . ." said the Captain, 
 "is the finest . . . death. . . ." 
 
 He was not at all nervous, and despite his wound 
 he was eager to straighten out his accounts before 
 being taken away to a hospital, and he kept on giv- 
 ing out instructions. 
 
 "No potatoes should be taken without special or- 
 ders. . . ." 
 
 "Understood, Captain," said the sergeant-major; 
 "but you are losing a lot of blood." 
 
 As a matter of fact drops of blood were 
 falling on the paper containing the Captain's ac- 
 counts. 
 
 "It's all right. ... I'm all right. . . . Good-by 
 . . . Gaspard . . . Good luck. . . ." 
 
 They shook hands and Gaspard tried in vain to say 
 a few words of encouragement to his superior officer. 
 As he walked away he heard Puche say :
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "In my bags you will find some chocolate. . . . 
 You may . . . give it ... to the men. . . ." 
 
 He gave him his field glasses and his map and was 
 still holding up his head to keep the blood from fall- 
 ing on his papers and on his uniform. 
 
 Gaspard went away, saying to himself : "That man 
 is a hero." 
 
 He returned to Burette, who was moaning at the 
 place where he had left him. A man surgeon had just 
 examined his wound. Gaspard ran after the surgeon 
 and inquired regarding the condition of his friend. 
 
 "Which one?" said the surgeon. "The poor chap 
 over there? He's gone." 
 
 "Really ... do you mean it? Damn this war!" 
 
 He went back to Burette and leaned over him. 
 
 "Don't worry, pal! They tell me it's nothing at 
 all." 
 
 "I'm going, Gaspard . . . I'm going." 
 
 "Rot. . . . Don't be foolish. . . ." 
 
 "Listen, Gaspard . . . I've done my duty. . . . 
 God, how I suffer! ... Ah! ... Tell my little 
 wife. . . ." 
 
 "Don't talk, boy ; you'll only hurt yourself. . . ." 
 
 "Tell her ... that I die ... thinking of 
 her. . . ." 
 
 "Come on, pal. . . . My pal. . . . You'll tell her 
 that yourself. ... I mean . . . don't be afraid ; 
 you'll see her again."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 123 
 
 Burette's hands were already cold and his breath 
 was like a chill. 
 
 The surgeon returned followed by two stretcher- 
 bearers. 
 
 "Take this man up quietly and carry him to the 
 ambulance." 
 
 "Yes ... Oh ... Quietly ..." said Burette. 
 "Gaspard, put me on the stretcher, will you?" 
 
 "You bet I will, pal." 
 
 He picked him up again, placing his arms tenderly 
 around the poor mutilated body. A light appeared 
 in Burette's eyes and kissing his friend on the cheek 
 he said: 
 
 "You . . . are the best friend I ever had. . . ." 
 
 Gaspard was doing his utmost to overcome his 
 emotion. They took Burette away and he tried to 
 follow him, but the surgeon said: 
 
 "You, my friend, will be sent elsewhere." 
 
 He cried out in despair : 
 
 "Do I have to leave my pal?" 
 
 "Can't be helped, my friend !" 
 
 "Well, then, let me at least say good-by to him. 
 . . . Burette ! . . . My old friend Burette. . . . 
 We'll meet again at Montparnasse ! Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 He just had time to shake his friend's hands and 
 a minute later he was alone, all alone, although a 
 thousand men surrounded him. 
 9
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 His pal had gone ! . . . He sat down and screamed 
 out aloud. . . . He had forgotten all about his 
 wound, which had not even been bandaged. 
 
 An assistant surgeon removed his clothes and band- 
 aged him as well as possible, dressing the wound in the 
 light of the moon. He said : 
 
 "You lost a good bit of flesh, my friend." 
 
 "Well, I don't care," said Gaspard, "I don't give 
 a damn ... all this business is rotten." . . . 
 
 Turning around and burying his face in the earth 
 he burst out crying. 
 
 War! What a horror! To leave the ordinary 
 friend of daily life and go into this hell where all the 
 elements seem to get together to mutilate you, tear 
 you apart, torture you ! You go out with friends and 
 they fall at your side. You love them . . . and you 
 die. . . . Help! ... A drink . . . and how about 
 the women back home, and the children ! . . . and 
 Burette ! . . . Every new thought would bring fresh 
 tears to the eyes of Gaspard. He was crying with all 
 his soul. 
 
 When his wound had been dressed, he recovered 
 some of his old-time charm. The nurse helped him 
 to turn around, and after the surgeon had left he 
 suddenly remembered that he was hungry, and his 
 first thought was for the hunk of beef in his canvas 
 
 The bag was right there at his side, and having
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 125 
 
 pulled it to him he opened it quickly and took out 
 the beef. 
 
 The moon at this time was shining right in his 
 face, seemingly eager to help him in the preparation 
 of his meal. Near by there were two or three other 
 wounded men, one hit in the arm and another in the 
 leg, who were sighing loudly. When they saw the 
 beef they stretched their heads and soon came along- 
 side of Gaspard to beg a piece of his good looking 
 meal. 
 
 Gaspard this time recovered all his good spirits. 
 He was quite willing to share his meal, but held back 
 the others with an important air, saying: 
 
 "Oh ! . . . Just a minute. I come first ! . . . Be- 
 cause, you know, I've been carrying this around with 
 me for some time !" 
 
 10
 
 IV 
 
 WHEN Gaspard had eaten his beef, which 
 was almost raw and tasteless, it seemed 
 nevertheless to have given him more blood 
 in his veins and marrow in his bones. One by one 
 the thoughts which had been driven out of his head 
 by all the events of the past few hours returned slowly. 
 His first worry was for his company and his regi- 
 ment. . . . What had become of them? And the 
 friends, Moreau, the others? He had run away with 
 Burette. Burette had almost died in his arms. They 
 had taken him away and now he was alone. Now 
 he was with strangers who were wounded as well as 
 he, but who did not have the same number on the 
 collars of their coat. It was a bright moonlight 
 night, but nothing could drive from his mind the 
 thought of the terrific day which he had just lived, 
 and of which he retained a mass of atrocious pictures 
 while the reports of the big guns and rifles remained 
 in his ears. His ears were vibrating, his eyes burn- 
 ing; his body ached everywhere, and he kept on 
 repeating while wiping the perspiration from his 
 forehead : 
 
 126
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 127 
 
 "What a rotten business!" 
 
 He sought information from his suffering com- 
 panions. They all belonged to different regiments. 
 It appeared that this battle, in which the Twenty- 
 fourth Company, commanded by Captain Puche, 
 made so calm and so noble a stand, was a tremendous 
 engagement where thousands of men had suffered, 
 had been wounded, mutilated, killed among the trees, 
 bushes and cornfields which hid them from each other 
 and which made each group believe that they were 
 alone to suffer. 
 
 Gaspard inquired: 
 
 "What do you call this place ?" 
 
 The sergeant replied: 
 
 "They tell me it's G " 
 
 "G ?" said Gaspard. "Never heard of it." 
 
 He was obviously dissatisfied. No one had ever 
 
 heard of G . What he wanted was the name of 
 
 one of the great battles of history. To have been 
 
 wounded at G would mean nothing, however 
 
 great an escape from death he might have had. He 
 had seen so many fall and die! The only ones he 
 hadn't seen were the Germans. He asked the others : 
 
 "Did you see the Germans?" 
 
 A wounded man replied: 
 
 "Much I worry about that! I don't want to see 
 them." 
 
 Gaspard sat up, growing almost violent.
 
 128 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "You fool! No use asking you if you come from 
 Paris! You're probably from some small country 
 town. . . . He doesn't care to see them! . . . Who 
 asked you if you did or not? . . . Are you trying 
 to start a fight?" 
 
 "I don't want to fight. I'm just telling you what I 
 think." 
 
 "Well, you think like a fool. He doesn't care to 
 see them! . . . Well, who does? . . . Only I sure 
 didn't think that war was anything like this. And 
 I'm not the only one at that. When I fight I'm not 
 afraid to show myself; I don't go into hiding! But 
 with these swine, they stay at home and fire at you 
 all their rotten steel and iron. We were willing to go 
 right to it ; all we wanted was a hand to hand fight." 
 
 A voice from the shadows said : 
 
 "Unfortunately those are no more the conditions 
 of modern warfare." 
 
 "Modern be damned!" said Gaspard. "I don't 
 know any big words like that but I know what I'm 
 talking about. And if I'd known before I wouldn't 
 have gone into the infantry." 
 
 "Where would you have gone?" said the same 
 voice. 
 
 "Where would I have gone? Why, in a flying 
 corps ! I would have applied for a job as an aviator 
 . . . and that's the kind of a job I'd like, because I 
 could spit on the Germans!"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "There's a lot of talking going on here; a little 
 silence, please!" 
 
 "There comes the other butcher," said Gaspard. 
 
 It was the surgeon. He said: 
 
 "How many are there here who cannot walk?" 
 
 He counted them and then called out for a vehicle. 
 
 "Fine!" said Gaspard. "We're going to have a 
 ride at the expense of the Government. Believe me, 
 I need it too, for I'm pretty worn out." 
 
 He had completely recovered his good humor, but 
 he was very much disappointed when he saw the vehi- 
 cle in which they asked him to take a place. It was 
 made up of three boards on two sets of wheels, with 
 a team of pitiful looking horses, and on the boards 
 there was a very thin layer of old straw. There was 
 about room for two men, but six were placed there, 
 piled up so close that lively scenes followed. 
 
 "Can't you be careful, you fool ! Look at my 
 leg!" 
 
 "Your leg? What about both of mine?" 
 
 Gaspard addressed his complaint to the driver, an 
 old peasant of Lorraine, who was falling fast asleep. 
 
 "How often do you hire this out for wedding 
 parties? Is this the carriage of the bride?" 
 
 The peasant had not heard a word, but in his turn 
 he said : 
 
 "Were there many killed?" 
 
 Gaspard replied:
 
 130 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Who do you think we are? The undertakers? 
 Come on, get a move on." 
 
 The other went on: 
 
 "Because you see all the land on which you've 
 been fighting belongs to me." 
 
 "Well, you've got some pretty fine property," said 
 Gaspard, "but after all, I'd rather have the Rue de 
 Gaite." 
 
 The peasant continued: 
 
 "Do you think the Government will pay for what 
 has been wrecked?" 
 
 "Go on, get a move on," said Gaspard. "I don't 
 believe in entering into conversation with my coach- 
 man." 
 
 It was a weird trip through the moonlight night. 
 For three hours they went on slowly, to the squeak- 
 ing of the wheels, each bump of the road increasing 
 the sufferings of the six wounded men. The heads 
 of the latter were moving slowly to the right and left, 
 according to the jolts of the wagon. They presented 
 an appearance which was just as comical as it was 
 terrific. 
 
 When the wagon stopped they found themselves in 
 front of a village church, and some one gave the 
 order : 
 
 "Step down! Everybody get out. Come oji in 
 here. We won't take the train before to-morrow 
 morning."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 131 
 
 As they were passing through the door of the 
 church Gaspard said: 
 
 "No doubt about it ; it's a funeral." 
 
 Inside of the church moans could be heard com- 
 ing from shadows in the corners. No doubt that 
 these poor unfortunates strongly objected to the 
 light of the moon, the rays of which were coming in 
 through the top of the church, the roof of which had 
 been completely wrecked by shells on the previous 
 day. The wounded men had evidently tried to get 
 away from the moonlight, for they were piled up 
 along the sides of the church. The priest, followed by 
 an old limping woman, was walking from man to 
 man, a lighted candle in his hand. Every once in a 
 while he would place the candle on the floor and dis- 
 tribute lumps of sugar while the old woman, who was 
 carrying a large water pitcher, shakingly poured 
 out a mixture of wine and water to the men. 
 
 Gaspard was leaning against one of the pillars and 
 drank what was given to him with great pleasure. 
 When he finished the wine and the sugar he crawled 
 along on all fours so as not to step on the other 
 wounded men and dragged himself up to the altar 
 where the moon was shining brightly on the little 
 white ornaments and the green plants. 
 
 A large wooden sculpture of Christ, which had 
 probably been standing back of the altar, had been 
 thrown down by a shell and in falling one of the arms
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 had been broken off. But the arm was still hanging 
 to the cross by the hand. Close to the Christ on the 
 cross a wounded man, lying on a heap of straw, was 
 sighing heavily. Gaspard went over to him : 
 
 "Where were you hit, friend?" 
 
 The other raised his finger to his lung and said: 
 "Right here." 
 
 "By a bullet?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "At your age! Isn't it a shame? And you're 
 from Paris?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Too bad. Say, pal . . . can't you push up a 
 little bit?" 
 
 "Can't do it." 
 
 "Why not? I'm a pal. . . . But wait, I'll change 
 the whole business." 
 
 Steadying himself with his knees he took the cruci- 
 fix in his arms and with a supreme effort raised it 
 and pushed it toward the other man. Then he said: 
 
 "The old man is pretty heavy." 
 
 He stretched himself out on the other side, right 
 in the centre of the moonbeam which was illumi- 
 nating the crucifix and the other man. They looked 
 like the two thieves, on each side of Christ, and they 
 began to question each other. 
 
 Gaspard said: 
 
 "Did you get any sugar?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 133 
 
 "Sugar?" 
 
 "Yes, the priest has given it away." 
 
 "Oh, I see, the priest." 
 
 "Yes, the priest. What about it? He seems to be 
 all right. Priests, you know, are no different from 
 other men. . . . Nothing to say against them . . . 
 there are good men everywhere." 
 
 "I'm not saying." 
 
 "No ; but you seemed to kick when we talked about 
 the priests. . . ." 
 
 After a few minutes he continued: 
 
 "Did you get any wine ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, you're pretty slow, you are." 
 
 "I'm choking." 
 
 "That's just why. . . ." 
 
 The entire church was filled with what seemed to be 
 just one long, unending complaint, more heart grip- 
 ping, more truthful and more sincere than all the 
 prayers ever invented by mankind. It was the nat- 
 ural prayer from the earth to God, and the suffering 
 men rehearsing their sorrows in accents the like of 
 which had never before been heard between the 
 stone walls of that or any other church. When a 
 small country church is used as a refuge for bleeding, 
 suffering soldiers who have escaped from the battle- 
 field it is the most simple and most heartrending image 
 of human misery. Why all these sufferings, the
 
 134 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 wounds and this agony? The men suffer and weep 
 and the stone walls seem to say, "We knew it was 
 coming . . . and we were waiting for it." 
 
 The moon was disappearing and dawn was break- 
 ing. 
 
 "Stand up, all those who can walk," said the 
 surgeon. 
 
 "Well, I can't," grumbled Gaspard. 
 
 But he stood up just the same. 
 
 Outside were a number of Red Cross nurses, the 
 priest still holding his candle and the old woman 
 with her water pitcher, while farmers driving two- 
 wheeled carts were trying to pass each other on the 
 narrow road. The men were swearing and the whole 
 scene was enough to discourage even the strongest 
 heart. 
 
 As time goes by in life everything is straightened 
 out or wiped out; it has been known to happen that 
 wounded men die while on their way to the hospitals 
 and their last sigh goes out from the peasant's rickety 
 cart. And when the station at last is reached where 
 salvation awaits the unfortunate victims of war in 
 the shape of a train which will carry them swiftly 
 onward, the surgeon looks quickly over the men and 
 pointing at a few says : "Leave that one alone . . . 
 he's through." 
 
 The train of wounded in which Gaspard was placed 
 was no different from the one which had brought him
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 135 
 
 so near to the battlefield in this tragic country three 
 weeks before. His greatest regret just then was 
 that there were none of his comrades there with whom 
 he could exchange remarks concerning the train. 
 Ever since the battle he seemed to have been trans- 
 ferred into another world. He could see nothing 
 but strange faces. So all he could do was to say to 
 himself that he recognized the train. How far away 
 the enthusiasm of the first departure now seemed! 
 The flowers and tree branches with which the cars 
 had been decorated were still in evidence, but they 
 were hanging faded and forlorn on this returning 
 train of sorrow and suffering. 
 
 However, thanks to Gaspard continuing his habit 
 of bringing merriment and gayety along with him 
 wherever he went thanks also to two Parisians who 
 were in the same car, one a street cleaner from the 
 Butte-aux-Cailles, the other a delivery wagon driver 
 from the Rue des Haudriettes, this convoy of 
 wounded was one of the most curious and most inter- 
 esting which had gone through France since the be- 
 ginning of the war. 
 
 God knows there have been many of these trains, 
 all just as long and just as slow! But the trip of 
 this particular train seemed to have no end at all; 
 it was too long for any of the stations along the road 
 and it took no less than five days all of the first 
 week of September, a week of retreat and anguish
 
 136 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 to travel from Lorraine, covered with fire and blood, 
 to Anjou, where everything was peaceful amid the 
 beautiful vineyards. 
 
 Gaspard said: 
 
 "Every circus travels at this slow pace. It is 
 good business when you are traveling with freaks 
 to stop in every village along the way." 
 
 They were going through the Argonne, still intact 
 and beautifully green. Gaspard called out with a 
 smile : 
 
 "Good-by ! Good-by ! It's not here that I'll buy 
 my chateau for rabbit hunting!" 
 
 They went through Rheims, where the cathedral 
 was living its last days as a place of worship, and 
 none of these men gave it the look which it deserved. 
 The train went around Paris without stopping, which 
 fact brought forth an outburst of anger from the 
 delivery wagon man. He told the others that "he 
 wouldn't have stopped more than a week, which 
 couldn't have delayed them much." Finally they 
 traveled through beautiful Touraine, where the 
 chateaux of France seemed to have lined up to re- 
 ceive these first victims of war. Even the street 
 cleaner was moved at their sight. "They sure knew 
 how to build houses in the old days," he said. 
 
 Most tragic of all was the fact that they were 
 visiting one by one the very provinces for which these 
 first battles had been fought. It seemed that the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 137 
 
 train was creeping along for the definite purpose of 
 giving the soldiers an opportunity of admiring their 
 wonderful country and permitting the most simple- 
 minded to be proud of it. 
 
 Gaspard was grumbling again. 
 
 "Just my luck! . . . This is the first time I get a 
 chance of a free excursion and my back is torn all to 
 pieces." 
 
 He had failed to find room for himself in the cattle 
 cars, but had been able to place himself in a small 
 third-class compartment, where he had stretched 
 himself out in the overhead net used for luggage. 
 He was still grumbling that he was disgusted with 
 the republic and that they were trying to kill him. 
 He was lying on his stomach and the pains in his 
 back were increasing. Despite all this, whenever 
 the train stopped Gaspard would roll out of his im- 
 provised bed and falling on the shoulders of his 
 comrades would jump out of the car on to the tracks. 
 
 The street cleaner generally saw him and fol- 
 lowed at once, and so did the delivery man. Then 
 came the others. The scene was both tragic and 
 comical as all these men, mutilated by war, stepped 
 out. When a man is hungry or thirsty, or when he 
 suffers he becomes almost childish. No one can hold 
 him; he slips between your hands. It would be 
 necessary to have eyes all around your head to 
 conduct, inspect and watch a train of wounded and
 
 138 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 see that the full quota of men is always there. No 
 one escapes with greater facility than a soldier. 
 You place him in a car and he'll step out at once. 
 You put him back and lock the door and immediately 
 he sticks his head out through the window, inquiring 
 and investigating. No sooner have you turned away 
 than he is half way out, and as you go along he 
 jumps onto the track again. When you return he 
 tells you that he fell out. 
 
 The assistant surgeon who was in charge of Gas- 
 pard's train was above everything else a philosopher ; 
 he permitted the men to do as they pleased and 
 smoked his pipe in silence. Almost all the men in 
 consequence stepped out at one time or another, limp- 
 ing, jumping, dragging themselves along on their 
 hands, their arms in slings, their heads thickly band- 
 aged, with broken shoulder blades, twisted necks and 
 bleeding mouths; all the miseries of war helping 
 each other to get a few minutes of fresh air. 
 
 They remained there five or ten minutes while the 
 track was being cleared. They were so closely piled 
 up in the compartments that it seemed heavenly to 
 rest for a few minutes in the grass along the road. 
 Gaspard was still compelled to lie on his stomach on 
 account of the wound in his back, but he was still in 
 fine spirits, and, stretching himself in the grass, he 
 said: 
 
 "This reminds me of a Sunday spent at Mendon !
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 139 
 
 Ah, my boy, that was fine to spend the day there 
 with a pretty girl. ..." 
 
 "Well," said the street cleaner, "we've got nothing 
 to kick about now ; we haven't done a thing for two 
 days. I got hit in the chest, but then, I'm not a 
 nurse, so I should worry!" 
 
 "You're right," said the delivery man. "I think 
 we're all right now." 
 
 His arm and leg were riddled with shrapnel. He 
 was lying on his back looking at the sky and saying: 
 
 "Old women like to tell you there is a paradise 
 and I'd rather believe them than see it myself. When 
 I got hit I said to myself it was lucky that it was 
 only in the arm and leg and not in the dining room." 
 
 He stretched himself out on the grass with a satis- 
 fied sigh as if he were in some luxurious feather bed. 
 
 Suddenly the whistle of the train was heard, fol- 
 lowed by a storm of oaths from the men as they be- 
 gan to hoist themselves back into the cars. The men 
 were not altogether dissatisfied after resuming their 
 journey, however, for while the train looked dull and 
 uninviting the fact remained that it was carrying 
 them towards real beds. 
 
 Real beds ! What a dream ! Gaspard from his 
 lofty perch called out to a comrade seated in a cor- 
 ner of the compartment: 
 
 "Hey, pal, stick your head out of the window!" 
 
 "Why?"
 
 140 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Go on ! Stick your head out !" 
 
 "And then what?" 
 
 "What do you see?" 
 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 "All right; thanks, you poor fool." 
 
 In reply to the other man's grumbling he said: 
 
 "Why, don't you know that I'm expecting a special 
 sleeping car? President Poincare has promised to 
 send me his special train." 
 
 They did meet a train, but it wasn't the one Gas- 
 pard referred to. 
 
 On the third day towards midnight, with a beauti- 
 ful full moon, as the train passed Rambouillet, it 
 came up to another train which seemed to be lost and 
 from which strange cries could be heard. Gaspard 
 inquired : 
 
 "What is it? A circus?" And once again he 
 jumped out. 
 
 He wandered along the tracks and others followed 
 his example. The assistant surgeon called out: 
 "Eh, you, get back into the train !" To which the 
 delivery man replied: 
 
 "I lost my wedding ring." 
 
 The other man turned to Gaspard : 
 
 "And how about you?" 
 
 "Well ... I did the same." 
 
 The officer turned away. 
 
 Gaspard, the delivery man and the street cleaner
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 141 
 
 went up to the locomotive of the other train. The 
 fireman said in reply to their inquiry: 
 
 "It's a train of 'bugs.' " 
 
 "Do you mean it?" 
 
 "Yes. Bugs, evacuated from Ville-Evrard." 
 
 "Ville-Evrard !" exclaimed the street cleaner. 
 
 "Do you know it?" said the fireman. 
 
 "Well, I should think so," replied the other, swell- 
 ing with pride. "Why, my uncle was in the alcoholic 
 ward there for three years." 
 
 "Well, they are taking them away now." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "To save them from the Boches, if they should get 
 there . . . and some of them have escaped." 
 
 "Where?" asked Gaspard eagerly. 
 
 "Somewhere around here. . . . Just listen. . . . 
 The guards are looking for them." 
 
 The soldiers burst out laughing. "We'll go look- 
 ing for them, too," they said. "Don't forget to 
 blow your whistle, pal! Don't get away without 
 us." 
 
 And off they went through the fields in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 Gaspard, who was limping, was holding the street 
 cleaner's shoulder, while the delivery man, walking 
 like a duck, came along in the rear shouting: 
 
 "Wait for me. . . . Let's have some fun to- 
 gether!" 
 
 11
 
 142 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 About a hundred yards from the track a shadow 
 appeared. They stopped and the shadow came 
 nearer. 
 
 "There you are ! One of the bugs !" said Gaspard. 
 
 "No, it's a woman," said the street cleaner. 
 
 All three were laughing. 
 
 The shadow really was a woman and an insane one, 
 too. 
 
 She was a little, old, wrinkled person, for whom 
 they'd been seeking for a half hour and who had 
 been hiding behind trees and bushes, outwitting her 
 pursuers. But the moon found her and followed 
 her, the full moon which seemed to look down mock- 
 ingly and with a mysterious air. This time the 
 moon certainly had a remarkable scene to contem- 
 plate: an old insane woman running and screaming 
 through the fields, a horde of bleeding soldiers pur- 
 suing her and enjoying it all as a joke; human 
 extravagance playing an act of its horrible comedy 
 to the accompaniment of the locomotive whistles ; 
 two trains loaded with misery, suffering and weeping 
 in the night, victims of both peace and war; and 
 with all this, death stealing quietly around among 
 the poor unfortunates suffering on the straw beds 
 of the cattle cars. 
 
 "This way !" shouted Gaspard. "Cut her off here ! 
 . . . I've got her !" 
 
 The old woman laughed scornfully.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 143 
 
 "Oh, but she can pinch !" 
 
 "Oh, I know you! I know you! You're the 
 deacon, the horrible deacon ! You're wearing a cap, 
 but I recognized you ! I've got good eyes. Ah, ah! 
 And I'll hold on to you, my little man !" 
 
 Whistles were heard from the locomotives of both 
 trains. She was foaming at the mouth as she said: 
 
 "Do you hear them calling off the dogs? They'll 
 chew up your stockings." 
 
 Her thin gray hair was hanging all over her 
 face. She gathered it in both hands and after a 
 long look at Gaspard said: 
 
 "My God, he's ugly ! I'd like to bite him !" 
 
 Gaspard was holding her by the elbows, saying: 
 "Come on ; come on." The street cleaner warned 
 him: 
 
 "I'd let her go if I were you. She's liable to eat 
 you up." 
 
 "She's a fine old beast," said the delivery man. 
 
 "And you, too; I know you," howled the old 
 woman as she began to cry. "You are the bad 
 boys of the choir who bought drinks with the money 
 instead of giving it to the priest, and then I ... 
 I didn't get my mass for my poor husband, and 
 when I die my poor husband will say to me: 'Why 
 didn't you order that mass for me ?' ' 
 
 The delivery man could hardly hold himself for 
 laughing.
 
 144 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "She's a card! I think she's calling us down. 
 
 But Gaspard, with his good-natured disposition, 
 was sorry for the woman. He was no longer laugh- 
 ing and said: 
 
 "Just take her back to the train. ..." 
 
 He tried gently to induce her to walk. 
 
 "Come on, grandma . . . come along this way." 
 
 The old woman protested with a tragic scream. 
 
 "Help! . . . The deacon; the horrible dea- 
 con !" 
 
 The expression on her face was horrible and she 
 was so excited that all the tassels of a white shawl 
 she was wearing were trembling. She was digging 
 her nails so deep into Gaspard's arm that he was 
 compelled to release her, while she went on: 
 
 "The dogs will eat your heart, the head and every- 
 thing!" 
 
 "Poor old fool," said the delivery man. 
 
 She was jumping around in the field, leaping to 
 and fro and waving her arms. 
 
 "Oh ! . . . The deacon ! . . . and wearing red 
 trousers like the boys in the choir . . . but the belfry 
 will fall down and the bells will kill him ! Ah ! . . . 
 Ah!" 
 
 She was swearing at first, but she soon began to 
 sob : "My poor husband !" 
 
 Gaspard went toward her :
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 145 
 
 "Grandma . . . listen here ... if you'll be good, 
 well, I will take care of your husband. ..." 
 
 The street cleaner burst out laughing. 
 
 "He's going to celebrate mass !" 
 
 "Well," said the delivery man, "he surely has got 
 me wondering!" 
 
 "Tell me all about your husband," said Gaspard. 
 
 "When you get married," shouted the woman, "I 
 hope your wife gives birth to a monkey !" 
 
 This brought forth a new outburst of laughter 
 from the delivery man, while the street cleaner said: 
 
 "That's what I call talking!" 
 
 Gaspard, undaunted, continued in a gentle voice. 
 
 ."Now, come on, grandma, just be reasonable." 
 
 He again took her by the elbows and held her 
 tight. 
 
 "Let me go ! Let me go ! There are the dogs !" 
 
 The whistles were still blowing. The street 
 cleaner said: 
 
 "Ask her about this year's onion crop." 
 
 Gaspard said quietly: 
 
 "Grandma . . . how do you come to know me? 
 ... I don't know you." 
 
 "My poor husband will avenge me !" 
 
 "She's beginning to get on our nerves," said the 
 street cleaner. 
 
 "Come on, let's go back," added the delivery man. 
 
 But Gaspard continued in the same tone.
 
 146 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "What did your husband look like?" 
 
 "The bells ! . . . The dogs ! . . . And your wife 
 will also give birth to a spider with a thousand legs, 
 which will run all over your house. My husband! 
 . . . My poor husband! ..." 
 
 She was holding her head in her hands while Gas- 
 pard pushed her gently forward. 
 
 "Come on ... come on along . . . this way ..." 
 
 Suddenly she changed her mind and went along 
 while saying: 
 
 "My poor husband ! . . . They did it on purpose ! 
 . . . They went and said mass for the first one who 
 was a drunkard and nothing, nothing at all for the 
 second, who was so good to me." 
 
 "Come on! Come on!" 
 
 The delivery man and the street cleaner were no 
 longer laughing; the whistles could still be heard 
 and the moon, stupefied, looked on as Gaspard slowly 
 brought the old woman back to her guards. 
 
 When they were back in their compartments and 
 the train had resumed its journey Gaspard told the 
 story to the others, who refused to believe it, and 
 Gaspard strongly resented their sceptical attitude. 
 
 The minutes spent in the fields had sharpened the 
 pains in his back and during the night he could not 
 help moaning like the others, for at night time a train 
 of wounded is just one great big moan, and it seems 
 as if the darkness increases the suffering. The time
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 147 
 
 seems to be unending and the men are at a loss to 
 know what to do with their arms and legs. Their 
 bodies seem like bags of rags, which they lean up 
 against their neighbor, but the neighbor quickly 
 changes his place. The men seem to pass on their 
 troubles from one to the other until the break of 
 dawn. . . . When the wonderful light of dawn ap- 
 peared the effect was instantaneous, and when the 
 train is rolling through Touraine at the time of the 
 rising of the sun there is nothing to compare with 
 it. Touraine, with its gardens, its flowers, its pretty 
 girls and its fruits in September, right after a battle 
 from which the men are coming covered with dust 
 and blood! 
 
 It was a beautiful morning with glorious sunshine. 
 Along the telegraph wires hundreds of swallows were 
 perched. In the distance could be seen the River 
 Loire and its chateaux. Flowers were to be seen 
 everywhere, all along the tracks, and the soldiers had 
 plenty of time to admire them, for the train stopped 
 at almost every crossing, bringing to the doorsteps 
 of their houses all the women of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 There were charming little villages and small 
 towns full of life and gayety, where the young women 
 and girls looked wide awake and happy as they 
 came to the train in their light summer frocks each 
 carrying an armful of fruit to the wounded. The
 
 148 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 soldiers were so delighted they forgot all their pains 
 and were so moved they could hardly thank the 
 women. 
 
 One of the girls brought grapes fresh from the 
 vines, which disappeared in the big hands of the 
 soldiers. Another had peaches, small and red, which 
 caressed the soldiers' hands before delighting their 
 taste. Still another one brought pears, heavy and 
 smooth, which were just as fresh as she was pretty. 
 Thus the young girls of France who lived in this 
 wonderful district of gardens and orchards, girls the 
 like of whom can be found in no city, came to the 
 wounded men to delight them with their gifts and 
 their smiles. 
 
 Gaspard's heart was so big that he could not help 
 being deeply moved. He felt as though he were 
 entering the land of the gods, and exclaimed: 
 
 "Ah, the pretty little women! It's well worth 
 fighting for, to come back and find them here. Aren't 
 they lovely!" 
 
 In his enthusiasm he went from one to the other, 
 filled his pockets and his hands with the fruit and 
 brought it back to the men in the cars. To those 
 who were unable to move he said : 
 
 "What would the gentleman like? Succulent 
 pears of France? Figs from Arabia? Muscat 
 grapes? Don't hesitate, friend, we've got anything 
 you might like."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 149 
 
 While eating his own share of peaches, pears and 
 grapes he never ceased to bring to the others the 
 very best of the refreshing fruit. 
 
 "Just smell this first before tasting it. This isn't 
 fruit, it's more like a flower!" 
 
 He kept on going to and fro, humming a merry 
 song and laughing to the women. 
 
 "Thank you . . . Fine! . . . Long live France 
 and long live London! ... Gee, but this is fine!" 
 
 Never in his life had he been so happy, never had 
 he received so many good things, a free distribution 
 of delightful fruit, given out by charming feminine 
 hands ! He forgot all about his wound, his eyes were 
 shining and he kept on distributing fruit, saying: 
 
 "That's what you call socialism! . . . This is a 
 wonder !" 
 
 A stout little Red Cross nurse with a smiling face 
 went up to him and said: 
 
 "You're a brave lad. . . . What is your name?" 
 
 He looked at her surprised, and after a moment's 
 silence replied in a voice in which he was unable 
 to disguise his pride at being a Parisian: 
 
 "I am ... I am Gaspard of the Rue de la Gaite !" 
 
 But his pride and happiness were short lived. 
 He believed himself in the promised land and thought 
 he was going to remain there; but for the fourth 
 time nightfall came along and the train went on 
 again, to the utter despair of the soldiers, none of
 
 150 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 whom knew where they were going. They no longer 
 knew whom to believe, for in every town they were 
 told that their journey would be ended at the next 
 stop. 
 
 Gaspard was suffering intensely. 
 
 "Oh, my back! I wish they'd take it away, cut 
 it off ... I can't keep this up any longer. It's a 
 fine way to treat wounded men. . . . I'm disgusted 
 with the Government! . . . I'll never vote again in 
 all my life." 
 
 At Tours his pride received a severe jolt. The 
 train had been waiting for two hours and the men 
 who had once again slipped out for a breath of fresh 
 air Avere yawning and eager to go to sleep, watching 
 the tower of the switchman for the signal which 
 would allow them to proceed. An employee went 
 by and said: 
 
 "Have you seen the Boches?" 
 
 "The Boches?" grumbled Gaspard. "Why, we 
 never got a chance to see them; they were running 
 away like rabbits!" 
 
 "No, I mean the Boches who are here . . . right 
 here." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In that train right in front of you." 
 
 "What do you mean? Real Boches?" 
 
 "Three hundred prisoners." 
 
 "Do you mean it?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 151 
 
 "Just come and look at them." 
 
 "No ! I will not permit you to cross the tracks," 
 shouted the assistant surgeon, who was beginning to 
 get tired and nervous at the men's persistent dis- 
 obedience. "I've had enough of this running around ! 
 You should have looked at the Boches where you 
 were." 
 
 "But I tell you we didn't see them," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Well, you'll go back later, but I've had enough 
 of this. Understand? Stay right where you are. 
 Every time the train stops you run all around the 
 country. I've had enough of it. Just obey orders." 
 
 "Ah, shut up," murmured Gaspard. 
 
 Turning to his comrades he said: "This is pretty 
 rotten. We won't even know what they look like." 
 
 "Well, you're not losing much," said the employee. 
 "They are regular pigs, shaved all over, with not 
 a hair on their heads." 
 
 Gaspard was furious. 
 
 "And to think that we, the wounded, the victims, 
 can't even go and look them in the face and say': 
 "You're a lot of swine, do you hear me, a lot of 
 swine, a people's swine with heads like swine !' ' 
 
 The whistle again was heard and the men resumed 
 their places in the cars. The railroad employee 
 said: 
 
 "I don't think you've got far to go now." 
 
 "Yes, we know all about that, we've heard it be-
 
 152 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 fore," said Gaspard. "Don't worry about us, and 
 just go about your work." 
 
 "My work? . . . But . . . I'm just telling you. 
 
 55 
 
 "All right. We've heard enough from you." 
 
 The train moved on. The railroad man was dis- 
 gusted. 
 
 "You're polite, you are ! To begin with, I wasn't 
 talking to you." 
 
 Gaspard went back into his net. 
 
 "Not talking to me? ... Well, I should hope 
 not !" 
 
 He kept on grumbling during the next two hours 
 until the train finally reached its destination, a 
 small town in Anjou. When he was quite sure that 
 they were actually going to stop Gaspard an- 
 nounced : 
 
 "Well, it's not too soon! I was just going to 
 begin to kick." 
 
 He stepped out without any further comment. 
 They had arrived at a little town whose name is so 
 thoroughly French, so lively and so gay, that if it 
 were mentioned to the Chinese even they could not 
 help saying: 
 
 "It must be in France." 
 
 They disembarked during the night and at the 
 station there was only the light of the stars to show 
 the way to all these unfortunates who were moving
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 153 
 
 along in wild confusion, pushing each other toward 
 the doors, where the Red Cross man asked them: 
 
 "Where is your wound?" 
 
 Gaspard did not like this question. He would 
 have liked to reply: "I was shot through the heart," 
 but instead he was wounded only in the back. His 
 reply was: 
 
 "I don't know. Look and see for yourself." 
 
 The big fat man who had questioned him was 
 amazed at this reply. He was a local paper dealer 
 and a volunteer worker at the hospital. He replied 
 in a bitter tone : 
 
 "What kind of manners are these? . . . If we had 
 many soldiers like you ! . . . No wonder the Germans 
 are at Compiegne! . . . Now I understand why the 
 Germans ..." 
 
 "What? . . . What do you mean ... at Com- 
 piegne? . . . Compiegne? ..." 
 
 He called out to his comrades, who were staring 
 at him stupefied. For the last month they had heard 
 nothing beyond the reports that the French were 
 holding half of Alsace, that they were advancing in 
 Belgium and that the Russians had promised to be 
 in Berlin on October 1. So why Compiegne? . . . 
 What did it all mean? . . . Gaspard murmured to 
 the street cleaner that the other man was crazy, but 
 the paper dealer continued: 
 
 "Certainly, Compiegne! They're starting it all
 
 154 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 over again, like in 1870! . . . but just let them send 
 us the men of 50 years of age and we'll show them! 
 We'll show them!" 
 
 Gaspard pushed the street cleaner in front of him 
 and followed him into an ambulance while saying: 
 
 "It's pretty sad to have to listen to rot like that. 
 . . . Great Scott, my back is hurting me! . . . 
 Compiegne! . . . What a joke! . . . Why, only four 
 days ago we left them with all their outfit in Lor- 
 raine. ... So they must have come up by our own 
 train. . . . Believe me, if it hadn't been for the 
 surgeon I would have given that fool a piece of my 
 mind !" 
 
 The other soldier was so overcome with fatigue 
 that he could hardly reply: 
 
 "Forget it," he said ; "he's a Red Cross man. He 
 meant well." 
 
 Gaspard went on: 
 
 "Well, I'm for the wounded men, but not for the 
 others ! . . . Think of him asking me where I was 
 wounded! As though it were any of his business! 
 . . . Did I ask him any of his private affairs?" 
 
 After a moment's silence he returned to the other 
 subject. 
 
 "Compiegne! The poor fool! What good would 
 our seventy-fives be ! And I've heard them myself, 
 the seventy-fives. Haven't we, friend? We heard 
 them go off! Poor damn fool; let him go and tell
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 155 
 
 that to his wife. As to us, who have lead in our 
 body, we know where we got it! And it was not 
 at Compiegne either! With the Belgians, the Rus- 
 sians, the English and ourselves it would be pretty 
 sad if they got to Compiegne!" 
 
 He never stopped until they reached the hospital 
 and did not see that they crossed the River Loire 
 twice, nor did he notice the delightful sensation of 
 entering into a small peaceful village. When the 
 ambulance stopped before a large stone building 
 immaculately white and Gaspard saw young girls, 
 a priest, an old man, a nun and a Red Cross nurse 
 come out to help them down it seemed as if all nature 
 had come to greet him, and their greeting killed his 
 bad humor. 
 
 He supported himself on the young men's shoul- 
 ders, gave his bag to the old man and told the priest 
 that his wound was in the back. He smiled to the 
 Red Cross nurse, said "Good evening, sister," to the 
 nun and went on. 
 
 Covered with mud and dust, with a three weeks' old 
 beard and an unwashed face, he stepped forward 
 and as he passed through the gate he made a won- 
 derful impression upon all those who saw him. His 
 face was shining with gratitude and he seemed deeply 
 moved while trying to find something funny to say. 
 Having looked all around the entrance hall, its ceil- 
 ings and its walls, he said:
 
 156 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Gee! This is fine. It looks like the Louvre 
 Museum. . . . Where is the painting of the Jo- 
 conde ?" 
 
 It was Paris passing the gate of the hospital. 
 
 To Gaspard, however, it was not a hospital, for 
 the men from Paris, in order to avoid the thought of 
 sorrow and pain conveyed by that word, have found 
 another name, and the places where their wounds are 
 treated they call the "hosteau." It is a better word 
 and rhymes with chateau, and no better evidence 
 could be found of the ever prevailing spirit of the 
 Parisian, merry even in his worst time of suffering, 
 who dies with a smile and a witty word so that those 
 who see him pass away are not quite sure whether 
 they ought to laugh or cry. 
 
 The "hosteau" gave Gaspard a royal reception. 
 
 At the entrance he had lost trace of the street 
 cleaner, and had allowed himself to be dragged along. 
 Three women surrounded him, eager to be of service. 
 A young girl removed his shoes and washed his feet 
 and she did it all so sweetly and in so simple a manner 
 that he was greatly confused and could only say: 
 
 "That's all right, mademoiselle . . . that will do." 
 
 Another young woman helped him to get into a 
 clean shirt despite his protest that his own was good 
 enough. Finally an elderly woman emptied his 
 pockets, saying: "What would you like to keep, my 
 friend?" She exhibited at the same time a few
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 157, 
 
 crumbs of tobacco, a lump of sugar, almost black, 
 and a flint. 
 
 He replied: 
 
 "All I want to keep is my kid." 
 
 Everyone laughed. But from the lining of his 
 cap Gaspard extricated a photograph, slightly dis- 
 colored, of a little boy half naked, which he exhibited 
 to the women. 
 
 "You see if we didn't have kids like this we'd never 
 be able to fight as well. . . . These kids must be 
 happy later on; they must be able to do their work 
 and then go to the movies without saying to them- 
 selves all the time, 'The Germans are going to get 
 after us.' The last time that they'll get after 
 us " 
 
 After a minute he concluded: 
 
 "Pigskin will be cheap this year." 
 
 Later on he told of the terrific fighting where there 
 were more shells than men ; he told of the lunatics' 
 train, and with his eternally jovial spirit added a 
 multitude of detail. The elderly woman looked at 
 him and said : "You don't appear to be ill. I'm not 
 sure that we'll be able to find a bed for you." 
 
 For a minute Gaspard had nothing further to say, 
 but the young girl reassured him. 
 
 "Take my arm; we'll find one for you all right." 
 
 He stood up and supported himself on her in the 
 most respectful manner. She wore the white uniform 
 12
 
 158 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 of the Red Cross. With her he went through white 
 passages and entered a sleeping room, where every- 
 thing was white the walls, the doctor, the nurses 
 and the bed. It was restful just to be there and the 
 effect was excellent even before going to bed ; fever 
 and pains would soon disappear in the midst of these 
 women all in white. 
 
 Gaspard didn't know just how to express his 
 delight. He slipped himself between the sheets, two 
 wonderfully white and soft pieces of linen, the like 
 of which he had not known for many weeks. He dis- 
 appeared almost entirely in the bed and for a while 
 thought of nothing but enjoying the voluptuous sen- 
 sation of the contact of the pure white linen with his 
 poor hardened skin. After stretching himself out in 
 every direction, seeking the softest spot, he placed 
 his head on the pillow and in a voice which showed 
 his deep emotion and his tender gratitude he gave 
 expression to all his feelings by uttering the wonder- 
 ful word which is used by Parisians to express both 
 anger and surprise, both rage and delight, a word 
 which conveys a meaning far different from that 
 which it actually signifies and which if history is true 
 was made famous by General Cambronne on the 
 battlefield at Waterloo. 
 
 The effect of this one word on those present in 
 the ward was positively marvellous. Men and women 
 looked at each other surprised at first, but all soon
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 159 
 
 burst out laughing and every one came nearer to 
 see the wounded man. 
 
 Every one, men and women, had understood at 
 once all the good points of this great big Parisian 
 who, despite his brutal talk, had a big heart and 
 the real true spirit of France. 
 
 For two months Gaspard was to be the king of 
 the "hosteau."
 
 A WOUNDED soldier who goes into a hospital 
 enters a new world. 
 
 He has just been fighting and suffering 
 among other men of his country. Suddenly he rests 
 in the midst of women and gets an entirely different 
 view of life. Yesterday he was obeying orders ; to- 
 day he is asked to express his wishes. No one speaks 
 any longer to him of death. He hears, on the con- 
 trary, promises that he will soon be cured. He no 
 longer feels on his shoulder a weight of military 
 servitude; delicate fingers dress his wounds with 
 wonderful and free devotion. 
 
 He at once becomes gentle and smiling and im- 
 bued with an immense feeling of gratitude. His 
 only words express kind thoughts addressed to the 
 nurses and he feels more than ever that France is full 
 of good people. 
 
 The nurses think as he does and agree that every 
 one is good in France; if there are some bad ones 
 they will be discovered in another world, but just 
 here they cannot be seen. 
 
 A man who, like Gaspard, has bright eyes and a 
 160
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 161 
 
 good straight way of looking at you never failed to 
 attract to his side the most devoted and the most 
 charming women. They find him both interesting 
 and amusing. They call him poor fellow, but go 
 out of their way to be of service to him. During 
 the next two months Gaspard was to occupy almost 
 all the time of three women. 
 
 These three women, who have nothing in common, 
 neither in looks nor ideas nor feelings, had been 
 gathered by fate around the same suffering men, as 
 if to prove to the patients that there are at least 
 three divine ways of being a woman. 
 
 One was kindness, the other was charm personified 
 and the third was life, life of spirit and life of heart ; 
 no one wanted to die after seeing her. 
 
 The first one had so modest and so consoling a 
 face that a sister's veil which would only show the 
 smile of the lip and the purity of the eyes would 
 have been well worthy of her peaceful features, 
 which revealed a spirit of unending devotion. In 
 her manners and in her actions she may not have had 
 anything exceptionally attractive, but the virtue of 
 her soul lightened her eyes. Her hand, to quote the 
 words of a painter, might have looked like any other 
 hands, but her fingers, light and pure, revealed noth- 
 ing except tenderness. In her words and in her ways 
 she appeared to be extremely simple, but the sim- 
 plicity was that of clear water and the blue sky.
 
 162 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Trusting every man, this young girl was con- 
 vinced that the bad ones had merely been misled. 
 She was gentle and kind even to the roughest, re- 
 sembling those beautiful summer days which cause 
 roses to bloom on the most miserable looking hedges. 
 Time to her has ceased to pass ; she was twenty-five 
 years old, but her age meant nothing to her ; she was 
 untiring in her care of the wounded and each one felt 
 himself a better man after one look at her. 
 
 Her name was Mademoiselle Anne, and this short 
 name, which almost resembled a sigh, seemed like a 
 prayer in the mouths of the wounded. 
 
 "Mam'selle Anne! . . . Mam'selle Anne!" meant 
 just about the same as "My God, how good you 
 are! . . . Won't you please come nearer? . . . 
 How tired we are ! . . . How weary we are ! . . . 
 Mam'selle Anne ! . . . won't you please tell us a 
 story?" 
 
 "A pretty story?" she would ask. 
 
 "The prettiest you know." 
 
 "Just wait a minute; I will read over to you your 
 mother's letter." 
 
 In the evening before leaving the ward she never 
 forgot to say good-night to every one ; she knew 
 that men, just like children, sleep better when a 
 woman's hand touches the sheets around them. She 
 went to each bed and with her soft, sweet voice had 
 a kind word for every one.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 163 
 
 "Good-night, my poor sick arm ... so long, 
 you from the south . . . Good-by, poor wounded 
 shoulder . . . Good-night, Gaspard, and don't move." 
 
 Gaspard replied: 
 
 "I'm going right back into my shell like a snail; 
 that's my business." 
 
 She smiled pleasantly at the men as she went out 
 of the ward. 
 
 No sooner had she closed the door than the work- 
 man, the young boy soldier, as well as those who 
 were fathers of large families agreed with Gaspard: 
 
 "She's a wonder!" 
 
 After which they fell asleep as quickly as pos- 
 sible, as if they were eager to get over the night in 
 a hurry so as to see her again in the morning. 
 
 The second of these women was just as deserving. 
 
 With its long row of beds there is probably noth- 
 ing quite so monotonous as a hospital ward. . . . 
 But as soon as this woman entered the ward was 
 transformed into a real bedroom. She opened the 
 windows to the rays of the sun and generally 
 brought with her an armful of fresh flowers. She 
 filled the room with an atmosphere of charm and in- 
 timacy immediately after passing through the door. 
 
 Her name was Madam Arnaud. She was married 
 and also a young mother and frequently spoke of 
 her children who were at play in the garden. One 
 could not help thinking that if the caresses of a
 
 164 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 woman give beauty to children her youngsters must 
 be exceptionally graceful. Ever since the days of 
 Eve it has been difficult to ascertain whether a 
 woman who seems particularly charming is not as- 
 suming that air for reasons of affectation. Raphael 
 might have said, concerning this woman: "No . . . 
 I prefer the Virgins." But Reynolds would have 
 insisted on painting her. Contrary to the other one, 
 this woman was not all simplicity. There was some 
 natural nobility in her carriage and her refinement 
 seemed somewhat studied. She came from a very 
 good family and had been educated in accordance 
 with her position. She was the kind of a woman 
 one could picture in a beautiful park amid high 
 trees, well kept lawns and beautiful flowers. It is 
 a difficult matter to improve one's dress when wear- 
 ing the white uniform of a nurse. But when the 
 neck is white and the foot small there is room for 
 some redeeming features. Madam Arnaud knew the 
 advantage of a pretty collar, showing just enough 
 of a snow white neck, and on her feet she wore thin 
 shoes, showing a tiny bit of a pretty stocking and 
 a well shaped ankle. 
 
 When she went by the soldiers did not call her, 
 but admired her as she passed along the ward. 
 
 She did not have to be called, however, for she 
 always came to the men and never left their side 
 before doing some kind action. In an empty glass
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 165 
 
 at the bedside of one of the men she placed a pretty 
 rose. To another she said: "Raise your head and 
 I will change your pillow slip." The man would 
 beam with gratitude and rest his face on the clean 
 linen, murmuring: "Thank you . . . thank you 
 . . . madame . . ." and could find nothing else to 
 say, for it seemed too little to tell her: 
 
 "How good you are!" Happy, indeed, were the 
 men whom she assisted with her fine, delicate 
 hands ! 
 
 She was a charming young mother, eager to assist 
 her patients at all times. She treated the wounded 
 soldiers as if they were children, holding them up in 
 her arms while their wounds were being dressed or 
 while they were eating, saying gently: "Rest your 
 head upon me . . ." The man, deeply moved by her 
 kindness, bashfully said: "Oh, madame, I am not 
 hungry !" . . . but she would accept no such excuse, 
 replying: "Come on, now, just try this soup; you 
 will surely like it." The more the soldier turned his 
 head away the more insistent she became. "I can't 
 do it," said the patient, but she looked him straight 
 in the eyes, and pushing the spoon into his mouth, 
 replied : "A Frenchman can always do what he wants 
 to do." 
 
 After Mme. Arnaud left the ward no one had any- 
 thing to say about her, not even Gaspard, who was 
 generally ever ready with some witty remark. The
 
 166 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 men remained silent in order to be able to think of 
 her. 
 
 The only way they could forget her was when 
 Mile. Viette, the third of these women, came in. This 
 young girl, better than any one, personified life. 
 
 She was of small stature, but well proportioned; 
 ever wideawake, bright, sweet and kind, she had a 
 great big heart and was always ready to give any- 
 thing at the slightest request. She was a subject 
 of great wonder to Gaspard. He adored Mile. Anne 
 and dreamed of Mme. Arnaud, but was deeply im- 
 pressed by all the bright cheerfulness of this little 
 woman, a real woman of France. One day, unable 
 to conceal his curiosity any longer, he asked her: 
 
 "You're from Paris, aren't you, mam'selle?" 
 
 She was not; she came from Anjou and had been 
 brought up in this quiet and happy province, and 
 she so informed Gaspard with so bright a smile in 
 her eyes and so frank a laugh that for the first time 
 he wondered whether there really was in any part of 
 France any place better than his own Paris. 
 
 The truth was that these two, so different in ap- 
 pearance, were close to each other at heart. Both 
 were equally proud, but their pride was of a high 
 order. Never would he have said: "How I suffer" 
 . . . when she bent over him, removing with her 
 gentle, soft hands the bandages enveloping his body 
 and sticking to his flesh. And when at meal time
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 167 
 
 she brought him some fruit specially selected for 
 him, she appeared to take it at random from the 
 basket and was careful not to let him see the truth. 
 
 Every day brought to the wounded two delight- 
 ful and beautiful minutes, the break of dawn and 
 her arrival in the ward. It was as if a refreshing 
 breeze swept through the room. She appeared as 
 pretty and fresh as the morning itself. Her smiling 
 eyes seemed to say: "What are you all doing there 
 in your beds?" and the men never were more con- 
 scious of their wounds. 
 
 Her hair was strikingly fair and small curls ap- 
 peared on both sides of her white cap. All day long 
 she tried to induce these curls to return within the 
 cap, but in vain. Around her neck she wore a tiny 
 gold chain from which a medal was suspended. She 
 was ever amusing, ever alert and bright. 
 
 One of her duties consisted in taking care of the 
 linen closet where she piled up carefully handker- 
 chiefs and sheets. The closet was so big that she 
 disappeared completely while at work there, and 
 when the sun was shining brightly through the win- 
 dows she presented so pleasing a sight that it seemed 
 that only a young girl with golden hair could ever 
 be expected to do that work in a satisfactory 
 manner. 
 
 As a matter of fact she had a hand in everything 
 ever done in the ward. Nothing was done without
 
 168 PRIVATE OASPARD 
 
 her. She was so quick in her actions and thought 
 of everything before any one else. If perchance one 
 of the wounded remembered something which she had 
 forgotten she could read his thoughts in his eyes 
 and immediately inquired: "What have I forgot- 
 ten?" remembering at the same time before the pa- 
 tient could remind her. 
 
 For her own patients she would pick out the 
 softest sheets, with a word of apology: "They may 
 be somewhat old . . ." In October when the weather 
 grew chilly she gave them lukewarm water, inquiring 
 at the same time whether they objected to this favor. 
 From her home she often brought fruits, candies 
 and pictures, and although her hands were small 
 they were just big enough to conceal some pleasant 
 surprise for the men. Many of her kind actions 
 were performed secretly, so no one but the bene- 
 ficiary could see what she was bringing him, but 
 every one of her actions revealed the kindness of her 
 heart. Her pure, gentle soul, her girlish sweetness 
 caused Gaspard to remark: 
 
 "That little woman is a darling . . . When I get 
 back home I will send her some souvenirs." 
 
 These three women, far from interfering with each 
 other, worked wonderfully together. Mile. Anne's 
 sweet, charitable voice was a wonderful consolation 
 to those who, severely wounded, were thinking of 
 death. Mme. Arnaud's cheerful voice and charming
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 169 
 
 appearance had remarkable effects among those who 
 were about to recover. Mile. Viette finally was a 
 living image of the great joys of life which worked 
 wonders among the convalescent. 
 
 The first one they kissed when they felt death 
 awaiting them. As to the second one the men could 
 not repress a secret desire to kiss her hands. And 
 the third made Gaspard think he would like to take 
 her out for a walk. 
 
 All the time Gaspard was in the hospital it was 
 doubtful whether he was being taken care of or 
 whether he was caring for the others. 
 
 After three days spent in bed he got up and al- 
 though completely exhausted they would have had 
 to tie him down had they wished to keep him quiet. 
 He said to Mile. Anne: 
 
 "It's all over . . . My pains have disappeared; 
 . . . Honest, it's all over . . ." 
 
 Limping heavily, he made a complete tour of the 
 entire place, which he had nicknamed "the repair 
 shop." He went through the chapel, the cellars and 
 the kitchens, the gardens, the pharmacy and the 
 linen room and came back well informed as to where 
 his services would be most useful. 
 
 In the evening he could be seen peeling potatoes 
 in the company of a nun who couldn't help laughing 
 while listening to his stories. 
 
 "All I like is work, believe me; I belong wherever
 
 170 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 there is something to be done. ... If God had made 
 an oyster of me I would have died in my shell. . . . 
 I couldn't live without some kind of work . . . and 
 a lot of it too. . . . Paris ! There's the place ! . . . 
 And how about you, sister?" 
 
 The following day he was the one who heated the 
 water for the men's footbaths and raked the garden 
 and even peeled all the vegetables for the soup. . . . 
 But it would be difficult to enumerate all the things 
 he did sweeping the floors, cooking the meals, shav- 
 ing the men . . . while his wound was being treated. 
 He amused even the nurses, who in the beginning 
 objected to his activity, fearing it would interfere 
 with his recovery. One day one of the nurses said: 
 
 "Well, you're getting better," to which he replied : 
 
 "Do you know why I'm getting better? I'll tell 
 you. The old doctor said to me: *You, my boy, are 
 recovering quickly because you were not addicted to 
 drink. . . .' Ah! my friend, what a joke! . . . Poor 
 man! If there were as many children in France as 
 I have swallowed glasses of absinthe there would be 
 no talk of falling birth rate. . . . Alcohol is just 
 what is helping me!" 
 
 One of the Red Cross attendants was particularly 
 interested in Gaspard and they soon became close 
 friends. In civil life he had been a notary's clerk, 
 and although this was apparently the result of a 
 mistake no one could regret it, for with his bright,
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 171 
 
 jovial face he encouraged all the wounded and 
 seemed to say : "Just look how good it is to be alive !" 
 
 He was the one who told them every morning that 
 the war would be over in a month and amused them 
 with his funny stories of the fighting. While stand- 
 ing one day at the side of a dying man's bed he 
 said, although deeply moved: 
 
 "Poor chap ! If I could only make him laugh 
 once more . . ." 
 
 The living are judged according to their attitude 
 toward those who are about to die, for they need 
 help more than any one. After seeing real fighting 
 and real battles men feel nothing but contempt 
 toward those who are afraid of gunfire. The clerk, 
 however, was somewhat alarmed at the thought of 
 the firing line. 
 
 The day after his arrival at the hospital Gaspard 
 had said to the former clerk: 
 
 "Why are you here? You are big and healthy. 
 Why aren't you out killing boches?" 
 
 "What do you think?" replied the other. "I'm 
 waiting to be called . . . They called you, didn't 
 they?" 
 
 "You bet they called me," said Gaspard with a 
 slight expression of contempt. "I was called out 
 right at the start." 
 
 But later on he learned to know and to appreciate 
 this man who when death was sneaking around stood
 
 172 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 between it and its projected victim. He never left 
 the bedside and never stopped consoling the man 
 about to pass away. 
 
 "It's nothing, old pal. . . . You're much better 
 now . . ." 
 
 Gaspard said to himself: 
 
 "Notaries and solicitors are a lot of thieves . . . 
 charge you five francs to write a couple of lines 
 . . . But this one here is different. I can talk to 
 him. . . ." 
 
 Soon the other man became his confidant, giving 
 him the place in his heart formerly occupied by 
 Burette, for he always selected as his friends men 
 who knew how to talk and think. On the other hand 
 this notary's clerk had a great deal of originality 
 and was often the hero of the most amusing adven- 
 tures. 
 
 One morning the men learned suddenly of the 
 forthcoming visit of a General on an inspection tour. 
 
 "Well, if he's going to inspect me," said Dudo- 
 gnon, the clerk, "I'm off for the front to-night!" 
 
 "Just wait," said Gaspard. "And don't worry." 
 
 The chief surgeon, as a matter of fact, had al- 
 ready thought of the clerk. He came in on the run, 
 shouting : 
 
 "Get into bed and quick !" 
 
 "All right, doctor " 
 
 "Pull up your covers and close your eyes!'*
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 173 
 
 "Yes, doctor." 
 
 "I'll tell him you have a very high fever." 
 
 "Thanks, doctor." 
 
 In a minute the clerk was undressed and lying 
 between the sheets. 
 
 A motor car could be heard in the front yard. 
 The General! The clerk was in the bed, with a 
 painful look in his eyes when the door was opened. 
 It was Mme. Arnaud, who came in running. 
 
 "He is in bed! . . . Get up quick! . . . Who 
 told you to go to bed?" 
 
 "The doctor." 
 
 "And what if they want to see your wounds?" 
 
 "My wounds? Ah, yes, my wounds." 
 
 "Get up ! Get up !" 
 
 He jumped from the bed and slipped on his 
 trousers in a rush. 
 
 "What will I do now?" 
 
 "You must hide yourself somewhere." 
 
 Gaspard was at hand. He said simply: 
 
 "Come along. I know where to put you." 
 
 "Where, then?" 
 
 "In the broom closet." 
 
 "In the broom " 
 
 There was no discussion possible. With his shoes 
 in his hands he followed Gaspard, who locked him 
 in the closet and took the key away. 
 
 Mme. Arnaud cleared up the situation. 
 13
 
 174 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 The most honest women are wonderful when it 
 comes to remaining calm and quiet when the fate of 
 a man locked up in a closet is at stake. They can 
 retain the most natural expression on their faces 
 and can lie with the coolest audacity. Mme. Arnaud, 
 pretty as ever, stood beside the General, an old man 
 with trembling voice. Arriving before the empty 
 bed she said: 
 
 "That patient, Mr. Inspector, is where even kings 
 must go afoot." 
 
 "That's his right," said the General with a smile. 
 "Where was he wounded?" 
 
 "He's a notary clerk," said Mme. Arnaud without 
 trace of a smile. 
 
 The General, surprised, concluded that Mme. Ar- 
 naud, as well as himself, was hard of hearing, and 
 went on. He even passed in front of the broom 
 closet and then went out. His departure was a 
 great relief for all the men, who were worried about 
 Dudognon. . . . They decided to make him pay for 
 the trouble he had given them and called all the 
 nurses to watch him come out of the closet. 
 
 His face was comical when he came out. He was 
 somewhat ashamed and winked his eyes as he said to 
 Gaspard, as though angry at him for humiliating 
 him: 
 
 "This is no life. I'd rather go out and fight ! 
 I'm going to write to the commander of the army
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 175 
 
 corps . . . I'm not fit to play hide and seek any 
 longer . . ." 
 
 After which , . . well, he spoke to Mme. Arnaud 
 and found her as charming as ever . . . Then he 
 looked at the papers: "The Germans have suffered 
 great losses and our own casualties are important." 
 This news gave him food for thought. . . . 
 
 So he resumed his work of helping the wounded, 
 forgetting all his anger . . . and Gaspard helped 
 him to do it. 
 
 Both had taken a liking to a young sergeant of 
 the Colonial Infantry who was slowly dying as the 
 result of a bullet in the spine. He was also a Pa- 
 risian, from the Faubourg Saint- Antoine ; and for 
 that reason alone Gaspard would have given him 
 his blood at the very first request. 
 
 One of his comrades had told how, five minutes 
 before receiving the fatal wound, a shell fragment 
 had struck his foot and forgetting his pain, he had 
 exclaimed: "Right on my corn, too!" 
 
 Gaspard had recognized in him a brother. 
 
 The poor youth remained motionless on his cot, 
 looking straight ahead with a pitiful stare. 
 
 He had been brought in during the night, at two 
 o'clock, bleeding and exhausted. Mile. Anne had 
 said to him : 
 
 "Just try to drink a sip . . . It's hot; it will do 
 you good."
 
 176 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 His only reply was: 
 
 "I'd rather have a piece of paper to write to my 
 mother." 
 
 After writing his letter he had taken a drink and 
 had fallen asleep . . . sleeping about thirty hours. 
 His wound was horrible and his fever burning, but 
 fatigue overcame everything else and he fell asleep. 
 From time to time they moved him and dressed his 
 wound, giving him a refreshing drink. On these 
 occasions he opened his eyes and murmured: 
 "Thanks. . . . You are very kind," after which his 
 head fell back to the pillow. He seemed to want to 
 make up all at once for his two months of sleepless 
 nights in one of those peaceful sleeps which only 
 children and soldiers know. 
 
 He was awakened by his mother. 
 
 No words could describe his mother as she came 
 in. She closed her eyes as she entered the place and 
 said to the sister: 
 
 "My son is here . . . Pierre Fontaine. ... I 
 have come from Paris to see him." 
 
 Her voice revealed all the anguish and also all 
 the authority peculiar to all mothers. Other 
 women are more timid, more bashful, but a mother 
 wants to know at once: "Where is he? What is 
 the matter with him? What have they done to 
 him?" 
 
 It was Gaspard who replied:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARB HI 
 
 "Don't worry, madam. The doctor says he's all 
 right." 
 
 "Really ?" said the mother. And in her eyes could 
 be seen the wonderful flame which appears when a 
 woman sees for the first time the baby to which she 
 has given birth. 
 
 Tears soon followed and she went on, with a ner- 
 vous laugh: 
 
 "Where can I see him? This way?" 
 
 She was a woman of the people, about forty years 
 of age, dressed in black, but she must have been very 
 pretty in her younger days, for despite the gray 
 hair at her temples she seemed still quite young, with 
 not a wrinkle on her forehead and bright, shining 
 eyes. Her waist was that of a woman of thirty. 
 
 Gaspard realized how devoted the boy must be to 
 such a mother. 
 
 He offered to take her around, but she was too 
 impatient to wait and at each turn in the long halls 
 would say : "How far it is ... How big these hos- 
 pitals are . . ." 
 
 At last Gaspard opened a door, saying: "It's 
 here." She replied quickly: "I see him!" 
 
 Without looking anywhere else she had found 
 him; her eyes had not hesitated one second among 
 the thirty beds. Paying no attention whatever to 
 the others, she advanced, deeply moved, but still walk- 
 ing on her tiptoes, for she had understood that he
 
 178 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 was asleep. She stopped before her son's bed, out 
 of breath, and raised her hand to her waist as 
 though to say: "Come on, my heart ... be quiet 
 . . . can't you see he is alive!" 
 
 Mile. Anne brought over a chair, but the mother 
 did not see her. Quietly she bent over her child's 
 head. Her little handbag fell on the bed. She 
 slipped her arm under the pillow and drawing it 
 toward her she kissed the boy tenderly, slowly, mur- 
 muring: "My little one . . . my little boy . . ." 
 His mother's kiss caused him to move and suddenly 
 he opened his great big eyes, stupefied and so over- 
 come with joy that he could hardly speak. She 
 stood away for a second, then took him in her arms 
 again and for a few minutes mingled sobs and 
 laughter were all that could be heard. 
 
 "My little boy . . . My Pierre . . . My Pierrot 
 . . . My own boy . . . Tell me, do you suffer? . . . 
 Yes, it's you . . . Pve got you back . . . you've 
 only got one wound . . . Tell me the truth . . . 
 How he has changed ! . . . Oh ! my darling, to have 
 you back again ... to hold you tight ! . . . It's 
 horrible down there, isn't it? But here you are . . . 
 you're back . . . and you're alive . . . You can see 
 me . . . Kiss me . . . kiss me . . . how good it is ! 
 . . . now, don't move. I'm so happy. I've lived 
 such terrible weeks I thought I was going insane 
 . . . But God, how happy I am ! ... so happy . . .
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 179 
 
 Don't worry, I'm crying just because I'm so happy. 
 . . . Oh ! my boy, my own boy." 
 
 "Beg pardon, madame," said a voice behind her. 
 
 She turned quickly. 
 
 "I just want to put this hot water on his table," 
 said an attendant. 
 
 She moved away for a few seconds, then , re- 
 turned. 
 
 "How funny you are with your beard," she ex- 
 claimed. "There's a little bit of everything, light, 
 dark and red hair. You are horrible ! I love you." 
 
 He was unable to refrain from smiling at this 
 outburst, to which he replied: 
 
 "Well, at least the nurses won't fall in love 
 with me." 
 
 She went on: 
 
 "But you have had a look at yourself? Oh my 
 poilu!" 
 
 Again she covered him with caresses. 
 
 Concealing as best he could the pains he was suf- 
 fering, he said: 
 
 "When did you receive my letter? . . . How is it 
 that you're already here?" 
 
 Drying her eyes she began to laugh again. 
 
 "Did you expect me to wait until New Year's 
 Day? I might have brought you your Christmas 
 presents at the same time. You foolish boy ! If you 
 only knew what I have gone through. . . . While
 
 180 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 you were fighting and didn't notice the time flying 
 by, I spent many horrible days all alone at 
 the house . . . and the nights . . . well, I stayed 
 awake, just as you did. ..." 
 
 He squeezed her hand in silence, then said: 
 
 "And how about papa?" 
 
 "Your father must be all right, as I wrote to you. 
 He is still in the Meuse district." 
 
 He made an effort to explain his question better: 
 
 "Have you heard from him recently?" 
 
 "Quite recently." 
 
 Her face was scarlet red as she quickly changed 
 the conversation. 
 
 "Tell me just what is the matter with you. 
 Where were you hit? In the back? . . . Has the 
 bullet been extracted?" 
 
 He replied in a sorrowful voice: 
 
 "It's not serious . . . but it's going to take a 
 long time. . . ." 
 
 "So much the better. They can't take you away 
 in two weeks. You need some rest. Tell me all 
 about the battle." 
 
 He wiped his forehead. 
 
 "Which battle?" 
 
 "The last one." 
 
 "That one isn't worth listening to ... nothing 
 funny about it." 
 
 "Funny? Well, I should hope not! But tell me
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 181 
 
 all about it. I'm your mother and I won't tell any 
 one. Was it horrible?" 
 
 "No . . . No, it wasn't horrible; one gets used 
 to it." 
 
 "Of course you would . . . you are a hero, I 
 know it; I am sure of it. I am so proud of my 
 boy." 
 
 "Mother . . . they can hear us." 
 
 "Well, did I say anything wrong?" 
 
 "Tell me all about papa." 
 
 "Your father? Let me explain to you." 
 
 He looked her straight in the face. 
 
 "You're hiding something . . . what has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 She looked at him for a moment without speak- 
 ing, and then said in a trembling voice: 
 
 "Your father was wounded, just like you . . . 
 only slightly wounded." 
 
 "Wounded? When? Where?" 
 
 "Just like you, I tell you ... I heard from him 
 at the same time." 
 
 "At the same time?" 
 
 "The day before." 
 
 "Did you see him?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why? Why not?" 
 
 She drew a chair up to the bed, and looking 
 straight at his eyes said;
 
 182 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Listen . . . listen, boy . . . you will under- 
 stand. I was all ready. I had packed my bag and 
 I had just one hour to spare before catching the 
 train which was to take me to his side, when they 
 brought me your letter, my boy's letter, whose life 
 is my life. Just think, what would have become of 
 me if they had killed you?" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, I couldn't be everywhere at the same time. 
 I could no longer go to see your father. I told his 
 mother, and she is on her way to see him now." 
 
 "The poor, old woman !" 
 
 "She didn't seem old when she was thinking of 
 going to see her son." 
 
 Pie was deeply moved by the news. 
 
 "Do you know anything about his wound?" 
 
 "No. I don't know." 
 
 "That's horrible," he said in a tragic voice. 
 
 Plis mother, however, exclaimed violently: 
 
 "Did I know anything about your wound? You 
 wrote to me, but how did I know that you were not 
 lying? . . . My God, how I suffered . . . pains not 
 only in my heart but all over my body . . . you are 
 my child. ... I made a man of you . . . you belong 
 to me . . . kiss me . . . kiss me again. ... It is 
 three months since I have had a chance to kiss you !" 
 
 "Excuse me, madam," said the attendant, "I must 
 take the hot water away."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 183 
 
 Three days went by and the mother was compelled 
 to leave. She wanted to hear from her husband ; she 
 had asked a neighbor to take care of her little girl 
 and the family business required immediate attention, 
 so she went back to Paris. Before she went away she 
 gave her son a long, tender and heart-rending look, 
 for she knew well that he was seriously wounded. 
 
 She told this to Dudognon on her way down stairs, 
 but he reassured her with his customary kindness. 
 
 "I believe he will get over it. ... I am sure of it, 
 madam " 
 
 She was no longer listening to him. She was lean- 
 ing against the wall sobbing pitifully and saying: 
 
 "We brought him up so well. ... It is horrible 
 to take young, well-educated boys and kill them like 
 that . . . why, we are just plain workers, but he ... 
 he was interested in so many things. . . . Oh, my 
 God ! . . . My God ! How unhappy I am. . . . He 
 read so many books, and if you had only seen some 
 of their titles you couldn't help respecting him. . . ." 
 
 The poor woman came back a week later. Her boy 
 had gone through a terrific change ; the lower part of 
 his body was paralyzed and the attack was spreading 
 quickly. His lungs were badly affected and he could 
 hardly breathe. 
 
 When his mother spoke to him this time he was 
 hardly able to reply. He motioned to her that he 
 was glad to hear that his father was out of danger.
 
 184 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 She remained two entire days at his bedside, watch- 
 ing him. Again she went away, worn out by her 
 sleepless nights. She left him two oranges, which he 
 never touched. 
 
 Dudognon, who sympathized with the unfortunate 
 woman, accompanied her to the gate of the hospital. 
 
 Meanwhile Gaspard went to her son's bedside and 
 said : 
 
 "How are you to-day, pal? . . . How do you feel? 
 I came up in a hurry to tell you. ... I heard the 
 doctor talking on the stairway. . . . He was saying 
 that they're pulling you through all right, and that 
 it won't be anything at all, only it's going to take 
 time . . . don't worry, pal, you'll go back to the 
 Faubourg Saint-Antoine." 
 
 "Do you really think so?" asked the sergeant. 
 
 "I am sure of it, I tell you . . . and you'll see 
 the Bastille, the motor buses and the taxicabs . . . 
 don't be afraid, boy, it isn't as easy as that to die 
 when one comes from Paris." 
 
 "May be ... but oh! how I suffer during the 
 night," said the sergeant. 
 
 "During the night? Just wait a minute and I'll 
 tell the sister." 
 
 He spoke to her, but she could do nothing. She 
 was giving all her time and care to the poor wounded 
 boy and in the course of her eight-hour day she 
 could be seen bending over his bed a hundred times.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 185 
 
 But it is useless to struggle with death and death was 
 waiting for him, gripping him a little bit tighter each 
 day. 
 
 The fatal evening finally came. His mother was 
 in Paris. The nurse called for the priest. 
 
 A screen had been placed around his bed, as is 
 usually done in the case of dying patients, and the 
 other men could see neither the sergeant nor the 
 priest nor the sisters. On the opposite wall, however, 
 their shadows could be seen, and the impression in 
 the dim evening light was terrifying. Gaspard and 
 Dudognon were overcome with emotion and were un- 
 able to utter a word. 
 
 The sergeant's agony continued for a long while. 
 His mind was quite clear and he seemed to be cling- 
 ing to life with all the desperate hope of dying men 
 who believe that they might be saved could they only 
 survive until the following morning. But the follow- 
 ing morning was far, very far away. . . . Every 
 minute he wanted to know the time, and the nun re- 
 plied with everlasting patience in a sweet and soft 
 voice. Toward midnight he was half choking as he 
 said: 
 
 "Is it four o'clock yet?" 
 
 "Soon, my boy," said the nun; "just be brave and 
 we will soon be there. . . ." 
 
 Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind and 
 he began to cry :
 
 186 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "It isn't four o'clock. . . . We hear the roosters 
 at four o'clock. . . ." 
 
 Gaspard, who was unable to sleep, overheard these 
 last words from his bed. He jumped up, threw off 
 the covers and, dressing hastily, slipped out of the 
 ward. 
 
 And two minutes later . . . the rooster was heard. 
 
 It was a peculiar kind of rooster, but it served its 
 purpose. The sergeant looked happy again. 
 
 "Sister . . . did you hear?" 
 
 "I told you so," she said ; "it is four o'clock." 
 
 He had fully recovered his confidence and, still 
 full of hope, convinced that he would live another 
 day, he passed away calmly and quietly, with a smile 
 upon his face. 
 
 Dudognon could have kissed Gaspard had the lat- 
 ter permitted him to do so, but Gaspard was dis- 
 gusted because his wound had reopened as a result of 
 what he had done for the dying man. 
 
 He was compelled to go back to bed at once, and 
 this time it was his turn to suffer. His fever was 
 very high, and the doctor was furious the next morn- 
 ing and threatened the patient with severe punishment 
 if he moved from his bed again. His greatest sor- 
 row was to be unable to attend his pal's funeral, and 
 he spent the day grumbling, his face buried in his 
 pillow. 
 
 Dudognon was the first to see the mother. He
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 187 
 
 was eager to console her and also to tell her what 
 Gaspard had done for her boy. 
 
 This opportunity, however, was never given to 
 him. 
 
 When instead of a wounded man she found only 
 a cold body, when she saw what was left of her child, 
 this woman, in the midst of her terrific despair, sud- 
 denly gave vent to an outburst of hatred and bitter 
 jealousy toward this other man who looked so healthy 
 and was staying far away from the firing line. She 
 forgot all about his devotion, his care and his kind- 
 ness toward her boy. In her terrible suffering she 
 could see only what was before her at the time, and 
 while tears were streaming down her cheeks she ex- 
 claimed in a trembling voice : 
 
 "And you? . . . How about you? . . . Aren't 
 you going to fight?" 
 
 To this unexpected question he replied : 
 
 "But I ... I am a nurse." 
 
 This last word brought forth a cry of rage from 
 the mother. 
 
 "Nurse ! . . . while the others are being killed ! . . . 
 And why wasn't my boy a nurse?" 
 
 She stepped forward and went on at the top of her 
 voice : 
 
 "Tell me ... tell me why ? . . . With your good 
 health you stay here ! . . . Aren't you ashamed of 
 yourself? Do you ever think of all those who have
 
 188 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 died? . . . How do you feel about it? . . . And you 
 saw how my boy suffered! Aren't you ashamed of 
 being what you are? Ah! If I were a man ... a 
 man. . . ." 
 
 She raised her fist at him as she turned away. 
 
 He came back into the ward in a pitiful condition. 
 Cold perspiration covered his forehead and his eyes 
 were full of tears. 
 
 He went up to Gaspard's bed and said in a choking 
 voice : 
 
 "That woman is a brute . . . because, you know 
 how I watched over her son and nursed him like a 
 brother, and was right .with him when he died. . . . 
 I stayed to the last, telling him he wasn't going to 
 die ... yes, she is a brute, but after all she is right 
 . . . yes, yes, ... I have no business to be a nurse 
 ... I am going to write to the commander ... I 
 am through with this. I want to go out and fight 
 and take my chance with the others. I am not going 
 to take any more insults like that." 
 
 Gaspard could say nothing in reply. The other 
 went on: 
 
 "I should worry about good food and a good bed. 
 ... I am through with this !" 
 
 A wounded man called out : "Nurse !" 
 
 But Dudognon was furious. "I am no longer a 
 nurse." 
 
 No one knew whether he had again met the charm-
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 189 
 
 ing Mme. Arnaud or whether he had just simpty 
 driven the thought from his mind and forgotten all 
 about it. At all events in the evening of the same 
 day Mile. Viette, who enjoyed his company, found 
 him at the bedside of one of the wounded men to whom 
 he was giving some medicine. The soldier inquired: 
 "Have you been out there too?" 
 But this time he replied without hesitation : 
 "Do I look like a man who hasn't been out there ?" 
 
 "Oh!" said the other, "that isn't what I meant. 
 
 > 
 
 "Well, then, swallow your medicine," said Dudo- 
 gnon. "It will make you sleep and stop thinking, 
 and that's what you need." 
 
 Mile. Viette told the story to Gaspard and both 
 laughed. These two were great friends. He had 
 already told her a number of things, his business, 
 his life in Paris, his battle, the death of Burette and 
 the heroism of Captain Puche. On the other hand 
 she often brought in the newspapers for him and told 
 him what her father thought of the Germans, of the 
 victory of the Marne and the destruction of the 
 Rheims Cathedral. Gaspard, knowing that the young 
 girl came from good stock, listened to her with great 
 respect and was deeply impressed by the fact that 
 she was not too proud to talk to him. 
 
 One evening he told her about his mother and his 
 wife. He did not tell her that he wasn't married, but 
 14
 
 190 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 spoke of the woman with great respect. He hadn't 
 seen her for two months. 
 
 "Of course I didn't expect her to come here. My 
 wound isn't serious. It isn't worth while spending 
 the money . . . only ... if she had come along 
 without telling me I wouldn't have regretted the 
 money." 
 
 Mile. Viette listened to him seated on a chair near 
 the window through which a garden, a real French 
 garden, could be seen. Long rows of fruit trees were 
 in view. In the dim light of the autumn evening Mile. 
 Viette seemed even fairer than usual. The men were 
 peacefully resting in the other beds, and through the 
 half open window a nun could be heard in the gar- 
 den praying as she went along. 
 
 Mile. Viette was dreaming and Gaspard sighed. 
 She took his hand. 
 
 "Good night," she said. 
 
 "Yes, good night," Gaspard replied. 
 
 After she had left he again thought of his wife. 
 
 A few minutes later the nun came in. 
 
 Her name was Sister Venigne. She came into the 
 ward every evening and her mere presence there was 
 a great relief to the wounded, who generally feared 
 the approach of night with its suffering, its fever and 
 its nightmares. She stepped through the door and 
 called out, "Good evening," to the men, who all re- 
 plied, "Good evening, sister."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 191 
 
 This little woman, slender and delicate, took the 
 place of the three other women who spent their days 
 with the wounded, but she was well able to take care 
 of the thirty men and had a kind word for each one. 
 Had it not been for her the men would have dreaded 
 the night more than anything else. 
 
 To a soldier who has been fighting and who is ex- 
 hausted and weak nights are a great source of worry. 
 Like a big, unhappy child, the soldier needs some 
 one to cheer him up. He is not afraid to advance 
 under fire on the battlefield, but his fears begin after 
 it is all over. One of the most impressive scenes wit- 
 nessed in a hospital is a ward in which thirty men are 
 spending their first night after their return from the 
 firing line. These men, who have fought in different 
 engagements, begin their battles over again in their 
 dreams. Some believe themselves still in the fighting, 
 while others dream that they have been badly 
 wounded. Some call out orders, while others scream 
 with pain. All the time the little nun, Sister Venigne, 
 would go from one to the other, stroking their heads 
 and endeavoring to quiet them. 
 
 To one man she would say, "Listen, boy ; what are 
 you trying to tell us? You are crazy!" Then she 
 would wipe the man's forehead, fix his pillow and 
 covers and remain with him until he was again sleep- 
 ing calmly. As she leaned over the men the vision 
 of the great imaginary battles they were fighting
 
 192 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 quickly faded away, and thanks to her they were able 
 to enjoy a real beneficial sleep in which all their 
 troubles were forgotten. 
 
 She never rested until every man was quietly asleep, 
 and then she would sit in a big armchair beside a 
 small table where, under a heavy shade, a small oil 
 lamp was burning. Every once in a while a voice 
 would call her and she would immediately drop her ro- 
 sary and hurry to the side of the man who wanted her. 
 
 Gaspard was very fond of her. As a matter of 
 fact Gaspard was fond of every one, including Mile. 
 Viette, Mme. Arnaud and Mile. Anne, and also Du- 
 dognon. The sister inquired: 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "I am thirsty." 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "An orangeade." 
 
 "I haven't got any." 
 
 "Well, then, a lemonade." 
 
 "Will you promise to fall asleep if I give it to 
 you?" 
 
 "I promise it on the head of my little boy." 
 
 When Gaspard took the refreshing drink from 
 the nun's hand he consumed it slowly, enjoying every 
 drop, and could hardly find words to thank the good 
 woman who had brought it to him. She had hardly 
 returned to her armchair when another voice called 
 her, and thus it went on throughout the night.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 193 
 
 It would be necessary to see this woman at her 
 work to be able to understand and appreciate the 
 wonders she was accomplishing and the remarkable 
 results she obtained during the nine hours of the 
 night among these poor devils who were the victims 
 of the war. 
 
 Her eyes inspired absolute confidence, and when- 
 ever she told the men that their suffering would soon 
 be ended her words seemed to have a remarkably 
 soothing effect. She went from bed to bed with the 
 same kind smile and care for each man; it could 
 hardly be said that she walked, for she seemed really 
 to glide along the floor of the ward. She could be 
 seen but not heard as she passed by. 
 
 Gaspard, who had completely altered his opinion 
 concerning priests during the last few weeks, would 
 willingly have faced death for this nun. He said to 
 his comrades : 
 
 "They are women who only think of helping others 
 . . . and they don't talk to you about God either 
 . . . they help you, give you a drink when you are 
 thirsty . . . they are women . . . real women . . . 
 just as women ought to be." 
 
 "You're becoming quite religious," said Dudognon 
 laughingly. 
 
 "I don't know what I am becoming," said Gaspard, 
 "but I know what I am talking about." 
 
 After he had finally recovered, after eight long
 
 194 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 weeks of care, he called Sister Venigne to his bedside 
 the night before the date fixed for his departure. He 
 was sitting up in his bed and produced from under 
 the cover a torn envelope from which he took two 
 photographs. 
 
 The nun looked at them and said: 
 "I suppose it's jour wife and your child?" 
 "Yes," replied Gaspard with pride, carefully 
 watching the woman's face to see what she thought 
 of the pictures. She looked at them several minutes 
 and then said : 
 
 "Well, she is very pretty, your wife . . . and your 
 little boy looks exactly like her. Lucky man ! Why 
 didn't you ever show me these before? Here I have 
 been nursing you for sixty nights. I thought I too 
 belonged to the family." 
 
 The photographs were two copies of the same pic- 
 ture, and as she returned them to Gaspard he took 
 one of them and gave it back to her. She was deeply 
 moved by this silent tribute. It was Gaspard's fare- 
 well and the only way in which he could thank her 
 for all she had done for him. She went away, after 
 thanking him, happy at the thought that Gaspard 
 had thought enough of her to express his gratitude 
 in this manner. 
 
 The following day, after visiting every corner of 
 the hospital, from the kitchen to the garden, he came 
 to say good-by to the three women who had nursed
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 195 
 
 him, cherished him and were really responsible for 
 his recovery. Deeply moved, he was turning his cap 
 in his hands, sad at the thought of leaving the friends 
 and the surroundings which had grown so dear to 
 him. Once again he was being caught in the whirl- 
 wind of war. What a life! He was to bid good-by 
 once more to those he loved and to the places he 
 cherished. 
 
 In the street he was hardly able to find his way and 
 he turned three times for a last look at the hospital, 
 then went on straight ahead. When he reached the 
 banks of the River Loire the water was like a mir- 
 ror in the light of the setting sun. 
 
 His train was to leave at 9 o'clock and he was at 
 a loss to know just what to do until then. Little 
 he cared for the surrounding country; a Parisian 
 thinks too much of his Paris to be greatly interested 
 in any other place. He came to the conclusion that 
 the best thing to do was to treat himself to a first- 
 class dinner, a three-franc dinner in a good hotel. 
 This, he figured, he could easily afford, as he had not 
 spent a penny during the last two months. 
 
 He went into the Hotel des Trois Rois at the cor- 
 ner of the quay and the Grand Rue. 
 
 It was an old-fashioned hotel which boasted much 
 of its steam heat, but the central heating system was 
 the only modern improvement to be found there, for 
 the place was intended chiefly as a home for those
 
 196 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 interested in the memories of days gone by. From 
 the street the traveler enters directly into a large room 
 with a great big fireplace where a log fire is burn- 
 ing merrily. On a shelf along the wall may be seen 
 a long line of well polished candlesticks. An appetiz- 
 ing aroma notifies the traveler that the food is good. 
 An enormous linen closet gives him to understand that 
 the beds are soft and well kept. It is a delightful 
 place, the like of which may be found in all good cor- 
 ners of France and which reminds one of descriptions 
 read in story books. 
 
 Ever since the beginning of the war discussion had 
 run high before the log fire. The guests of the hotel 
 included three elderly couples who had fled from 
 Rheims and had come to Anjou to await the time 
 when their city would be free from Germans and from 
 shells. 
 
 The heads of the three families were a grocer, a 
 magistrate and a retired druggist. When Gaspard 
 came in they were seated in front of the log fire and 
 the druggist was talking nervously, raising his arms 
 now and then to emphasize his words. 
 
 "Then you imagine that we are going to let them 
 fall asleep in their trenches ? Well, my dear sir, that 
 is so far from being the case that I have here a letter 
 from my cousin, who is a member of the General 
 Staff." 
 
 "Oh!" said the magistrate, "I don't believe those
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 197 
 
 stories! Those fellows never tell the truth. They 
 wouldn't know it before we did, anyhow." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, so far as I am concerned at 
 least, I never make any statement which I do not know 
 to be a fact. I tell you, sir, there are regiments al- 
 ready at this very moment which are to be used for 
 no other purpose than to fill up the trenches as 
 quickly as we recapture them." 
 
 "Meanwhile the Boches are in them." 
 
 "Of course they are! What we need is a second 
 Joan of Arc to drive the brutes away." 
 
 "What do you mean?" quietly said the grocer's 
 wife. 
 
 The old hotel waiter entered with a glass of hot 
 milk for one of the ladies. He was an ideal war time 
 servant when it is a duty not to be in a hurry. He 
 volunteered to explain : 
 
 "He means to drive the Germans from the trenches, 
 madame." 
 
 No one objecting to his intervention, the old waiter 
 went on: 
 
 "You see the Boches have been thinking of nothing 
 else for forty-four years. They weren't trying to im- 
 prove their education, or anything like that. Why, 
 all they care for is artillery, while we Frenchmen were 
 making all kinds of experiments in medicine, vaccina- 
 tion and a lot of other things like that." 
 
 "Sure," said Gaspard, stepping forward.
 
 198 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 It was his way of calling attention to his presence 
 in the room. Receiving no reply he continued, some- 
 what embarrassed: 
 
 "I know what it is. ... I have been through it 
 myself. . . . Where can I get something to eat?" 
 
 The interest of the others was at once aroused. 
 The druggist said: 
 
 "Have you been wounded, my good friend?" 
 
 "You bet!" 
 
 The three women raised their heads. 
 
 "But you have completely recovered, haven't you?" 
 said the druggist. 
 
 "Fit as a fish." 
 
 "And ready to go out again ?" 
 
 "You bet I am." 
 
 The magistrate put in a good word : 
 
 "Well, you know that you are all our hope. Six 
 weeks have gone by since we were driven from our 
 homes." 
 
 "And when you get to their homes it will be your 
 turn, won't it?" exclaimed the druggist. 
 
 "Well, it's up to Joffre," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Well, in any case you'll spare the women and 
 children, won't you?" 
 
 "Don't worry about that." 
 
 "Because above everything else we are French, and 
 don't forget it." 
 
 "Just rely on me."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 199 
 
 "The only thing to do is to make them pay enor- 
 mous taxes." 
 
 "Leave that to me." 
 
 "And don't forget to take hostages." 
 
 "Hosta what?" 
 
 "Hostages." 
 
 "Oh, we'll take a lot of those." 
 
 "And do just as they did: make them march out in 
 front of you. They have mined the whole country 
 over there. I've got a cousin on the General Staff 
 and he said to me that everything was mined over 
 there." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" 
 
 "Yes ; but when the mines explode let them be blown 
 up first." 
 
 "That's all settled." 
 
 "They and their Wilhelm and their Crown 
 Prince." 
 
 "The swine !" 
 
 "If we could only catch those two !" 
 
 "Yes, if we could! . . ." 
 
 "What would you do, my friend, if you caught 
 them?" 
 
 "What would I do? . . . What would I do ? . . ." 
 
 The hotel keeper's wife came into the room. The 
 magistrate took her aside, while the druggist was still 
 talking to Gaspard. 
 
 "It's a soldier who has come for dinner. . I
 
 200 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 hope you will be kind enough not to put him in our 
 room." 
 
 "Don't worry about that." 
 
 "Of course he's all right . . . but you know . . . 
 with ladies present." 
 
 "Yes, yes, monsieur." 
 
 "Funny idea of his to come here." 
 
 "Yes, isn't it?" 
 
 "For his own sake he would have been better off 
 in a small wine shop." 
 
 "Well, it's war time," said the woman, "and they 
 go almost everywhere. But don't worry, sir." 
 
 She said to Gaspard: 
 
 "Would you like to have dinner?" 
 
 "Yes, a three-franc dinner." 
 
 "Well, then, come this way." 
 
 He was surprised, but prepared to follow her as 
 the three men shook hands with him. 
 
 He dined alone, all alone in a small room which 
 had evidently been used for storage purposes and 
 from where all the noise of the kitchen could be 
 heard. He did not quite well understand why they 
 had put him there, but had no thought of complain- 
 ing. The average soldier loses all idea of seeking 
 explanations; he just simply obeys orders. At the 
 second course he observed that the waitress was pret- 
 ty. When he came out on the street again everything 
 was dark and he was unable to find a single human
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 201 
 
 being of whom he could ask his way to the railway 
 station. The glory of being a wounded man appealed 
 to him not at all. 
 
 Cursing war and all that it stands for, he took a 
 seat in an empty compartment, dissatisfied with him- 
 self and with the meal, which he had been unable to 
 enjoy. 
 
 Discouraged and weary, he leaned out of the train 
 window, thinking of the sorrows and the monotony 
 of the life of a soldier, and philosophically remarked : 
 "A shame, I say ! This war is a shame in civilized 
 times !" 
 
 The train went on in the dark night, with not a 
 star to be seen. 
 
 Gaspard continued: 
 
 "And to think that they inscribe the word 'liberty' 
 on the front of every monument."
 
 VI 
 
 WHEN Gaspard left A with his regi- 
 ment he never thought he would return 
 there before it was all over, or, in other 
 words, until peace had been signed. His heart was 
 sad at the thought of going back there while the war 
 was still on, for it was evident now that the first three 
 months were to be nothing but a prologue. Even the 
 English had declared that the war was only at its 
 beginning, but the most optimistic hoped it would 
 only last six months. 
 
 "Six months!" said Gaspard. "If it were only 
 true! . . ." 
 
 It was with a sorrowful face that he went through 
 the gate of the barracks. Among all the miseries 
 of war the barracks is one of the worst. Soldiers 
 live there, going through the same monotonous life 
 which was theirs in times of peace, while others are 
 out getting killed. The same childish foolishness 
 goes on from day to day, the same stupid orders are 
 given and the soldier's life in the barracks, far from 
 the fighting line, is just as inglorious as the life of 
 the men at the front is wonderful. But the servitude 
 of military life is eternal and the adjutant in com- 
 
 202
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 203 
 
 mand at A was a typical sample of the brutes 
 
 who are generally found in these places. 
 
 His name was Dupouya, and Gaspard lost no time 
 in realizing just what he was. As a matter of fact, 
 he was a curiosity. He was so eager to worry the 
 men under his command that some of his methods 
 were almost original. Of small stature, thin and 
 aggressive, he pursued the men and never left them 
 alone. It was useless to try to escape; he went 
 everywhere and found everyone. Upstairs, down- 
 stairs, in every corner of the yard, in the kitchens 
 and in the hospitals, he could be seen at all times, 
 always smoking a large cigar and his cap on his 
 ear. He was the most exasperating of all those who 
 had ever been entrusted with the direction of men, 
 and his reputation of being an impudent and imper- 
 tinent tormentor was well earned and well deserved. 
 
 His place was not at the front his business was 
 to act as a policeman to the soldiers of the barracks. 
 He hardly gave the men time to breathe. He would 
 ask those who were ill if they were not getting better, 
 and would repeat the question every fifteen minutes, 
 eager to get rid of them as soon as possible. 
 
 But he at the same time remained, safe from 
 danger, to worry all the poor unfortunates who were 
 sent to him by fate. 
 
 His greatest satisfaction was to get rid of the 
 men, to send them to the firing line, where he wasn't
 
 204 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 thinking of going himself, and he was never happier 
 than when he could say to the Captain : 
 
 "I have got thirty men ready to go." 
 
 Sometimes the Captain would say that he needed 
 thirty-two, whereupon he would run to his office and 
 hurriedly consult the list of recent arrivals, after 
 which he would run up to the sleeping quarters and 
 order the men to stand at attention. On one of these 
 visits he found the men playing cards and ordered 
 them to stand up, but only two of the twelve com- 
 plied with the order. He called them all out and 
 took them to the chief surgeon, who quickly ordered 
 them to the front. Thus he went on from day to 
 day, bothering and worrying the men, happy only 
 when he could send them away. He was the real 
 master of their fate and seemed some sort of fool's 
 secretary to destiny. 
 
 But all this was before the arrival of Gaspard. 
 With Gaspard he learned to know the other side of 
 the human medal and became acquainted with resist- 
 ance and failure. Gaspard drove him mad. 
 
 Gaspard could only be handled one way, and when 
 he came into the barracks he had determined to re- 
 main there only a week and then go back to the firing 
 line. But the satisfied and positive manner in which 
 the Adjutant told him that he was fit to go back and 
 fight appeared to him as an insult, and he promptly 
 decided that he would have his own way.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 205 
 
 "All right . . . don't worry . . . we'll see the 
 surgeon." 
 
 Meanwhile he came across his old friend Moreau, 
 who had been wounded and had already recovered 
 and was now spending his time doing nothing. Gas- 
 pard was delighted beyond measure to find his pal at 
 whose side he had fought, and he questioned him at 
 once regarding the Adjutant. 
 
 "What does that fool think he is?" 
 
 "Don't worry," said Moreau. "He's not going to 
 send me back to the Boches." 
 
 "How will you do it?" 
 
 "Leave it to me." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "I'm down as a munition worker." 
 
 "Munition worker?" 
 
 "Yes. You see I'm going to make bullets instead 
 of receiving them." 
 
 "Gee! That's a pretty good game." 
 
 Gaspard thought it over and then said: 
 
 "Well, there's nothing for me in that line. A 
 snail dealer can't pretend to know anything about 
 munitions." 
 
 "All you have to do is to have yourself put down 
 as unfit." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 "Just ask the big fellow over there, the one with 
 glasses. He's unfit." 
 15
 
 206 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "That big, skinny one?" 
 
 "Yes, he's unfit." 
 
 "Eh ! son . . . come over here." 
 
 Gaspard was lying on his back on a heap of straw 
 and the other man came over. 
 
 "What's this Moreau tells me, that you're unfit?" 
 
 "He's right." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 "That I can't do any more fighting." 
 
 "And you know," added Moreau, "he's a wise one. 
 He's a school teacher in Paris and not a fool, so if 
 he's unfit it's because it's a good thing to be." 
 
 "I'm afraid you're mistaken, my friend, so far at 
 least as I am concerned," said the professor quietly. 
 "If I am unfit it is not by my own wish, but because 
 I am suffering from an acute attack of enteritis." 
 
 "Enteritis ? And what is enteritis ?" said Gaspard. 
 
 "It's . . . it's very painful." 
 
 "Where do you feel it?" 
 
 "In the intestines." 
 
 "And how did the surgeon discover it?" 
 
 "Why? Do you think you have it?" 
 
 "One can never tell." 
 
 "You see," explained Moreau, "he has already 
 been out at the front and has been wounded. He 
 knows what it is and isn't at all anxious to try it 
 again." 
 
 Gaspard had nothing to say. He was looking
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 207 
 
 straight ahead and juggling a piece of straw in his 
 hands. 
 
 "Well," said the professor, "let him take my 
 enteritis and I'll take his place out at the front." 
 
 "Don't brag," said Moreau. "When you have 
 seen what it looks like you'll probably long for your 
 wife and your slippers." 
 
 "I have no wife." 
 
 "You're not married? You're all alone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, if I had my way you'd have something to 
 pay in the line of taxes !" Gaspard remarked that 
 his wound still caused him occasional pains, at which 
 Moreau exclaimed: 
 
 "Go and tell the surgeon at once and lose no 
 time about it." 
 
 Gaspard thought it over a few minutes and then 
 replied : 
 
 "Yes, I will go ... just to fool that brute of an 
 Adjutant." 
 
 His sole motive in attempting to evade further 
 service at the front was just that; a foolish sense 
 of pride. He forgot all about the war with the 
 Boches and began a fight of his own with Dupouya. 
 
 The very first round of the fight was in his favor. 
 
 The surgeon, bewildered by Gaspard's talk, said: 
 
 "All right . . .all right, go away and come back 
 and see me later."
 
 208 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 He returned at once, this time with new complaints 
 and the surgeon was glad to get rid of him. 
 
 "All right, my boy ; go and get a good long rest." 
 
 He took a short rest and came back once more, 
 and the surgeon finally decided that he was unfit for 
 further service. 
 
 For three full days Gaspard rejoiced over the 
 thought of being able to say to the Adjutant: "I am 
 unfit!" But the pleasure soon died away and the 
 quiet dullness of life in barracks began to tell on 
 Gaspard. 
 
 He soon grew tired of sitting around smoking 
 pipes and manipulating a more or less soiled deck of 
 cards. He was too full of life to be able to enjoy 
 this sort of existence, but found no sympathy in 
 Moreau, who was thoroughly satisfied. He turned 
 his attention to the professor, to whom he said: 
 
 "Do you care for this sort of life? I wanted to 
 get the Adjutant, and I got him ; but I am beginning 
 to get sick of it all and I tell you it's not going to 
 last." 
 
 "Fine !" said the professor. 
 
 "As a civilian," said Gaspard, "I get up every 
 day at two o'clock in the morning. I am on the job 
 at the Halles at three. I earn money and take care 
 of my kid. But here ... if we're unfit they ought 
 to send us home." 
 
 The professor agreed that the course suggested
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 209 
 
 by Gaspard would be far more reasonable, and this 
 induced them to exchange views on other points. 
 
 The professor was a quiet, modest man and a 
 thinker, a real bourgeois. Gaspard, on the other 
 hand, was a man of the people, with just the opposite 
 nature. They liked each other at once, because they 
 could never be bored in each other's company. 
 
 Gaspard, who felt that he was socially inferior, 
 told first of his friendship for Burette and also for 
 Dudognon. He considered these two good as refer- 
 ences, but so far as education was concerned he was 
 quite willing to admit that about all he had been 
 able to do in school was to wipe off the black- 
 board. 
 
 "The schoolmaster got on my nerves, and it got 
 on my father's nerves to realize what I thought of 
 school. So after putting me in there at the age of 
 seven he took me out again when I was nine and said : 
 'Now you know how to read and write, and that's all 
 you need : all the rest is rot. College and degrees are 
 good only for sons of politicians. . . . Just look at 
 me! I wouldn't know how to make a division on 
 paper; I'd go all wrong; but when I do it in my 
 head, believe me, I never make a mistake.' 
 
 "And then, you know, when it comes to talking I 
 don't think I need any lessons from anyone. . . . 
 I've bought a lot of books and I've got a regular 
 library under my bed. Some good books too, take it
 
 210 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 from me; Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas and 'Cy- 
 rano' by Rostand. I saw 'Cyrano' six times on the 
 stage . . . There's a play for you ! Do you remem- 
 ber when he talks about his nose and then when he 
 makes love to Roxane and she thinks it's the other 
 man and kisses him right on his lips? . . . and then 
 when he is about to die." 
 
 And Gaspard recited in a loud voice the last words 
 of the famous play. 
 
 "I see," said the professor, "that you are fond 
 of good literature." 
 
 "I like everything that is good," replied Gaspard 
 in an outburst of enthusiasm. "I'll tell you another 
 thing I love : A phonograph ! . . . But when it comes 
 to reading I have read 'Les Miserables' seven times. 
 Of course I know just what is going to happen when 
 I read it over again, but what I like is to see the way 
 it is told. Men like Victor Hugo deserve to be rich. 
 If it were up to me I would give him everything I 
 have . . . because, you know, men who can write 
 things like that are wonders !" 
 
 He remained silent for a while and then con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Whereas an Adjutant ... an Adjutant ... he 
 might starve to death right in front of me and I 
 wouldn't give him a thing." 
 
 "Now you're bragging," said the professor quietly. 
 
 Gaspard had nothing further to say.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 The quiet way and the pleasant manners of the 
 professor inspired Gaspard with both respect and 
 confidence. He was extremely familiar with him, but 
 still never refrained from prefixing a "Monsieur" to 
 his name when he spoke to him. "Monsieur Mousse" 
 were the first words he ever addressed to him. Just 
 as with Burette in days gone by, he liked to talk 
 with this man because he felt that his conversation 
 was beneficial to him, particularly in these barracks 
 where life was so dull. 
 
 As a matter of fact the life of these two "unfits" 
 was lugubriously comical. 
 
 Being "unfit," there was nothing for them to do, 
 nothing beyond counting the minutes as they went 
 by and the professor had a wrist watch from which 
 he practically never took his eyes. 
 
 He was tall, with a long neck and a high forehead 
 and his slender silhouette could be seen passing 
 along the walls, followed by Gaspard, who came 
 right after him in his footsteps, his eyes glued to 
 the ground as though he were hoping to find some- 
 thing along his way. 
 
 Winter had already arrived, and in military bar- 
 racks it is felt earlier than anywhere else. The 
 chestnut trees around the central yard had lost all 
 their leaves and presented a sorrowful appearance. 
 It was raining two days out of three and a cold wind 
 accompanied the rain.
 
 212 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "What a life! What a life!" exclaimed Mousse. 
 
 "I can't stand it any longer," said Gaspard. 
 
 They went to see the Lieutenant. 
 
 The Lieutenant stroked his beard and said: 
 
 "You are unfit. ... I can't make use of you ; the 
 rule is strict; I can only employ men who are phy- 
 sically fit." 
 
 "Well, then, what are we going to do?" 
 
 "Just wait around here." 
 
 "This is terrible," said the professor. 
 
 In the midst of his despair he went to see the Chief 
 and showed him his papers, proving that he was a 
 college graduate. 
 
 "Now, couldn't I help you secretly, without any- 
 one knowing anything about it ... copy some of 
 your reports, or anything like that?" 
 
 He seemed so dejected that the other replied: 
 
 "Well, if you insist ... I don't care." 
 
 He could have kissed him, so happy was he at the 
 thought of finding something to do. He settled 
 down to work with enthusiasm, just as a starving man 
 sits down to a good meal. 
 
 Meanwhile Gaspard went into the storehouse, from 
 where at the beginning he had distributed to his 
 comrades the various articles of their equipment. 
 His former place was now taken by a man who was 
 almost blind and who at a distance of two yards 
 couldn't see the difference between a soldier's cap and
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a coffee pot. Gaspard looked as important as pos- 
 sible as he went in to see his successor, carrying 
 a bottle of white wine under his arm. 
 
 "Here I am," he said. "I was the first one to 
 equip the company, so the Lieutenant told me that 
 I could come and help you. But first of all we're 
 going to have a drink so as to get better ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 Twenty-four hours had gone by since Gaspard 
 had invaded the storeroom and Mousse occupied his 
 new place in the office, when suddenly an unexpected 
 visit of the General was announced. 
 
 The Chief expelled the professor quickly. 
 
 "Get out of here! If he found you here there 
 would be some real trouble!. . . Go and hide in the 
 stable. . . . Don't let him see you! He hates 'un- 
 fits'!" 
 
 Mousse ran outside as fast as he could, although 
 a drenching rain was falling. He ran to the store- 
 house, where he found Gaspard on the doorstep en- 
 gaged in a lively altercation. 
 
 "All right ... all right ... I'll get out of here, 
 but give me back my bottle of wine!" 
 
 "You'll get it later on. Get away quick! The 
 General is coming." 
 
 "I teU you that I want my bottle." 
 
 He got his bottle of wine and the two men, driven 
 from the self-chosen posts, went up to the sleeping
 
 214 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 quarters. There a corporal gave them two brooms 
 and said: 
 
 "The General is coming! Sweep up the room." 
 
 They refused to accept the brooms and ran down 
 into the yard again. This time a sergeant stopped 
 them with a new order: 
 
 "Pick these stones off the road . . . the General is 
 coming." 
 
 Again they ran away and sought refuge in a shed, 
 where they crawled under a wagon to await the 
 passing of the crisis. 
 
 The following day they were again without work. 
 
 Gaspard said: 
 
 "Monsieur Mousse, look here. I wouldn't go 
 back to the office. Come with me to the store- 
 house." 
 
 "Do you think I can stay there?" asked the pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 "All you have to do is to stop at the canteen and 
 get three litres of white wine." 
 
 Thanks to these three litres he was able to remain 
 with Gaspard. The man in the storehouse locked 
 the door with a key and the "unfit" professor spent 
 a wonderful day folding up soldiers' trousers. Pie 
 was delighted. He kept at his work assiduously, do- 
 ing it over and over again while the hours went by. 
 But the end soon came when the Lieutenant arrived 
 on the scene.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 215 
 
 He was furious when he came in because he had 
 found the door locked. 
 
 "What are you doing here? . . . Didn't I tell you 
 . . . get out of here quick !" 
 
 This was a blow to Mousse. 
 
 "What shall we do, Lieutenant?" 
 
 "I told you before that all you were to do was to 
 rest." 
 
 The two wanderers were more than ever at a loss 
 to know what to do with themselves. They went on 
 aimlessly through the halls, and someone called out: 
 
 "Hey, you two ! You've got nothing to do, come 
 over here and scrub the sinks." 
 
 Another voice was heard: 
 
 "Sinks nothing! How about the potatoes? Come 
 over here and peel potatoes." 
 
 They took advantage of these contradictory orders 
 to disappear once more, and again they were out 
 in the yard. Most of their day was spent there, 
 and they even ate their meals at the same place. 
 The rest of the time was devoted to dodging the 
 Adjutant and the sergeant. They knew every hid- 
 ing place in and around the yard, every tree which 
 might afford protection and concealment in case of 
 the sudden arrival of one of their tormentors. 
 
 Sometimes they would run to the canteen, but it 
 was not always open. There was no use trying the 
 shower baths, for the water was never hot. The
 
 216 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 kitchens offered no shelter, for the cooks lost no time 
 in expelling them. It was no use going to the in- 
 firmary because the surgeon's assistants would im- 
 mediately want to vaccinate them. Having thought 
 of all these places, the professor had an inspiration 
 and suggested to Gaspard that they go to a corner 
 of the barracks, where the man in charge of the 
 lamps held sway. 
 
 Off they went at once and soon came face to face 
 with a peculiar sort of individual whose clothes 
 seemed impregnated with oil, gasolene and petro- 
 leum. It turned out that he was quite willing to 
 take them in and greeted them with open arms. 
 
 "All you have to do is to buy me a drink and 
 then make yourself right at home. Nothing to 
 worry about here. Why, the air is bad enough to 
 keep anyone away. All you have to do is to live on 
 your income and take life easy." 
 
 "But do you think that we who are unfit will be 
 allowed to remain here?" 
 
 "Don't worry. Just give me fourteen sous and 
 I'll go and get a litre." 
 
 "That's right," said Mousse. "I had forgot- 
 ten." 
 
 The lamp man took the money, went out and 
 came back with the wine, which he and Gaspard 
 drank; the professor din't touch it on account of 
 his enteritis. He did his share, however, in cleaning
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 217 
 
 every one of the lamps. He forgot all about his 
 worries and the time passed quickly. 
 
 This went on for two days and then came the 
 inevitable disaster. The Adjutant, who in another 
 life had probably been a shepherd's dog, came sneak- 
 ing around and discovered the peculiar odor with 
 which the clothes of both Mousse and Gaspard were 
 impregnated. 
 
 "Where do you two come from?" he said. "What 
 have you got to do with the lamps?" 
 
 The shock was almost too great for the professor, 
 who could hardly reply. 
 
 The Adjutant was furious. 
 
 "You're a fine lot, you two ! Good for nothing 
 and still bothering the whole regiment. Do you 
 think we have nothing else to worry about than to 
 think of you, and to waste our brains trying to 
 find work for you? Don't you know this is 
 war ?" 
 
 "All we ask is something to do," said Gaspard. 
 
 The Adjutant was too excited to reply and all 
 he could do was to murmur in a tone of supreme 
 contempt the one word "unfit." 
 
 Providence, however, was watching over our two 
 men. The orderly whose function it was to carry 
 from the storerooms to the kitchen the meat and 
 vegetables required for the daily meal was suddenly 
 taken ill. Gaspard and the professor quickly offered
 
 218 . PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 their services and the corporal in charge of the 
 kitchen accepted. 
 
 Despite the wound of the one and the illness of the 
 other they began at once the arduous task of moving 
 pushcarts from one end of the barracks to the other. 
 Mousse looked particularly funny in his new role. 
 The cart was heavy and difficult to move. Every 
 once in a while the effort would be too great for 
 him and in his excitement his glasses would fall to 
 the ground. His part was to pull the cart along 
 while Gaspard pushed on in the rear. When the 
 stops became too frequent Gaspard became impatient 
 and offered to take his comrade's place. 
 
 "It's too much for you, pal ... let me take it. 
 You look like a rabbit trying to haul a trolley car." 
 
 The professor insisted on keeping his place. He 
 was eager to wear himself out in order the better to 
 kill time. The butcher sneered at the care with which 
 the professor would carry huge quarters of beef, 
 which generally were tossed around like bags of 
 flour, but the college man cared little for the other's 
 sneers and went on with his work, hopeful that in 
 another week or two he would be able to do it in 
 a more skilful way. 
 
 He had forgotten that all human joys are short- 
 lived. Just one week later the sick man had fully 
 recovered and the two "unfits" Gaspard and Mousse 
 were once again out of a job.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 219 
 
 One morning the professor, pale and feverish, went 
 to see the Captain. 
 
 "I'm cured, Captain. I want to go to the front." 
 
 "See the surgeon," said the Captain. 
 
 He went at once to the surgeon and told him the 
 same story. 
 
 "I am cured. I want to go to the front." 
 
 "Look here," said the surgeon. "I knew what I 
 was doing when I found you unfit for active service. 
 The question is not whether you are cured, but 
 whether or not you are going to stay cured. Come 
 and see me again in six weeks, and meanwhile be 
 patient." 
 
 He came out with tears in his eyes. The same 
 day he received a letter from his sister-in-law which 
 began as follows: 
 
 "My DEAR GUSTAVE: Louis and I are just as 
 patriotic as ever, but we feel that a man can do his 
 duty wherever God has chosen to place him. I have 
 prayed so much for you, and I imagine that heaven 
 is keeping you among the unfit because you are to 
 return to us and to your pupils." 
 
 He thought at first this letter would drive him 
 mad. He went up and down the yard murmuring 
 to himself: 
 
 "God ! what fools these women are. And yet my 
 sister-in-law is an intelligent woman ... at least I 
 thought so ... but, my God! what a fool she is!"
 
 220 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Gaspard at this moment came up to him with a 
 merry twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Eh, friend! I have found something to do." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Whenever there is a death in the hospital ' 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, we're going to be detailed for the funeral 
 service." 
 
 "Do you mean it ?" 
 
 "The corporal just told me." 
 
 "But are there many funerals?" 
 
 "Yes, they are doing pretty well just now." 
 
 On the average there was a death every three days 
 at the hospital. Every third day, therefore, Gas- 
 pard and Mousse could be seen wearing their belts 
 and their bayonets and marching slowly behind the 
 hearse. The first few times they were both very 
 much upset by the sobs of the relatives and the speech 
 delivered over the grave by the Prefect, a big stout 
 official, who had the most impressive manner of say- 
 ing, "Good-by, little soldier . . . good-by." 
 
 "It's foolish," said Gaspard. "But I can't help 
 it. I can't help crying, too." 
 
 In order to brace themselves after the ceremony 
 they took advantage of their freedom to make a stop 
 at a wine shop. After a few weeks they knew every 
 
 cafe in A , although A has as many cafes as 
 
 it has houses. There are ten of them watching the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 221 
 
 trains opposite the railroad station, twenty others 
 around the church in active competition with the 
 priest, and in the two shopping streets they stand 
 side by side, just like fish dealers in a market place. 
 This was all right for Gaspard, but to the professor 
 it was just as monotonous as the yard in the bar- 
 racks. 
 
 This man, generally so quiet and calm, was begin- 
 ning to grow bitter and rough. Even on Sundays, 
 when they were no longer compelled to remain in 
 the barracks, when the gate was opened and when 
 he and Gaspard could call themselves free, they were 
 just as unhappy and dissatisfied. Nowhere to go, 
 nothing to do, no one to see ... a little town in 
 Normandy on a Sunday afternoon in winter is one 
 of the saddest places ever conceived. 
 
 The points of interest include a chateau, a prison 
 and a public square, through which the northern 
 winds send their chilling blast; even the river seems 
 ashamed of its discolored, uninviting water and turns 
 around the town as if it were eager to get away as 
 quickly as possible. 
 
 Although the seat of the departmental prefect, 
 
 A is a town where nothing happens, where no 
 
 one comes and where everything is dull and monoto- 
 nous. 
 
 There are no useless monuments, neither fountains 
 nor old towers in ruins, and not even a statue. 
 16
 
 222 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Others may indulge in such luxuries, but the men of 
 Normandy are above everything else careful and 
 prudent, and the best proof of that is found in the 
 fact that A has no less than four lawyers. 
 
 All the natives can show you is the lunatic asylum, 
 but even the 2,000 inmates are of no interest what- 
 ever. It is a mediocre town of which history will 
 never have anything to say and of which the good 
 points can only be learned in a geography. Its 
 name recalls painful studies in school, but it is com- 
 pletely ignored in any account concerning the glory 
 of the nation. No one seems to know just why the 
 town really exists. 
 
 After travelling through A the occasional 
 
 visitor finds nothing at all to tell to his friends about 
 the place. 
 
 It is a town through which one should pass 
 quickly without stopping. The cloth market is 
 square, the corn market is round and the post office 
 has the one advantage of being practically new. 
 And that is all that any book or directory will tell 
 you about A . 
 
 There is only one single house which offers any 
 kind of interest to the visitor. It is a modest and 
 very small cottage where lace making is taught. 
 The lace makers are not pretty, but the lace is, to 
 say the least, curious. It is a miracle of feminine 
 ability which never fails to amaze newcomers.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 223 
 
 Coming out of this house, the remainder of the 
 town is to the left and the railroad station to the 
 right. The only thing to do is to turn to the right 
 as quickly as possible. 
 
 This, however, is impossible so far as the soldier 
 is concerned and more particularly an "unfit" sol- 
 dier. Every time they went out our two men felt 
 the same weary and dejected feeling, the same thor- 
 ough discouragement, and there was nothing to do 
 but to start all over again the same foolish questions, 
 the same empty talk. 
 
 "What time is it?" 
 
 "Ten minutes past eight." 
 
 "And to think that it's that swine of a Kaiser who 
 is responsible for all this !" Gaspard went on. "And 
 there he is, living in luxury while we, who have done 
 nothing to deserve it, are around here like a lot of 
 kids. . . . Gee, I often wonder why I was born." 
 
 His friend approved with a wink of his eye, too 
 dejected even to talk. 
 
 "What time is it?" said Gaspard. 
 
 "Eleven minutes past eight," said the professor. 
 The worst of it was that although disgusted, Gas- 
 pard was at heart delighted at the thought that he 
 did not have to go back to the firing line, and when 
 the professor displayed too much eagerness to go 
 to the front Gaspard would say: 
 
 "Well, you'd leave nothing behind you, but what
 
 224 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 will become of my kid if the Germans kill me? Do 
 you think he'll get his breakfast from the members 
 of Parliament?" 
 
 For this reason he remained patient and was 
 growing slowly accustomed to his pitiful fate. 
 
 His patience, however, was to receive a severe and 
 unexpected shock. 
 
 It was bound to come. Gaspard had always been 
 essentially a creature of impulse. Despite his activ- 
 ity he was able to get along in this monotonous life 
 until temptation came his way. Then all his fears 
 and worries vanished. 
 
 The change came when the sergeant inadvertently 
 remarked : 
 
 "All those who are going back to the front are 
 entitled to three days leave." 
 
 "Three days !" exclaimed Gaspard. "To be spent 
 where ?" 
 
 "To be spent wherever you wish.'* 
 
 "In Paris?" 
 
 "Anywhere." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" 
 
 Paris! The thought went through him like a 
 stroke of lightning. To see his mother, his wife 
 and his child again and also the Rue d'la Gaite ! He 
 was half choking with joy just at the thought of it. 
 He lost no time in telling Mousse about it. 
 
 "But we are unfit," said his friend bitterly.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 225 
 
 "Unfit ! You're a fine kind of a fool . . . take it 
 from me, they need men and they're not going to be 
 so particular. Only we must keep away from the 
 surgeon ; we'll go straight to the office." 
 
 "Well, I'm willing to try." 
 
 "Give me fourteen sous for a litre of white 
 wine." 
 
 This was Gaspard's supreme argument and it gen- 
 erally worked. He went into the office and, thanks 
 to his bottle, quickly overcame every argument ad- 
 vanced by the man in charge of the lists. The latter 
 promptly surrendered, saying with a superior air, 
 "Well, so long as you insist, all I have to do is to 
 put your names on the list and you'll go out with 
 the next batch. If it's found out, well, I'll just say 
 I don't know how it happened. . . . Pretty good 
 little wine, this is." 
 
 The professor was full of admiration for his friend 
 and the latter had recovered all his fine spirits. He 
 was gay and happy and laughed out loud as he 
 said: 
 
 "Paris! and after that the Boches! Fine! I'm 
 willing. They only got part of my back last time; 
 I'll give them the rest now. But that's all they ever 
 will get! As for Paris, it's not for Von Kluck. 
 Paris is for me !" 
 
 He took Mousse along with him to the canteen 
 and on their way they gathered up a few others.
 
 He emptied his purse, keeping no more than the 
 exact amount required for his trip. Then he went 
 around the yard, laughing at the others. 
 
 "We're going to leave you here in your chateau! 
 You ought to be ashamed of yourselves ! Where's 
 your nerve?" 
 
 He spoke to many men whom he had never seen 
 before. 
 
 "Eh, you! Are you satisfied with staying here? 
 Well, believe me, I'm not. Three days of Paris and 
 then on to the Boches ; that's what I call living." 
 
 They went toward the paymaster's department, 
 where about fifty men were busy all day scribbling 
 figures. 
 
 "A fine lot, a fine lot of lazy devils!" said Gas- 
 pard. "Let's go in and have a look at them." 
 
 He and his friend went in and looked through the 
 wire netting in front of the desks. Suddenly he 
 discovered a picture on the wall and exclaimed: 
 
 "What do you think of that for nerve! They've 
 got Joffre's picture on the wall." 
 
 He was highly indignant, and after looking at 
 the picture for a few moments, added, "It's a won- 
 der he doesn't turn around !" 
 
 In the afternoon when the papers permitting the 
 men to go on leave were distributed he looked at 
 the one which had been given to him and said : 
 
 "Three days . . . just three days! I wonder if
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 227 
 
 it would have cost them too much ink to add one 
 more to the three." 
 
 Like a good watchdog Gaspard was wont to 
 grumble even when he was pleased. 
 
 As soon as his train reached Versailles he stuck 
 his head out of the door window; at Malakoff he 
 already had one foot outside of the door and at the 
 Montparnasse railroad station in Paris he was the 
 first to jump from the train. He ran all the way to 
 his home. 
 
 He reached the Rue d'la Gaite at midnight, happy 
 at the thought that his arrival would be a complete 
 surprise. He rang the bell merrily and his mother 
 was dumfounded when she saw him. 
 
 "Is it really you? . . . Marie! here he is!" 
 
 Marie could hardly believe her eyes. 
 
 "Is it really true that you are back, right back 
 here with us ?" 
 
 He took them both in his arms and hugged them 
 tightly. 
 
 "Where is the boy?" 
 
 "He is asleep." 
 
 "Well, what do you think of that !" 
 
 He went to call the child himself and covered him 
 with kisses, while his eyes were filled with tears. 
 Marie began at once to make him a cup of coffee, 
 while his mother put on all the lights in the place. 
 Marie said:
 
 228 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "So you have really been out at the front! How 
 many of them did you kill? . . . How did it feel 
 when you were wounded?" 
 
 Still holding his boy in his arms he replied: 
 
 "I'll tell you all about it. Just give me a 
 chance." 
 
 He told the whole story of the campaign and of 
 his life in the hospital and in the barracks. 
 
 "Believe me, we're all ready . . . and we've got 
 them now ! . . . You ought to see their mugs ! . . . 
 They look like a lot of swine . . . and a fine lot of 
 fools, too. Why, they think nothing of beginning 
 to blaze away at you all of a sudden without even 
 a word of warning! . . . They never look to see if 
 you are there; they just go ahead and shoot their 
 guns over the country. I might have brought you 
 a piece of their skin as a souvenir, but it is too 
 tough." 
 
 He inspected the house with great pride and was 
 especially impressed by how well everything was 
 kept. 
 
 "Well," said his wife, "it's always easier to 
 keep the place clean where there is no man 
 around." 
 
 On the buffet was a portrait of Joffre. He looked 
 at it and said: 
 
 "It's a pretty good likeness." 
 
 "Did you see him?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 229 
 
 "Well, no, but I saw a letter from his chauffeur. 
 They tell me he's a real good sort." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Yes, one of the best." 
 
 The two women listened to him with ever increas- 
 ing interest. He looked at his mother with tender 
 eyes and said in a jovial tone: 
 
 "Well, old lady, I see you're still cockeyed." 
 
 "And how about you with your crooked nose?" 
 replied his mother cheerfully. 
 
 "Just as crooked as it used to be. I've tried to 
 straighten it out in many different ways, but noth- 
 ing doing." 
 
 All three were laughing. Gaspard was so happy 
 he could hardly believe he was really back in his own 
 dear Paris. Suddenly he jumped up. 
 
 "How about the store . . . and the snails?" 
 
 He went downstairs into the shop with a lighted 
 candle in his hand, saying to himself: 
 
 "It's war time . . . maybe they too have been 
 mobilized." 
 
 He gave Marie a long, tender look and admired 
 her true, honest face. He knew that she had never 
 been much of a business woman, but he had settled 
 down with her because, first of all, the child had 
 come, and on the other hand she was a good house- 
 wife, quiet and careful, and never lost her temper. 
 One day he had thrown the soup at her, but she
 
 230 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 had simply cried without replying and Gaspard, 
 ashamed of himself, had said: "Don't cry; I'll make 
 another soup." 
 
 During the night of his arrival, after drinking the 
 coffee which she prepared for him, all the memories 
 of the past months came back to him ; he was happy 
 to find his home in such good condition and looked 
 affectionately first at Marie and then at the boy. 
 While thinking over the past he became suddenly 
 aware of a deep feeling of gratitude toward this 
 brave woman who had brought up his son and taken 
 such good care of him. He said: 
 
 "I'll tell you what we'll do ... I just got an 
 idea. . . . This is war, you know . . . and there is 
 nothing like war to give you an idea . . . not that 
 there's anything new about it, but war changes 
 everything. . . . Listen here, Bibiche" (this was 
 his pet name for Marie), "don't you think it would 
 be better ... if we went out . . . and got mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 This was entirely unexpected and she was so 
 happy she could hardly reply. 
 
 Gaspard, with all the frankness of his simple soul, 
 went on: 
 
 "I just came to think of it ... and when you 
 think of it you might as well do it ... because, 
 you know . . . later on we might forget all about it." 
 
 His mother began to worry.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 231 
 
 "You're not afraid that you're going to be killed 
 when you go .back, are you?" 
 
 "Killed!" Gaspard cried. "Killed! Well I don't 
 think! Never . . . but this is the way; so long as 
 we're doing a general cleanup we might as well set- 
 tle our own private affairs. Here's a little kid who 
 doesn't know just what he is. That was all right 
 before the war. But when it is all over everything 
 will be straightened out and we don't want to be be- 
 hind the others." 
 
 Turning to the boy, he added: 
 
 "What do you think about it, kid? Am I right, 
 yes or no?" 
 
 The two women looked at him with tender eyes 
 and the mother, deeply moved by her son's generous 
 thought, said: 
 
 "Yes, my boy, you are right." 
 
 Having made up his mind nothing could make him 
 change it. It was clear to him that the very best 
 thing he could do during his three days' leave was to 
 get married, and there was no time to be lost. 
 
 The next morning at nine o'clock he ran to the 
 Mairie. 
 
 Discouraging news awaited him there, however, 
 for an employee abruptly said: 
 
 "It can't be done in less than five days." 
 
 He displayed his papers. 
 
 "I tell you, I only have three days' leave."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "It'll take five." 
 
 "Well, then, what's the use of being at war?" 
 
 "Don't ask me . . . get out of here." 
 
 He came back disgusted. His little boy ran up 
 to greet him. 
 
 "Tell me, papa, you're not going to let them kill 
 you, are you?" 
 
 The sight of the boy brought back the thought 
 of the determination he had arrived at the night be- 
 fore. Bent on legalizing the child's position before 
 returning to the front, he went back to the Mairie. 
 
 He had decided that he would go right ahead with 
 the marriage formalities and that so long as five days 
 were needed, well the only thing to do was to take 
 the five days. He worried little about what might 
 be the consequences. They wouldn't put him in 
 prison; he would go right back to face the Boches. 
 
 He came back home with a broad smile on his 
 face and said to Marie and to his mother: 
 
 "Well, it's all settled and, just my luck, I met a 
 General and he gave me two days more leave." 
 
 Marie could hardly believe it. 
 
 "Some of these Generals must be fine men . . . 
 who would have believed it before the war?" 
 
 "Right you are," said Gaspard. "Nobody knew 
 them before the war. Why, in the hospital I saw 
 real society women who were doing all the hard work. 
 They were wonders !"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 233 
 
 Had it not been for the employee who had re- 
 buked him at the Mairie Gaspard would have been 
 convinced just then that there were none but good 
 people on the surface of the earth. 
 
 He went around to see all the neighbors, exhibit- 
 ing his coat, torn by a German bullet. At the cor- 
 ner saloon, kept by old man Criquenot, he inquired 
 regarding the new law prohibiting the sale of ab- 
 sinthe. 
 
 "Well, how about it, no more absinthe?" 
 "Don't say a word . . . and step inside." 
 He went into the back of the store, where the 
 saloon keeper prepared for him a large glass of the 
 forbidden drink. In return Gaspard confided to him 
 his scheme of getting married and legalizing the 
 position of the boy. He was so proud of his plan 
 that he also told the butcher and the baker and soon 
 the entire neighborhood knew it. 
 
 As he was eager to buy a new bonnet for his wife 
 and his mother for the wedding day and in view of 
 the fact that funds were running low, he arrived at 
 an almost heroic decision, which was to sell the col- 
 lection of books of which he was still proud and 
 which he had so often described to his friend Mousse, 
 the professor. He pulled them out from under the 
 bed, where they had been stored away since the 2d 
 of August, and took them all, Dumas as well as 
 Victor Hugo, and piled them into a pushcart with
 
 234 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 which he went to the Quai des Grands Augustins. 
 He was sad at the thought of losing his books, but 
 the thought of his boy made him forget everything 
 else. 
 
 All he could get for the fifty-odd volumes was 
 eight francs. He was so angry at the book dealer 
 that he was almost arrested. 
 
 "You old miser! You thief!" he called him. 
 "Don't worry, we'll give you to the Boches in ex- 
 change for Alsace-Lorraine!" 
 
 The book dealer was a hideous fellow upon whom 
 Gaspard's insults had not the slightest effect. Just 
 as he was turning away Gaspard noticed, on the 
 top of a pile of old books, a little green volume with 
 the name of his friend, Gustave Mousse, printed on 
 the cover. He grabbed it at once. 
 
 "Well, this will go to the settle the bargain." 
 
 The book dealer objected and tried to regain pos- 
 session of the little green book, but Gaspard opened 
 the door and ran out and soon reached home proudly 
 carrying the work of his friend. 
 
 He opened the volume and saw a few lines in Greek, 
 which he could not understand. It was a classical 
 work, compiled and analyzed by Mousse, but it was 
 too much for Gaspard, who put it away with the 
 intention of asking Mousse later to explain it to him. 
 
 He gave the eight francs to the two women at 
 home and the wedding took place on the fifth day.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 235 
 
 He was married at the Mairie and also at the 
 church, this latter concession having been obtained 
 from him by his mother, who had said: 
 
 "I have a little savings bank and I'll pay the 
 cost." 
 
 Nevertheless the mere fact that the priest de- 
 manded money for the ceremony brought back to 
 Gaspard all his old hatred of everything pertaining 
 to the Church. 
 
 On the way back he said : 
 
 "Of course, I'm not kicking . . . because I don't 
 want to ... and then it isn't up to me, anyhow . . . 
 but this fellow had a good joke on us ... he'll soon 
 get rich by charging five francs for a few minutes' 
 ceremony." 
 
 "What do you care so long as I'm paying the 
 bills?" said his mother. 
 
 "Of course I don't, but I hate to see you robbed." 
 
 His remarks greatly amused Marie, while he went 
 on : 
 
 "Anyhow, why did you go and give me a religion 
 before I was old enough to know what it meant?" 
 
 "Why, don't you want to believe in God?" asked 
 his mother. 
 
 "I'm not talking about God . . . but I've got a 
 son and I want him to be a free citizen." 
 
 The boy at this moment started pulling his 
 father's coat.
 
 236 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "You see," said Gaspard, "he understands. And 
 I want him to have his own way. When he is fifteen 
 years old I'll tell him to go ahead and choose. I'll 
 say 'go ahead, you're free; you can become a Jew 
 if you want to, but I wouldn't advise you to do it' 
 . . . and there you are." 
 
 Marie burst out laughing, while the mother said: 
 
 "And yet you told us the nuns took such good 
 care of you." 
 
 "The nuns ! You bet they did . . . but they are 
 not priests. Why, if Sister Venigne was in Paris 
 she would have come to our wedding." 
 
 "Well, but the priests are just the same." 
 
 "Some of them are. ... I met one who was will- 
 ing to give me all the wine in his cellar." 
 
 "You see," said the mother. 
 
 "Yes, but then think of that other one who 
 charged five francs for a simple little wedding mass." 
 
 "Let's talk about something else," said Marie. 
 
 There was indeed something else which they might 
 have talked about had they known how it was wor- 
 rying Gaspard. He kept on saying to himself, "I 
 should have been back forty-eight hours ago." And 
 the thought was bothering him so much that he kept 
 on talking about other things in an attempt to for- 
 get it. He began a long discussion as to whether 
 it was preferable to lose a leg or an arm. Contrary 
 to the majority of opinions, Gaspard announced he
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 237 
 
 would rather lose an arm. Roaming around from 
 one place to another was all his pleasure in life. 
 
 He told them wonderful stories of the exploits of 
 the big French guns, and as he practically never 
 stopped talking his thirst was everlasting, and they 
 stopped for a drink with almost every acquaintance 
 they met. He was in fine spirits when his mother, 
 his wife and his boy went to see him off at the Mont- 
 parnasse station. The railroad employee, after ex- 
 amining the soldier's leave, said: 
 
 "You're late . . . you're going to get into 
 trouble." 
 
 "Did I ask you for any information? Mind your 
 own damned business!" 
 
 His wife, however, had overheard the employee's 
 remark. She became anxious. Gaspard reassured 
 her. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you that I met a General? . . . 
 Why, this leave is just like an excursion ticket; it 
 can be extended for any number of days." 
 
 The women accompanied him through the gate 
 and onto the platform, where the train was waiting. 
 His mother took him in her arms and holding him 
 close to her said in a trembling voice : "Good-by, my 
 big boy . . . good-by, my boy" . . . The old wom- 
 an did not go up to the train, for a special ticket 
 costing two sous was required, and it had been de- 
 cided that she would wait with the boy while only 
 17
 
 238 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 his wife saw him safely in the train. He gave her a 
 long, tender kiss and looked at her with all the pride 
 of a newly married man. He was deeply moved him- 
 self, but seeing her worried look, he forced himself 
 to smile and said simply: 
 
 "Don't worry, Bibiche . . . everything will be all 
 right." 
 
 When he reached the barracks fifty-three hours 
 later than the scheduled time the corporal exclaimed : 
 
 "Well, my friend, there is something in store for 
 you!" 
 
 Gaspard assumed his most dignified air: 
 
 "Have I asked you any questions? Mind your 
 own business and don't be so familiar. Who do you 
 think you are?" 
 
 The Adjutant came hurrying along. For two 
 nights he had hardly been able to sleep for the 
 thought of what he was going to say to the missing 
 man. 
 
 "Well, it's coming your way, all right, and you're 
 on active service, too! Court-martial and hard 
 labor, that's what you'll get." 
 
 Gaspard was still very dignified. 
 
 "I'll explain to the officers." 
 
 The Lieutenant soon arrived. 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! So here is the deserter . . . Well, what 
 have you got to say for yourself?" 
 
 Gaspard replied with the same dignified air :
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 239 
 
 "I want to speak to the Captain." 
 
 The Captain had been out at the front. He was 
 a Parisian and a friend of Puche. For these reasons 
 Gaspard had no fear of him. He lost his assurance, 
 however, when he saw the officer, who gave him a 
 very severe look. 
 
 "Captain," he stammered, "it's all the fault of 
 the Mairie. I explained to them all about my leave, 
 but they wouldn't listen to me and told me it was 
 the only way I could straighten out my little boy's 
 position ... I couldn't go away with that thought 
 in my head ... I wouldn't like to have them say 
 that if I should be killed at the front . . . Now my 
 boy's name is Gaspard, and if the Germans begin it 
 over again twenty years from now, well, he'll be 
 ready." 
 
 "The rule is there and it must be followed," said 
 the Captain. "I will have to have you arrested." 
 
 "Captain," replied Gaspard, "I would like to re- 
 turn to the front at once to fight the Germans." 
 
 "At once!" said the Captain. "Well, you know, 
 the trains are not running every three minutes, like 
 the trolley cars back home in Paris. There will be 
 no departure before ten days." 
 
 "You see, Captain, it was all for the sake of the 
 kid." 
 
 "Yes, but yours is not the only kid . . . and then 
 there is a story about a gendarme. We have received
 
 240 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a report. What did you do on your way home? Did 
 you insult a gendarme?" 
 
 "Insult him?" said Gaspard. "Oh, the liar! I'll 
 tell you, Captain, just what happened. You see, I 
 was walking along. All of a sudden I turned around 
 and saw this man coming along behind me. He 
 seemed to be trying to catch up with me, so I kept 
 on going right ahead faster and faster. 
 
 "I said to myself that if he thought he had some- 
 thing on me I would make him run for it. He finally 
 caught up with me, but was almost exhausted after 
 his long run. He said, 'Why are you running?' and 
 I said, 'Because I am in a hurry.' Then he said, 
 'Why should you be in a hurry?' 'Probably because 
 I am late,' said I. 
 
 "He didn't seem to like that and told me that I 
 seemed to be trying to run away. Then he asked 
 me if I was on leave. I told him, 'Of course I'm on 
 leave,' . . . and then he wanted to see my papers, 
 and then " 
 
 "See here," said the Captain, "are you trying to 
 make a fool out of me just the same as you did to 
 the gendarme? The point is, did you tell him 
 that you would rather be a Boche than a gen- 
 darme ?" 
 
 "Captain ... let me explain." 
 
 "No . . . that will do. First of all, you will go 
 to prison and then we will see."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 This was final, and Gaspard hardly had time to 
 shake hands with Mousse, who had returned to the 
 barracks in good time and had been greatly worried 
 over Gaspard's absence. Gaspard spent the night 
 in the prison and the next morning when he came out 
 he looked as if he hadn't had a minute's sleep. The 
 men who had been with him said that he had cried 
 almost all night and had kept on saying : 
 
 "There is no justice any more! It's a fine country 
 to be working for! They throw you in jail just be- 
 cause you want to give your kids a name and a chance 
 in life." 
 
 Gaspard's despair impressed the Captain, who said 
 to him: 
 
 "Gaspard, you won't have to serve your eight days' 
 sentence. There is a call for twenty volunteers to 
 start out in forty-eight hours. Do you want to 
 go?" 
 
 "Do I want to go !" exclaimed Gaspard. 
 
 "Well, then, for the next two days you can help 
 us out in the storehouse, where we are equipping the 
 new recruits." 
 
 Gaspard was delighted. But suddenly the Ad- 
 jutant appeared on the scene. He held the report 
 in his hand and an ugly flame could be seen in his 
 eye. The trouble this time was a complaint against 
 Gaspard from the police department in Paris. 
 
 The Captain turned red with anger.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "What ! ... in Paris too ! . . . Did you fight with 
 a policeman too?" 
 
 "Gee ! Captain, that's a shame . . . just listen. 
 . . . I'll tell you all about it. ... Well, I just 
 reached the Montparnasse railroad station with my 
 mother, my kid and Bibiche . . . Bibiche, you know, 
 is my wife. . . . Well, at the gate I turned around 
 to give the place a last look when this brass buttoned 
 fool. . . ." 
 
 "I have always told you to use more decent lan- 
 guage." 
 
 "Well, this . . . whatever you call him, walks up 
 to me and says : 'Come in or go out, but don't stand 
 there.' Well ... I suppose I was wrong, I admit 
 I probably was wrong, but I just said to him: 'You'll 
 just keep your high talk till the war is over. Are 
 you going to try to give orders to a poilu?' Why, 
 Captain, his face turned just as red as my cap, and 
 then he asked me for my name, my number and the 
 age of my mother ... I thought it was pretty de- 
 cent of him to take so much interest in myself and 
 my family, and then, as a sort of parting salute I 
 just simply said: 'I don't have to ask you for your 
 name because I know it must be damn fool ; nor do I 
 have to know your profession, for with a face like 
 that it's a sure thing that you have never done a 
 real day's work.' " 
 
 "You told him that?"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 243 
 
 "You bet I did!" 
 
 "And you seem to be proud of it too ! Go on back 
 to the prison, and quick!" 
 
 "But how about equipping the recruits?" 
 
 "You heard what I said. Back to prison you go." 
 
 While talking to the Captain he had recovered his 
 good spirits, but he became deeply depressed as soon 
 as he was locked up again. He came out of the 
 prison, however, after twenty-four hours instead of 
 forty-eight, as it had been decided to advance the 
 hour of departure of the volunteers. 
 
 The Captain called him. 
 
 "You are going to start right away. Are you 
 glad?" 
 
 "Right away I . . . Really ! . . . Are you coming 
 with us, Captain?" 
 
 The Captain understood and appreciated his senti- 
 ment and shook hands with him warmly. 
 
 "Come and see me when you get all your equip- 
 ment ready," he said. 
 
 Gaspard was overcome with joy and forgot all 
 about the prison. He had hardly left the office of the 
 Captain when a note arrived from the Major, to- 
 gether with a report from the internal revenue of- 
 ficials, complaining that the soldier Gaspard had been 
 found carrying a bottle of alcohol under his tunic 
 and that he had been insulting to the inspectors who 
 spoke to him about it.
 
 244 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 This was too much for the Captain, who hardly 
 knew whether to laugh or to grow angry again. He 
 took the report and wrote clear across it in large 
 letters, "This soldier has left for the front." Then 
 he called out to his assistant: 
 
 "Get that lunatic off right away and don't keep 
 him here another second. Why, he would wind up 
 before a court-martial!" 
 
 "I told you so," said the Adjutant. 
 
 "I don't want to see him again under any circum- 
 stances. Tell him to clear out." 
 
 When Gaspard was informed of the Captain's de- 
 cision he was very much worried. He was all ready 
 to start, with haversack on his back, canvas bag 
 hanging from his shoulder and rifle in hand. Al- 
 though he had developed almost a feeling of contempt 
 for Moreau, he went up to him and said : 
 
 "Listen here, pal . . . The Captain is angry. I 
 know why. I'll admit it. I have done a lot of fool 
 things, damn fool things, but ... I don't like to go 
 away like this, because you know . . . he's a good 
 sort ... I bet he wasn't afraid of the Boches. . . . 
 So this is what I wanted to tell you: I wanted to go 
 to him just before starting for the front and give 
 him . . . just as a souvenir of Gaspard . . . some 
 snails which I brought from home, from Paris . . . 
 here they are. 
 
 "You take them and . . . give them to him. Just
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 245 
 
 say: 'Don't be angry, Captain. This is a souvenir 
 of the wedding of Gaspard, who wants to thank you 
 for sending him off like this, . . . and then . . . 
 write me a letter and tell me how he took it and if 
 he smiled . . . I'd be real pleased if I thought it 
 could make him smile. 
 
 "You see, I'm going away and I'm smiling . . . 
 and my pal, Monsieur Mousse, who is a real pal, 
 you see he's smiling to. ... It's just like a show: 
 You take the tickets and you start all over again 
 right away." 
 
 They were only twenty when they left the barracks 
 this time; it was no longer the imposing departure 
 of a regiment, but merely a small reenforcement for 
 a company at the front. But with Gaspard among 
 the number even so small a group assumed an air of 
 importance. 
 
 He was in the first rank, marching beside his pal, 
 and once again he was going to battle with a smile 
 on his lips and humming a merry tune. Mousse, who 
 didn't know just how to feel, marched alongside of 
 his friend wondering that this little insignificant town 
 should suddenly assume so much importance to him, 
 and he feared that he was never going to see it 
 again. 
 
 At the railroad station an officer was waiting for 
 them. Gaspard's jovial air appealed to him, and 
 he said;
 
 246 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Ah, here are the volunteers ! You are brave men, 
 and true Frenchmen every one of you." 
 
 This pleased Gaspard immensely. 
 
 "We are all good pals," he said. "And we're going 
 to go out and get the Boches if we have to get killed 
 to the last man." 
 
 "Vive la France !" shouted the officer, and the men 
 repeated the words in a long and powerful cheer. 
 
 The officer watched them pile into two third-class 
 compartments and then left them. In taking off his 
 bag and belt Gaspard dropped a photograph on the 
 floor. 
 
 "You're losing your wife and your kid," said 
 Mousse quietly. 
 
 These words impressed Gaspard, who replied. 
 
 "I'm losing them, yes . . . but I'll get them back 
 all right." 
 
 "If you don't," said one of the soldiers, "there 
 won't be much harm done, seeing that you told the 
 officer that you were willing to get yourself 
 killed." 
 
 Gaspard looked up quickly and felt for a moment 
 worried at the thought that he might have gone too 
 far in his patriotic outburst. He felt that he needed 
 some advice from Mousse, who knew more about such 
 things, but Mousse had nothing to say. Eager, how- 
 ever, to reconcile his contradictory statements, he 
 said philosophically:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 247 
 
 "Well, you see, the Captain is a good sort and 
 this is his game. . . . He was pretty decent with us 
 . . . and believe me, that's the sort of stuff he likes 
 to hear ... so why not give it to him?"
 
 VII 
 
 AFTER twenty hours of weary travelling with 
 practically no sleep, beyond an occasional 
 nap, Gaspare! and his comrades disembarked 
 from the train in a gray, cold and foggy country 
 where a thin rain was falling. Qn the mud-covered 
 platform of the little railroad station a big stout 
 territorial who was on guard inquired whether they 
 were new recruits. 
 
 "Well, what about it?" said Gaspard. 
 
 "Because if you are newcomers you would have 
 done better to stay where you were." 
 
 "You poor fool!" said Gaspard. "Where do you 
 come from?" 
 
 "All right," said the other. "You'll find out for 
 yourself." 
 
 "Well, I should worry," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Maybe you will worry later on. . . . This is 
 Dead Man's Wood, and no one comes back from it." 
 
 "Well, why tell it to me?" exclaimed Gaspard. 
 "Put it to music and sing it." 
 
 "That will do," said the sergeant. "Form fours 
 and forward march !" 
 
 248
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 249 
 
 The wind blew the rain into the soldiers' eyes and 
 in the distance heavy firing could be heard. Mousse 
 had nothing to say ; he felt a chill in his heart. The 
 little group of men marched along through a small 
 wood covered with fog and their steps could hardly 
 be heard, so thick were the dead leaves under their 
 feet. 
 
 Suddenly they turned into a main road where a 
 battery of artillery emerged unexpectedly from the 
 mist, with horses, cannon and gun carriages. The 
 horses were wading through pools of mud and water 
 was dripping from the wheels. The men were en- 
 deavoring to protect their mounts as much as pos- 
 sible with their coats, which were covered with mud. 
 But they looked nothing like the twenty infantry- 
 men after they had passed them on the road, for the 
 horses' hoofs and the heavy wheels had covered Gas- 
 pard and his comrades from head to foot with a 
 thick layer of mud. They called out a protest to 
 the artillerymen, who went on without replying, rid- 
 ing their horses as though they were glued to their 
 saddles and dragging behind them the squeaking gun 
 carriages. They seemed to have little but contempt 
 for these men who went to war with small rifles in 
 their hands. 
 
 The twenty volunteers marched on silently for 
 about fifteen minutes and then reached a mass of ruins 
 which still bore the name of a village. Only a few
 
 250 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 walls were standing; most of the houses had been 
 reduced to stone heaps from which here and there 
 a shaft would emerge, seemingly calling out for help. 
 But no more help was needed there. Everything was 
 death and desolation. Not a living soul was to be 
 seen. ... It seemed, however, as if some of the stone 
 heaps were moving and black shadows could be dis- 
 cerned around them. 
 
 "What is it?" some one asked. 
 
 "Soldiers," Gaspard replied. 
 
 "What are they doing there?" asked Mousse. 
 
 "They are encamped there," said the sergeant. 
 'And that's just what we're going to do." 
 
 He halted the men in front of the remains of a 
 stone wall with one solitary window which no longer 
 had anything to protect. They advanced along the 
 wall and suddenly came to a hole in the ground from 
 which the top of a ladder emerged. 
 
 "Go to it, one by one, and watch your step." 
 
 "It looks as if we were going down to hell," said 
 Mousse. 
 
 The sergeant replied: 
 
 "We are going to reenforce the Tenth company." 
 
 An objectionable odor greeted the men as they 
 entered the cellar where shadows could be seen seated 
 or lying along the walls. 
 
 Some one called out: 
 
 "New recruits !"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 251 
 
 Gaspard did not care much for the atmosphere, 
 but he called out nevertheless: 
 
 "Is there any one here from the Rue d'la Gaite?" 
 
 "Here you are," some one replied. 
 
 A big tall soldier stepped out from the shadow. 
 
 They shook hands laughingly. Gaspard tried to 
 get a good look at the man who was greeting him 
 so genially and said with a suspicious air: 
 
 "Do you come from the Rue d'la Gaite?" 
 
 The other, who did not seem to have a tooth in 
 his mouth, replied, his jaws wide apart: 
 
 "No mistake about it. My home is right close to 
 the canal." 
 
 "The canal?" 
 
 "Yes, right beside it." 
 
 Gaspard laid his hand on the other man's shoulder. 
 
 "What is this? A joke?" 
 
 "No, I tell you. My home is in L " 
 
 "L Why, you fool, is that what you call the 
 
 Rue d'la Gaite? . . . Don't you know there is only 
 one in the world ? What a fool ! And to think that's 
 what they permit to vote!" 
 
 Mousse had found a stack of hay on which he 
 seated himself and Gaspard stretched himself out 
 alongside of his pal. 
 
 "This place is pretty damp," said Gaspard. 
 
 A voice replied : 
 
 "Possibly your Honor would like a feather bed."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Don't worry," said another. "You'll soon get 
 something better than that." 
 
 "Well, if you're hanging around to see me worry 
 you'll have a long wait," replied Gaspard. 
 
 Three men were playing cards in a corner and their 
 voices calling out their hands were all that was heard 
 in the next few minutes. When they stopped talk- 
 ing water could be heard trickling through the earth 
 above and Mousse felt a chill run through his body. 
 He said quietly: 
 
 "This thing will kill us." 
 
 "Poor mother! If you could only see your son 
 now," said Gaspard jokingly. 
 
 "By the way," he added, "when are we going to 
 eat?" 
 
 The big toothless soldier was quick to supply the 
 information that the others had already had their 
 meal. Gaspard again lost his temper. 
 
 "You poor fool! Who asked you about yourself? 
 All I have had to eat is a biscuit. Do you think 
 that's enough for a man on a day like this? I am 
 willing to belong to the Government, but they'll have 
 to feed me or there'll be some noise. You can bet 
 that the Cabinet Ministers have more to eat than 
 they want and are getting fat !" 
 
 "Do you want a piece of my chocolate?" said 
 Mousse, still talking in the same quiet and unex- 
 cited way.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 253 
 
 The sergeant, who had gone out for a while, came 
 down the ladder again and said : 
 
 "Up, men ! Re-enforcements are needed." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Where do you think? Out in front, of course." 
 
 Murmurs of discontent and complaints were heard 
 on all sides, and protests came from almost all the 
 men, "I am sick." . . . "So am I." . . . "I'm 
 not going to move." . . . "I'll wait for them 
 here." 
 
 But despite their protests all of them got ready, 
 and still murmuring and cursing each other they 
 crawled up the ladder out into the fresh am 
 
 "But we," said Gaspard, "we just got here. Sure- 
 ly they don't expect us to go." 
 
 "Why, of course not," said the sergeant. "You're 
 going to be exempted and live on your income." 
 
 "I'm not talking about that. But we've had noth- 
 ing to eat." 
 
 "Come on, and get a move on," said the sergeant. 
 "I suppose you're one of those slackers who are too 
 proud to fight." 
 
 "What!" shouted Gaspard. "Just repeat that 
 . . . because you know your rank doesn't bother me 
 . . . just repeat it!" 
 
 "Well, then, what are you kicking about?" 
 
 "I am not kicking. All I want is something to 
 
 eat." 
 
 18
 
 254 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "I haven't got anything to give you to eat. Would 
 you like to chew my shoulder straps?" 
 
 "Go on! Don't try to imitate the Adjutant." 
 
 "What did you say? . . . Just be careful, friend, 
 because you know I don't give a damn if you are a 
 Parisian. . . ." 
 
 A tremendous explosion interrupted the discus- 
 sion. 
 
 It was what the French troops call a "marmite" 
 and the English a "Jack Johnson," an enormous Ger- 
 man shell exploding only a few yards away. Gaspard 
 was almost pleased to hear evidence of real warfare 
 once again at close range, but Mousse, who was 
 climbing up the ladder at the time, remained motion- 
 less for a moment, deeply shocked by the violence of 
 the explosion. 
 
 Up above, however, the men were not in the slight- 
 est impressed. Many of them were filling their pipes. 
 
 "Forward," said the sergeant. 
 
 They were about fifty in number, each one equip- 
 ped with a spade. They formed in fours as best 
 they could and marched along slowly through the 
 mud. 
 
 Bang! . . . Bang! . . . The big guns went on, 
 and fifty yards in front of the men the road was 
 blown up in its full width by a shell. 
 
 "We are in for it this time," said Gaspard, add- 
 ing "Poor mother, if you could only see your son !"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 255 
 
 They turned into a field where their feet sank in 
 the mud to the ankles and they went down through 
 a narrow excavation where the mud was knee deep. 
 The passage was so narrow that the men's rifles 
 and haversacks impeded them in their march. 
 
 "My rifle is caked with mud," said Gaspard. 
 
 "Damn that kepi!" exclaimed Mousse, fishing his 
 cap out of a pool of water. 
 
 "Get a move on there in front!" shouted the men 
 in the rear of the column. 
 
 It was easier said than done. They were having 
 a terrible time extricating their feet from the mud, 
 into which they were sinking deeper at each step. 
 Slipping, stumbling, falling, they crawled along ; they 
 found no assistance in holding on to the sides of the 
 trench, for the mud was just as soft there. At every 
 other step their rifles would fall to the ground and 
 they would pick them up covered with mud. In less 
 than five minutes the men were caked with dirt from 
 head to foot, and these fifty soldiers, marching one 
 by one under these disheartening conditions, seemed 
 to be fighting to prevent the earth from closing up 
 over their heads. Like human beings caught in quick- 
 sand they went on, fighting for every step like men 
 buried alive, making desperate efforts to reach once 
 more solid ground. 
 
 At the end of this passage they came out into what 
 was once a small wood, but there was nothing left
 
 256 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 except tree trunks and dead branches, which, how- 
 ever, offered sufficient shelter to enable the men to 
 step out into the fresh air. 
 
 They had hardly had time to get out before they 
 passed a company of men coming from the trenches 
 who presented a pitiful sight. They were gray with 
 mud and dirt and seemed to be awakening after some 
 horrible nightmare. They, too, carried spades, and 
 the other parts of their equipment were caked with 
 mud. They came from a field where a long row of 
 crosses could be seen, each one surmounted by a red 
 kepi. The appearance of the men was so tragic 
 that one could almost have believed that they were 
 the dead men who had just been relieved and had 
 risen from their graves. 
 
 Gaspard was deeply moved and could not refrain 
 from uttering an exclamation of surprise mingled 
 with terror. 
 
 Mousse was too much out of breath to say a word. 
 
 The soft, muddy ground suddenly opened up into 
 a large pool filled with yellowish water. 
 
 "Fill your water bottles," ordered the sergeant. 
 
 "What?" queried Gaspard. 
 
 The other soldiers were greatly amused at Gas- 
 pard's surprise. A tall bearded chap standing close 
 to him said: 
 
 "Perhaps the Baron is used to drinking filtered 
 water."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 257 
 
 "Go to thunder!" said Gaspard furiously. 
 
 He dipped his water bottle into the pool and 
 Mousse did the same. 
 
 Mousse was at a loss to know just what was hap- 
 pening to himself. He no longer felt sleepy, as was 
 his custom while living in the barracks, but his mus- 
 cles seemed to be giving way and he felt certain that 
 he was marching on to death. As a matter of fact 
 there was enough there to give every man the same 
 impression, with the wintry weather, the fog and the 
 deep sticky mud which covered everything. Mud 
 everywhere, on their clothes, their hands, their faces 
 and, seemingly, almost in their souls. 
 
 When they entered another communicating trench, 
 which was to bring them right up to the front line 
 of intrenchments, Mousse felt that he was now go- 
 ing into a depth from which he would never emerge. 
 Water was trickling through his boots and his feet 
 were freezing. At his side all he ever heard from 
 Gaspard was an occasional oath. 
 
 The trench in which they stopped and over the 
 top of which bullets were flying was no better than 
 the one through which they had just passed. It 
 was just as exposed, just as wet and just as muddy. 
 The parapet, however, was of stone and there was 
 a row of primitive benches cut in the earth. The 
 men sat down, their feet soaking in water, and re- 
 mained silent for a while.
 
 258 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Gaspard was seated between Mousse and the big 
 toothless soldier, who never lost a chance of making 
 fun of his neighbor. 
 
 Two men had been designated as lookouts. The 
 others smoked and yawned on their seats, their back 
 turned toward the enemy; some were chewing bread 
 crusts which they had extricated from their bags with 
 their muddy hands. 
 
 A shell fell near by, but no explosion was heard 
 and it was swallowed up by the earth. Gaspard was 
 resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head with 
 both hands. 
 
 Mousse, after manicuring his nails with a pen- 
 knife, took from his coat pocket a sheet of paper and 
 pencil and began to write feverishly. 
 
 Gaspard looked at him and said: 
 
 "What are you doing? Writing?" 
 
 "Yes. It's for you." 
 
 "For me?" 
 
 "Yes, listen ... I have an idea that I'm not go- 
 ing to get out of this." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "So I'm going to ask you, if you get away, to put 
 it in your pocket and deliver it at the address indi- 
 cated in Paris." 
 
 "Is it for your sweetheart?" 
 
 "No. . . . It's for a friend." 
 
 "Ah!"
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 259 
 
 "It's a little literary problem which I am anxious 
 to settle in regard to an edition of Sophocles." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Well, it wouldn't be of any interest to you." 
 
 "Why not? I'm not a fool." 
 
 "I didn't say you were." 
 
 "Well, all right. Good night!" 
 
 Before turning his back to his friend he took the 
 paper and slipped it in the lining of his cap, where 
 he already carried the photograph of his little boy. 
 On the other side the toothless soldier was sighing 
 with his mouth full of bread. 
 
 "What worries me ... is my house. . . ." 
 
 Another shell exploded. Gaspard raised his head 
 and asked his neighbor, "What's the trouble with 
 your house? Isn't your wife there?" 
 
 "Yes, she's there, all right, but she's only a wom- 
 an. She doesn't know. . . ." 
 
 "Doesn't know what?" 
 
 "She doesn't know anything." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, she just wrote to me that old Father Pla- 
 cide charged her forty sous when she brought him 
 our cow." 
 
 "What did she bring your cow to him for?" 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "Well, I suppose you were thinking of giving me 
 that money," said Gaspard.
 
 260 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "To you? Yes, you bet! That's just what I am 
 thinking of ... And my poor horses I wonder 
 how they are." 
 
 "Your horses?" 
 
 "Yes ; all kinds of things might have happened to 
 them in my absence." 
 
 "Well, what the thunder do I care !" shouted Gas- 
 pard, who was getting tired of the other's drivel. 
 
 "Yes, you're like all the others. Some day you'll 
 find out that a hundred sous make five francs." 
 
 "Well, I know right now that a miser is a damn 
 fool." 
 
 Turning to Mousse, Gaspard added: 
 
 "A fine lot these farmers from Normandy ! All 
 they think of is money." 
 
 He followed this up with a violent oath while 
 stamping his feet to drive away the cold. 
 
 Bullets and shells kept flying over their heads as 
 the time went slowly by in this terrible period when 
 men, suffering and miserable, awaited their fate. In 
 their minds they had confused memories of their 
 homes and those they loved, but their flesh was frozen 
 and stiff, and not one knew just why they were asked 
 to suffer, freeze and die . . . but all were willing, 
 to the last man, and prepared to obey every order. 
 
 A misty winter day is in itself extremely monoto- 
 nous, but night for that very reason has no terrors. 
 Gaspard covered his head with his damp blanket,
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 261 
 
 and Mousse, who was so cold that he was trembling 
 all over, cuddled himself close to his friend. . . . 
 In the trenches there is just as much life at night 
 as during the day. The men asleep snore and whine, 
 crowding themselves against each other to keep 
 warm. They hold each other tight in a tender and 
 sincere spirit of fraternity, not only to keep them- 
 selves warm by the contact of their bodies but also 
 to keep up each other's spirits and drive away as 
 much as possible all black thoughts. 
 
 The most sinister hour, more so than all the shad- 
 ows of the night, is the break of dawn. At that 
 hour no one is surprised to die; it seems as though 
 the veil of death were already about you. With 
 empty stomachs and trembling lips the men receive 
 the order to be ready for the attack, with their 
 bayonets in place. The contact of the fingers with 
 the white steel gives the men a new chill, while the 
 bayonets shine lugubriously in the cold morning air. 
 
 Mousse remained silent; he was thinking that in 
 jumping out of the trench he would probably enter 
 with one leap into another world. Gaspard, on the 
 other hand, had no such thought. He was pulling 
 at his mustache and repeating his eternal, " 'Cre bon 
 Dieu!" 
 
 It is a difficult matter to get out of a trench, par- 
 ticularly when a man believes that he is living the 
 last minute of his life. There is compensation, how-
 
 262 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 ever, in the pleasant surprise of no longer being 
 buried under the earth. Each man finds that he is 
 taller than he thought he was and, with their hands 
 tightly closed around their rifles, they march on 
 bravely, watching the bullets fly by. The death- 
 dealing missiles arrive suddenly, sweeping through 
 the air, and some of the men drop to the ground 
 without a cry. When they fall forward their bodies 
 are often stopped by their rifles, which, falling ahead 
 of them, stick into the ground and support them. 
 And the bodies of these poor unfortunates remain in 
 this tragic position, dead, but almost standing up- 
 right, horrible to the eye, as are all bodies of the 
 dead. 
 
 As soon as the bullets began to come along Mousse 
 said to Gaspard: 
 
 "You won't forget about my letter?" 
 
 Shells began to explode all around them a few 
 seconds later. 
 
 The enemy was only three hundred meters away. 
 The Germans could be seen coming out of the earth 
 in small groups of men who seemed to be moving 
 sections of a wall. They were soon to be face to 
 face, and the Frenchmen, despite the fast flying bul- 
 lets, stepped closer to each other. 
 
 The German wall was coming nearer and seemed 
 to be growing darker and darker as it approached. 
 Gaps were opened from time to time by the French
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 263 
 
 fire, but they were quickly filled. The spiked helmets 
 could now be seen. No more shots were fired and 
 the men kept on advancing against each other, 
 bravely, without a word, without a cry. . . . When 
 the two bodies of men were separated only by a dis- 
 tance of about fifty meters they changed their direc- 
 tions, as though they had received orders from 
 above ; one turned to the right, the other to the left, 
 and it seemed as though they were both animated 
 by a mutual agreement not to meet face to face, or 
 possibly by mutual terror. They were like two dogs 
 turning around each other before beginning to fight. 
 
 In the midst of this tragic calm, however, a new 
 rain of shells came along, rending, mutilating and 
 tearing away parts of the field and parts of the men. 
 
 One of the shells threw both Gaspard and Mousse 
 to the ground. 
 
 When the thick cloud of black and suffocating 
 smoke had rolled away Gaspard, stupefied, tried to 
 stand up, but fell back with a cry of pain. 
 
 "Oh ! ... my leg ! ... 'ere bon Dieu !" 
 
 His right leg was broken just below the knee and 
 was hanging limp and bleeding. 
 
 The men went on without paying any attention 
 to him. 
 
 He called out in a trembling voice : "Mousse ! . . . 
 Where are you?" 
 
 A voice replied:
 
 264 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "There he is, lying over there, with his head split 
 open." 
 
 Gaspard began to shake all over. 
 
 "What do you mean? Is he dead?" 
 
 "Good chance he is." 
 
 Gaspard had no heart to ask any further ques- 
 tions. He was losing blood rapidly and he watched 
 it drip to the ground in a dark, sinister pool. Mean- 
 while French and Germans went on murdering each 
 other; savage cries could be heard. A new shell 
 came whistling along, fell to the ground and ex- 
 ploded; the field opened up and an enormous wave 
 of earth fell softly over the body of poor, unfortu- 
 nate Mousse. He disappeared completely. The 
 German guns had killed him, now they completed 
 their task by burying him. The shell had given him 
 a terrible wound and now it was digging his grave, 
 placing him in it and covering his body with a thick 
 layer of his own native soil. He was going back to 
 earth without the assistance of human hands. War 
 had taken him and war was keeping him. His rest 
 began immediately after his death. There were no 
 fears, no complaints, no words. The soldier Mousse 
 had disappeared. 
 
 Gaspard gave vent to a new outburst of anger: 
 
 "Oh, the Kaiser! ... if I could only hold the 
 swine . . ." 
 
 Two stretcher bearers came along and picked him
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 265 
 
 up quickly. They consoled him as best they could 
 and he let them take him away, still swearing at 
 "that swine of a Wilhelm." 
 
 They pushed him along on a stretcher on wkeels 
 in the midst of the falling shells and reached a road 
 where other Red Cross men took charge of him. 
 They brought him to the ambulance, which was 
 surrounded by houses in ruins and situated in the 
 centre of a farm devastated by shells. When they 
 carried Gaspard in he was suffering terribly and was 
 trying to sit up on the stretcher. 
 
 Two surgeons came up to him and both said at 
 once: 
 
 "Well, no doubt about you, poor boy ... It will 
 have to come off." 
 
 "Come off . . ." Gaspard repeated without quite 
 understanding. 
 
 "Yes, it will have to be amputated here," said one 
 of the surgeons. 
 
 "No." said the other, pointing at another spot 
 on poor Gaspard's leg, "I think it will have to be 
 done there." 
 
 "Why there?" said the first surgeon. 
 
 "Well, please j'ourself, follow your own opinion," 
 said the second. 
 
 "No, no ... It's all the same to me. We will 
 do as you say," concluded the first surgeon. 
 
 Gaspard was staring at them with wide-open eyes
 
 266 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 and a look of terrific anger. After a few seconds 
 he dropped his head back on the stretcher and mur- 
 mured only: 
 
 " 'Cre bon Dieu!" 
 
 His winter campaign had lasted exactly twenty- 
 two hours.
 
 VIII 
 
 THE winter had been cruel to Gaspard. The 
 spring was much better. 
 
 He watched its advent in the large park 
 belonging to the estate of the Marquis de Clerpa- 
 quec, whose chateau, situated on the hillside at 
 
 M , dominates all the surrounding country in 
 
 Normandy. The park was all green and white and 
 pink in the first days of May, when apple and pear 
 
 trees are in blossom. M itself is a charming 
 
 and interesting little town perched at the top of 
 the elevation which dominates the district. There 
 has been no fighting for centuries in this beautiful 
 country, and Gaspard, whose leg had been ampu- 
 tated, soon discovered that, according to his opinion 
 at least, life in Normandy with only one leg is far 
 more enjoyable than in the Argonne with two. 
 
 He was completing his convalescence at the home 
 of the Marquis de Clerpaquec, an elderly gentleman 
 of great wealth, who had offered his billiard room 
 and large drawing-room and a veranda to the Red 
 Cross. He had told the officials: 
 
 867
 
 268 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Send me those who have recovered so they can 
 recover more completely in my home." 
 
 He was a charming old gentleman of refined ap- 
 pearance, who took great pleasure in entertaining 
 lavishly a few men of the people who had fought 
 for their country, and the soldiers' good humor 
 amused him immensely. 
 
 Often, however, he amused the soldiers more than 
 they amused him. When the Marquis had returned 
 to his apartments they would exclaim: 
 
 "What a fine old sport!" 
 
 Gaspard was enjoying himself immensely. 
 
 At meal time and during the night he remained 
 in the chateau taking care of his health. 
 
 At other times he seized his crutches and quickly 
 crossed the town to reach the Cafe des Hirondelles. 
 There he would settle down, drink and talk, offer 
 advice to everybody and occupy at all times the 
 place of honor. This Parisian had practically con- 
 quered the province. 
 
 In the beginning they pitied him on account of 
 his amputated leg, but he seemed to be so happy 
 and so oblivious of the horrors of war that they soon 
 forgot to feel sorry for him and every one enjoyed 
 his merry remarks. His missing leg gave him no 
 worry whatever. He often discussed it, saying: 
 
 "I would have been really worried if I had lost 
 an arm, because you see you can't do anything with-
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 269 
 
 out your hands, but a leg . . . what's a leg good 
 for?" 
 
 As a matter of fact there is nothing surprising 
 in this good humor. The power of resistance of 
 man is wonderful. Half killed, he still continues to 
 enjoy what is left of him. Cut one of his legs off 
 and he will learn to jump instead of walk. He is 
 ever ready to adapt himself to new conditions. The 
 main thing is to live. 
 
 Gaspard had selected the Cafe des Hirondelles 
 because it was the merriest place in all M , situ- 
 ated at one of the corners of a large square. Dur- 
 ing the daytime the square lights up the cafe and 
 at night the cafe lights up the square. During the 
 day the place is always pleasant and comfortable 
 and in the evening no one passes it without feeling 
 inclined to go in. Although typically provincial, 
 this place has all the charms of an old homestead, 
 with its mirrored walls, its painted ceilings with 
 cupids flying all around, its old, dilapidated billiard 
 table and its two black cats who remain motionless 
 almost all day long with an expression of supreme 
 contempt for men, their drinks and their talk. 
 
 These two animals, however, had no effect on 
 Gaspard. 
 
 He would generally enter the place humming a 
 merry song and his favorite tune concerned a cer- 
 tain young lady who had broken her wooden leg 
 19
 
 270 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 while jumping on one of the horses of a merry-go- 
 round : 
 
 Elle s'a casse sa jambe de bois> 
 
 Sa jambe de bois, 
 
 En montant d'ssus les ch'vaux d'bois, 
 
 Elle s'a casse sa jambe, 
 
 Sa jambe, 
 
 Sa jambe de bois! 
 
 The owner of the place, who was a clever busi- 
 ness man, always rushed to the door to greet Gas- 
 pard, knowing well that not only was the soldier a 
 good customer, but he generally attracted others to 
 the place. 
 
 "Ah, here is M'sieur Gaspard ! Always happy, 
 M'sieur Gaspard. How do you feel, M'sieur Gas- 
 pard? . . . What would you like to drink, M'sieur 
 Gaspard ?" 
 
 "I'll have a vermouth cassis . . . and served by 
 Mam'selle Annette!" 
 
 He made no secret of the fact that he found Made- 
 moiselle Annette very much to his liking. She was a 
 typical little cafe waitress, hardly twenty years old, 
 fair and childish, but with pretty eyes and tempt- 
 ing lips. Gaspard's eyes followed her all around the 
 place as she went about her work and she never came 
 near him without being caught either by the arm or 
 the waist. This, however, was not altogether to the
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 271 
 
 liking of the cafe owner. The girl had been placed 
 in his care and he was anxious to avoid trouble of 
 any description. At night he generally locked her 
 in her room and during the daytime he objected to 
 her being the object of too much attention on the 
 part of the customers. 
 
 A month before, while still in the hospital, Gas- 
 pard had seen his wife, his Bibiche. He spoke of her 
 in rather unkind terms, saying: 
 
 "Oh, I like her well enough, but she gets on my 
 nerves. ... I hope she won't come back for some 
 time. She can't see me without crying, and I 
 couldn't stand her eternal complaints. ... I sent 
 her home. . . . She kept on looking for my missing 
 leg, although I told her many times to look at the 
 one that is still there. . . . 
 
 "I couldn't keep her quiet. . . . The way she car- 
 ried on would be enough to get on any one's nerves : 
 'My own darling . . . my poor darling . . . what 
 are you going to do? . . . What's going to become 
 of your business?' ... I should worry about my 
 business . . . aren't there six hundred thousand 
 other lines of business? If I can no longer walk, 
 well, then, I will become a Cabinet Minister, because 
 they have carriages to drive them around." 
 
 Calling Mademoiselle Annette to his side he went 
 on: 
 
 "Mam'selle Annette, I am going to get a divorce.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 ... I want to marry you and we'll have a fine time 
 together." After which he resumed his singing. 
 
 Mam'selle Annette laughed and looked at the 
 others, while Gaspard threw her kisses which could 
 be heard all over the place. The owner didn't care 
 much for this, so he promptly came over to change 
 the conversation. 
 
 "I see, M'sieur Gaspard, that your leg no longer 
 hurts." 
 
 "My leg! Don't bother me with my leg. It has 
 bothered me enough as it is. I was glad to get rid 
 of it." 
 
 "Was it in bad shape?" 
 
 "Why, so bad that it made me sick. When the 
 surgeon asked me if I was willing to have it removed 
 I told him that if I had had my knife I would have 
 done it long ago myself without his assistance. . . . 
 Why, I was beginning to be afraid that they would 
 never take it off." 
 
 The thought made him angry, but he went on : 
 
 "The worst of it all was that the surgeon came 
 up one day to my bed and said in a smooth voice: 
 'Tell me, my brave young man, would you mind if 
 instead of burning your leg I kept it myself?' At 
 first I thought he was drunk, but he explained to 
 me that my case was a very rare one and that he 
 wanted to preserve the leg in alcohol. Personally I 
 thought that it was a shame to waste good alcohol
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 273 
 
 for such a purpose, but he was so serious about it 
 that I told him he could go right ahead and that 
 I hoped he would put the leg on the buffet in his 
 dining room." 
 
 He burst out laughing, and, pulling the girl to 
 his side, he kissed her suddenly and began again his 
 song of the woman with the wooden leg. 
 
 The owner of the cafe watched him and exclaimed : 
 
 "M'sieur Gaspard is a wonder!" And meanwhile 
 
 the soldier was hopping around on one leg through 
 
 the cafe, chasing the girl right into the kitchen, 
 
 where he demanded another kiss. 
 
 The black cats, frightened, disappeared at full 
 speed. 
 
 He came back to his table and ordered: 
 "Give me another vermouth cassis!" 
 The local tradesmen never failed to gather around 
 him to listen to his stories while drinking their cof- 
 fee. He took particular pleasure in telling them 
 about the days spent in the hospital. 
 
 "Ah, my friends . . . that was the life! ... I 
 got as many presents as there are hours on the 
 clock dial : tobacco, chocolate and many other things. 
 I was having a fine time there in my bed just wait- 
 ing for them to come along with their presents. I 
 pretended to be asleep and then I suddenly opened 
 my eyes and sighed . . . and let me tell you, with 
 the ladies, none of them can resist the sigh. They
 
 274 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 all came around and said, 'My poor friend, what 
 would you like to have?' I just had to speak, and 
 along it would come, right away. 
 
 "And when it comes to visitors, believe me there 
 was some class to those who came to see me ! Ladies 
 with gloves on, generals with orders and decora- 
 tions all over their uniforms ; and then the Bishop, 
 the Prefect and the newspaper men. . . . The news- 
 paper men were the funniest of all. 
 
 "They came up one by one and looked their pret- 
 tiest as they asked, 'How are you to-day, Monsieur? 
 Are you suffering, Monsieur? Tell us all about it, 
 Monsieur.' And as soon as I began to talk their 
 pencils began to fly on their notebooks. ... I 
 always imagined that in order to become famous it 
 was necessary to do something more than the others, 
 but it seems it's the other way round; all you have 
 to do is less than any one else." 
 
 He tasted his drink and protested to the cafe 
 owner that it was too weak and tasted like water. 
 The owner made an ugly face at this complaint, 
 but felt that he could ill afford to lose Gaspard as 
 a customer and he quickly added some more ver- 
 mouth to the soldier's drink. 
 
 Gaspard, having satisfied himself that the mis- 
 take had been corrected, went on: 
 
 "After the hospital they sent me to the chateau 
 for my convalescence. . . . Ah, believe me, that was
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 275 
 
 some life. ... I began to think I was a millionaire 
 ... a bed big enough for three, perfumed soap 
 which made me feel like an actress, and meals. . . . 
 Ah, my boys, some meals! 
 
 "And when it comes to the Marquis, he's old, but, 
 take it from me, he's a good scout. Every morning 
 he comes to see us in our beds. He visits me every 
 day, and when I show him my leg and tell him that 
 the other one has refused to grow over night he 
 never stops laughing. He's a real fine one, he is." 
 
 Gaspard's ever happy disposition and his joyous 
 
 tales made him famous in M . And new 
 
 patrons were coming daily to the Cafe des Hiron- 
 delles. All the local tradespeople, the notary, the 
 jeweller and the grain merchant became daily cus- 
 tomers, and the owner of the cafe was so pleased 
 that he began to look with a kinder eye at Gaspard's 
 friendliness toward the waitress. 
 
 On the following Sunday, however, Gaspard went 
 out and had his picture taken with the girl, and 
 the photographer placed a proof of the picture in 
 his front window. This time the cafe owner was 
 seriously alarmed. If Annette's mother, who came to 
 town every week to sell eggs, should discover the pic- 
 ture of her daughter posing with a soldier the repu- 
 tation of his place might be seriously endangered. 
 
 He thought it over for a while and then discov- 
 ered that the best way to get back at Gaspard was
 
 216 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 to send one of the photographs to the latter's wife 
 with the following inscription: "Picture of a faith- 
 ful soldier." 
 
 What might have been expected followed in quick 
 order. Bibiche went to the Mairie and obtained a 
 railroad ticket permitting her to go and visit her 
 
 wounded husband and she arrived in M without 
 
 warning. 
 
 Her sorrow was greater than her anger and she 
 could hardly refrain from crying. She felt that her 
 life was ended, for in her simple way she thought 
 he had already married the other one; she had de- 
 cided to come to see for herself, just to make sure 
 of her suspicions, so as to be able to impart them 
 to her husband's mother, who was taking care of 
 the boy in Paris. 
 
 Bibiche presented herself first at the home of the 
 Marquis and from there she was sent to the little 
 cafe. 
 
 She walked in quietly. Her husband was there, 
 speaking to a group of men. His back was turned 
 toward her as she entered the place. 
 
 A funny little man, wearing smoked glasses, was 
 seated beside Gaspard, his hands in his pockets. He 
 said: 
 
 "You know . . . you must be careful . . . the 
 Germans are misunderstood . . . they are very in- 
 telligent."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 277 
 
 A deep silence followed these remarks. No one 
 had noticed Bibiche. The jeweller and the grain 
 merchant were stupefied. The jeweller's son had 
 been killed in Belgium, and he was amazed to hear 
 any one praise the Boches. He was unable, however, 
 to find anything to say. 
 
 Gaspard jumped up, but the other man continued 
 with an indifferent air: 
 
 "It's not because they are our enemies ... we 
 must not close our eyes to their merits . . . We 
 couldn't come anywhere near them . . . why, the 
 goods they were selling were of the very best qual- 
 ity . . ." 
 
 Gaspard leaned over toward him and said, look- 
 ing him straight in the eye: 
 
 "And who are you to talk like that?" 
 
 The other stood up. 
 
 "Are you talking to me?" 
 
 "That's what it looks like." 
 
 "Well, then, just try to be polite. I'm the Jus- 
 tice of the Peace." 
 
 "Justice of the Peace be hanged! What I want 
 to know is why are you not in the army at your 
 age? Why are you loafing around here while the 
 others are being killed?" 
 
 "I don't know that it's any of your business. I 
 have been exempted." 
 
 "Exempted? Exempted! And that's the way
 
 278 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 you're talking ! Well, my friend, you had better be 
 careful not to talk like that while I am around. 
 You know I come from the Halles and I know what 
 a pig looks like when I see him." 
 
 "You had better stop staring at me like 
 that. . . ." 
 
 "I'll stare at you if I feel like it. ... And what- 
 ever kind of a Justice you might be, I warn you 
 not to be praising the Boches without knowing what 
 you are talking about. . . . Don't forget that I 
 know them. I've had my share. ... If the others 
 want to listen to you let them go ahead, but don't 
 try to tell it to me or I'll grab you by the skin of 
 your neck and . . ." 
 
 "Calm yourself, my friend," said both the jeweller 
 and the grain merchant. 
 
 "What are you doing, Gaspard?" exclaimed 
 Bibiche. 
 
 He turned his head quickly around, stupefied at 
 hearing so familiar a voice, and stammered : 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged! . . . What is this, a 
 dream ?" 
 
 Bibiche had turned scarlet. 
 
 "Yes . . . it's me ... here I am . . . I've been 
 worrying so much about you!" 
 
 The Justice of the Peace took advantage of this 
 incident to go to the door, saying to the cafe owner : 
 
 "Well, it seems this place is getting exclusive.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 279 
 
 .... I suppose we won't be allowed to talk before 
 Europe has finally settled all her troubles." 
 
 "What did he say?" shouted Gaspard. "Why 
 . . . I'll eat him up !" 
 
 He started after the Justice, but the others held 
 him back and calmed him by offering him a drink. 
 
 The owner of the place was disgusted. As soon 
 as he saw Gaspard's wife he ordered Annette out and 
 locked her up in another room. When he saw Gas- 
 pard growing really angry he feared for his furni- 
 ture and also for his other customers. He went 
 about trying to restore order and muttering: 
 
 "This war will never do any of us any good! 
 Everybody thinks of fighting !" 
 
 Turning to one of the other customers, he im- 
 plored him to pacify Gaspard, whom he said he 
 would be glad to see leave the place for good. 
 
 "Get rid of him," he added, "and I'll give you 
 your coffee for nothing for a whole month." 
 
 The notary, to whom this offer was made, realized 
 at once that it was a rare inducement. 
 
 "Only I don't want ever to see him again," said 
 the owner. 
 
 "I'll think it over." 
 
 They went no further in their negotiations be- 
 cause Gaspard was again getting his temper up. 
 
 "And here I am with a wife on my arms! She's 
 got a home and child and she deserts it all to jump
 
 280 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 on a train . . . and what for, I'd like to know? I 
 suppose just to come and cry on my shoulder!" 
 
 "I don't want to cry," sobbed Bibiche. 
 
 "Yes, I know ; you're going to start all over again 
 telling me that I am good for nothing, that I can't 
 earn a living, without realizing the great economy 
 resulting from the fact that the chiropodist will 
 only charge me half price hereafter." 
 
 Suddenly he thought of the waitress and added 
 in an ugly tone of voice : 
 
 "I suppose you came sneaking around here just 
 to find out what was going on ... I guess some 
 one has been telling you things . . . Well, if that's 
 the way ... if that's the way, the best thing for 
 you to do is to pay for my vermouth and then beat 
 it ! I'm going back to my chateau !" 
 
 He left the place and hurried across the square 
 on his crutches. 
 
 Bibiche, her eyes full of tears, was compelled to 
 ask the janitor at the chateau for a bed for the 
 night and the janitor permitted her to sleep in the 
 bed of his son, who had gone to the front. 
 
 Gaspard learned of this and was careful to go out 
 by the back door the next day. He went straight to 
 the Cafe des Hirondelles, but the waitress had dis- 
 appeared. The cafe owner informed him with a 
 smile that Annette was now working for her brother- 
 in-law at A .
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "At A - !" exclaimed Gaspard. "At A- - ? 
 Well, that's where I'm going!" 
 
 The cafe owner called his wife and said : 
 
 "Run as fast as you can and tell Madame Gaspard 
 . . . the next train leaves in a half hour . . . tell 
 her to hurry up and she will catch it." 
 
 Bibiche received the news with a new outburst of 
 tears, but the janitor encouraged her to fight for her 
 rights, and off she went as fast as she could to the 
 railroad station. 
 
 When she got there she was completely out of 
 breath. Gaspard was on the platform talking to the 
 locomotive driver, who was saying: 
 
 "How many of them did you kill?" 
 
 To which Gaspard replied: "I don't know ... I 
 didn't have time to count them . . . but, believe me, 
 I got quite a few." 
 
 Bibiche walked up to him and pulled his coat. 
 
 "I want to speak to you." 
 
 "You? Again!" 
 
 She burst into tears and explained: 
 
 "You're going to see her . . . well, you're not! 
 I'm your wife, and I'm not going to let you. Liar ! 
 . . . Let me tell you, sir ... " 
 
 She began to tell her sad story to the locomotive 
 driver and to another railway employee standing 
 nearby. 
 
 Meanwhile Gaspard looked at her without saying
 
 282 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a word. This outburst of rage coming from a wom- 
 an who was usually so quiet had stupefied him. Sud- 
 denly he had an inspiration. Turning toward his 
 wife without the slightest excitement in his voice, he 
 said: 
 
 "Well, what are you worrying about? What's 
 all the trouble? Why don't you tell me what you 
 want ? I didn't come here to take a train ; I came 
 to see a friend." 
 
 "Oh," said Bibiche, "don't try that on me. I know 
 better." 
 
 He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, and 
 whistling a merry tune went out of the station in the 
 most natural way possible. 
 
 Bibiche followed and despite the crowd which was 
 rapidly gathering shouted: 
 
 "You've only got one leg, and still you're trying 
 to do this to me ! Running after a girl ! Aren't you 
 ashamed of yourself?" 
 
 They went through the street at a rapid gait; he 
 was hopping along as fast as his crutches could carry 
 him. She followed, out of breath, still screaming at 
 the top of her voice: 
 
 "Liar ! . . . Running after women when he is mar- 
 ried and the father of a child, too !" 
 
 He pretended not to hear her and kept on, greet- 
 ing with a cheerful smile those he knew along the 
 street.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 283 
 
 When they arrived at the chateau Bibiche was 
 completely out of breath and was glad to rest on a 
 chair in the home of the janitor, whose wife said: 
 
 "Well, you've got him! . . . Now hold on to 
 him." 
 
 For several hours they talked about the perfidy 
 of men, of the horrors of war and the necessity for 
 women to fight for their rights at any price. 
 
 At eight o'clock one of the convalescent soldiers 
 visited the janitor and, unaware of the fact that 
 Bibiche was Gaspard's wife, told her that the one- 
 legged soldier had stolen the key of the back door 
 and had just left for the railroad station, announc- 
 ing that he was going to A , where a pretty girl 
 
 was waiting for him. He had even gone so far as 
 to advise one of them to go and tell the janitor's 
 wife about it. 
 
 The latter's anger was hot. 
 
 "Well, if he isn't the limit!" 
 
 Bibiche was sobbing, but she had no more strength 
 to carry on the fight. Twice on the same day was 
 too much for her. 
 
 "Don't be a fool," said the janitor's wife. "Go 
 after him." 
 
 "It's awful . . . it's terrible," said Bibiche in a 
 tearful voice. 
 
 She started off for the railroad station. 
 
 It was a beautiful starlight night and Gaspard
 
 284* PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 was evidently enjoying it, for he was walking along 
 the road at a slow pace and his wife had no trouble 
 in catching up with him. He made no attempt to 
 run away from her. This completely confused Bi- 
 biche and she was actually afraid of talking to him. 
 She followed him at a short distance, saying to her- 
 self: 
 
 "This time I am going to make sure of it. ... 
 I'm going to let him get into the train . . . otherwise 
 he would tell me another lie." 
 
 She was walking close to the wall along the street 
 as though she were the one who was trying to get 
 away. 
 
 He went into the railroad station, bought a ticket 
 and took a seat in a third-class compartment. Once 
 there he laughed out loud, because he had been aware 
 of his wife's presence all the time and had arranged 
 a scheme to fool her. 
 
 He knew that she would follow him, would take a 
 
 ticket for A and get into the same train. She 
 
 came along just as he had expected, and when the 
 train began to move he jumped out on the other 
 side of the track, having thrown his crutches out 
 ahead of him. After the train had disappeared he 
 returned quietly to the chateau and went to bed. 
 The following day at an early hour he went to see 
 the janitor's wife and asked her in the most natural 
 way possible where his wife was.
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 285 
 
 The woman was so amazed to see him that she 
 could find nothing to reply. 
 
 He gave her a severe look. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that she slept out last 
 night? . . . Well, that's a fine condition of affairs. 
 . . . We'll soon see. ..." 
 
 He went out without any further comment and 
 returned to the railroad station, where he awaited the 
 
 first train from A while walking up and down 
 
 the platform smoking his pipe. 
 
 Just as he had expected, Bibiche stepped from one 
 of the compartments when the train stopped. He 
 went up to her resolutely. 
 
 "So here you are! Here you are at last! Will 
 you please tell me where you come from? What 
 have you been up to? Shame on you, unfaithful 
 woman !" 
 
 The other travelers gathered around. 
 
 "This is fine business ! To go and marry a wom- 
 an who is a mother, to buy her a home and then to 
 be treated like this !" 
 
 He was holding Bibiche by the arm and pushing 
 her in front of him, raising his voice meanwhile, so 
 every one could hear it. 
 
 "Very fine indeed! To go out and get yourself 
 torn to pieces by the Boches and then come home to 
 find this sort of thing going on !" 
 
 He seemed to have convinced himself of the jus- 
 20
 
 286 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 tice of his argument, for his anger was growing every 
 minute. 
 
 Townspeople came to their windows and doors 
 and watched the couple go by, just as they had done 
 on the previous day when it was Bibiche who was 
 doing the fighting. This time, however, the women 
 sympathized with Gaspard and were highly indig- 
 nant at his wife's conduct, and poor Bibiche was 
 sobbing without finding anything to say. 
 
 Gaspard went on: 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed of yourself at your 
 age! ... I surely thought you had passed the age 
 when a woman can be induced to be unfaithful to 
 her husband!" 
 
 The women along the street warmly approved 
 Gaspard's words. 
 
 Bibiche, overcome with shame and anger, returned 
 to the janitor's home and spent the entire day cry- 
 ing. 
 
 Toward the end of the afternoon the same con- 
 valescent soldier who had recently undertaken to 
 bring information to Bibiche concerning her husband 
 returned with so strange a story that Bibiche forgot 
 all about her sorrow. 
 
 "What do you think has happened? An Ameri- 
 can has been to visit Gaspard!" 
 
 "An American?" repeated the janitor's wife. 
 
 "Yes, clean shaven and with tan shoes."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 287 
 
 "But he came to see the Marquis." 
 
 "He did not! He came for Gaspard. He said 
 the Marquis had told him that Gaspard was a wide- 
 awake, lively fellow and in view of his infirmity the 
 American had come to offer Gaspard a position in 
 his firm, which deals in artificial limbs. . . . Why, 
 even Gaspard, whom it is hard to surprise, was 
 stupefied, because . . . I'll bet you'll never guess 
 how much he offered to pay him !" 
 
 "How much?" said Bibiche, anxiously. 
 
 "Three hundred francs a month." 
 
 "Oh!" was all Bibiche could find to say. 
 
 "Do you mean it?" said the janitor's wife. 
 
 "I mean just what I say, and he'll tell you so 
 himself. Good old Gaspard! Now, he says war is 
 the finest thing in the world; and you can't blame 
 him, seeing that it has given him such a fine job! 
 Some easy life he's going to live !" 
 
 The last few words affected Bibiche more than 
 anything else. She forgot all about her anger and 
 her sole thought was to ask him to forgive her and 
 to forget. She was almost overcome by the thought 
 that she was the wife of a man who was going to 
 earn three hundred francs a month. 
 
 She waited quietly for Gaspard and he soon came 
 along with a highly dignified air. In speaking, 
 however, he seemed to ignore his wife and to address 
 all his words to the janitor's wife.
 
 288 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "Well, I see they told you. . . . What do you 
 think of it? And believe me, there will be no worry 
 over the price of a drink hereafter, even if they have 
 stopped the sale of absinthe." 
 
 Bibiche, who had grown red in the face, mur- 
 mured : 
 
 "Oh! you've always known how to get along. . . . 
 Three hundred francs !" 
 
 "Yes, and two per cent on every leg or arm sold," 
 added Gaspard with an air of supreme importance. 
 "Some man he was ! I could have kissed him. . . . 
 He showed me one of the legs, which he carried 
 with him in a bag, and, take it from me, it's a 
 wonder! You can move it in every direction. A 
 man would have to have a pretty mean disposition 
 to complain with a leg like that." 
 
 Bibiche never took her eyes off him, but he was 
 still carefully avoiding her. 
 
 "So you see, no more of this sick bed business. 
 The man arranged all that with the Marquis, and 
 to-morrow we're going back to Paris, and the day 
 after to-morrow the high life begins !" 
 
 This time he looked straight at her and her eyes 
 rapidly filled with tears as she realized that he meant 
 her when he said "We are going back." She under- 
 stood that all the harm done by the war had disap- 
 peared and that they were going back to the Rue de 
 la Gaite to live in comfort ever after. The poor
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 289 
 
 woman was so overcome with joy that all that she 
 could find to say was: 
 
 "Your mother must be right. . . . There must be 
 a God." 
 
 When they got back to the Rue de la Gaite there 
 was a letter with a black border awaiting Gaspard. 
 
 "Probably another millionaire who wants to do 
 business with me," he said. 
 
 The letter was from Madame Burette. What a 
 surprise! The widow of his first friend to whom 
 he had never had the courage to write to tell her. 
 . . . Well, he never knew just what to tell her. 
 Burette had so often spoken of his wife in the most 
 affectionate terms. With the picture of the battle 
 and of his friend's horrible death ever present in his 
 mind he had been unable to describe it to the widow. 
 Now she had written for this same information. She 
 wrote that the sergeant had told her that Gaspard 
 was the only one who took care of her dear husband 
 and she was therefore very anxious to see him. 
 
 Gaspard was deeply moved by this letter. He 
 read it over ten times, admiring the handwriting, and 
 then passed it on to Bibiche and his mother, saying: 
 
 "Poor little woman ! . . . She must be very pretty, 
 judging from what Burette said. ... No doubt 
 about it, I'll have to go and see her. . . . But how- 
 will I ever tell her?" 
 
 Once again he could see himself in the midst of the
 
 290 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 terrific gun fire carrying his suffering friend on his 
 back ; he saw Burette dying, he saw him dead. 
 
 "Well, no matter," he concluded. "I'll have to 
 go." 
 
 He also remembered that he was to see a Monsieur 
 Farinet, professor at the University of Paris, for 
 whom he had a letter from Mousse, which he had 
 been carrying around for three months. 
 
 He who had escaped with his life had a supreme 
 duty to fulfill toward his two battle comrades, of 
 whom he could never think without a feeling of 
 intense hatred against the Germans. 
 
 He devoted his last day of freedom to fulfilling 
 this duty. 
 
 On a beautiful afternoon in June he said to his 
 mother, to Bibiche and to the boy: 
 
 "Don't stay locked up in here on a day like this. 
 Come along with me and you can wait for me out- 
 side." 
 
 The two women cheerfully consented. They were 
 proud of walking through the streets with their 
 mutilated hero, who was carrying out his promise by 
 going to tell their relatives how his pals met their 
 death. 
 
 Their first destination was the Rue Nicole, a little 
 street near the Observatory, where M. Farinet lived. 
 They took a tramway and an old lady insisted on 
 paying for Gaspard, saying:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 291 
 
 "It will bring luck to my son, who is out there 
 in the trenches." 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't worry if I were you," said Gas- 
 pard. 
 
 "Yes, but when will it all be over," sighed the old 
 lady. "I often wonder if God is still watching us 
 from above." 
 
 "God?" said Gaspard. "Why, I think he died 
 long ago." 
 
 "Dead!" exclaimed the old lady, "why, he is 
 eternal." 
 
 "In that case he ought to send us another Jesus. 
 Because, goodness knows, we need it," said Gas- 
 pard. 
 
 When he rang the bell at M. Farinet's door he 
 was deeply moved. He looked at the inscription on 
 the letter he carried: "Professor of the Faculty of 
 Letters," and wondered what kind of man he was 
 about to meet. The door was opened and he found 
 himself face to face with a little man, extremely ugly, 
 with a long beard, whose necktie was just as much 
 out of place as his glasses. 
 
 Gaspard gave him the letter and explained how he 
 came to get it. The little man read it, while still 
 standing in the doorway, and then said: 
 
 "Thanks ... so he is dead?" 
 
 "Yes, he is dead," replied Gaspard in a sorrowful 
 voice.
 
 292 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 "But, didn't he tell you anything about intran- 
 sitive verbs?" 
 
 "Intran what?" 
 
 "Well, don't bother ... I will see the pub- 
 lisher." 
 
 The old professor remained on the threshold, as 
 if he were afraid to permit the soldier to enter his 
 home. After a few moments' silence he said in the 
 same sharp voice: 
 
 "I see they cut your leg off." 
 
 Without awaiting a reply he changed the con- 
 versation abruptly to a theme which was evidently 
 far more intersting to him. He said: 
 
 "Did you have any lice out there?" 
 
 "Well, some of the men had." 
 
 "You see, my brother, who is a member of the 
 Academy of Sciences, has prepared a report on Ger- 
 man lice, which he says are of a darker hue than the 
 others." 
 
 "Darker hue! Rot!" said Gaspard. "Lice are 
 lice, regardless of their nationality." 
 
 "I beg your pardon . . . there are the vulgar lice 
 and the ..." 
 
 "The educated ones, I suppose. Sort of college 
 graduates, eh? Well, I don't know them, nor do 
 the other poilus." 
 
 "I see, I see," said the professor. "Well, thanks 
 for the letter . . . and . . . good by."
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 293 
 
 He closed the door before Gaspard had time to 
 reply. 
 
 Gaspard went back to his mother and wife, who 
 were waiting on the Boulevard du Port Royal, and 
 said in utter disgust: 
 
 "A fine kind of a fish ! How did Mousse ever get 
 to know people like that? What a fool!" 
 
 The thought of going to see Mme. Burette, how- 
 ever, made him feel more cheerful, and he and his 
 family took another tramway. 
 
 Mme. Burette had moved from the Avenue du 
 Maine and had gone to live with an aunt in a little 
 street back of the Elysee. 
 
 The journey was long and it was very hot and 
 Gaspard took his family into a little bar in the Fau- 
 bourg Saint-Honore, where there were already other 
 soldiers seated at the tables. He ordered refresh- 
 ments, spoke for a while about the war, and then 
 said to Bibiche and his mother: 
 
 "Stay right here. I'll be back in fifteen minutes." 
 
 He went out in fine spirits, moving along quickly 
 on his crutches. 
 
 He reached Mme. Burette's home at the end of 
 the afternoon, at that hour of twilight which makes 
 pretty women look prettier still. Their eyes seem 
 deeper, their features sweeter and their charm can- 
 not fail to impress every man, including even a dealer 
 in snails.
 
 294 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 Mme. Burette was a tall brunette, and it is a 
 well-known fact that brunettes always seem in deeper 
 mourning than other women when they wear black. 
 Her soft skin and her long eyelashes seemed made 
 for tears, and her abundant hair was arranged in 
 such a way as to give her a sad and anguished ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 She came into the room and in a trembling voice 
 said: 
 
 "Monsieur Gaspard . . . how happy I am to see 
 you . . . how kind of you to come here." 
 
 "Oh, Madame . . . it's really the least I can 
 do." 
 
 He found her both young and pretty and the 
 feeling that he was about to speak to her of the 
 death of the pal he loved so well made his heart beat 
 faster. 
 
 "I see that you, too, have suffered," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 "Oh ... it doesn't matter with me . . ." 
 
 "Won't you please take a seat?. . . Take this 
 armchair . . . are you all right there?" 
 
 Her kindness greatly confused Gaspard, who could 
 only murmur: 
 
 "Thank you, Madame . . . thank you ... I am 
 all right. . . ." 
 
 She sat right down in front of him and said in a 
 trembling voice:
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 295 
 
 "Well . . . tell me ... just how my husband 
 died." 
 
 Gaspard, greatly embarrassed, fingered his cap 
 while wondering just how to begin his story. Near 
 the window two birds were fluttering in a cage. 
 Gaspard looked at them, worked up all his courage 
 and began : 
 
 "Well, Madame, I don't want to try to fool you 
 or tell you anything that's not true, but your hus- 
 band, who was my friend and my very best friend. 
 . . . Well, Madame, I tell you he died like a hero 
 and without a complaint." 
 
 The woman was too deeply moved to utter a word 
 and sat quietly for a few moments, playing nervously 
 with her handkerchief. Finally she gathered enough 
 strength to inquire: 
 
 "Tell me, where did the bullet hit him?" 
 
 It was a straightforward question and there was 
 no way out of it. Suddenly Gaspard's good heart 
 gave him a great inspiration. Turning to Madame 
 Burette, he placed one finger in the center of his fore- 
 head and said: 
 
 "There, Madame, right there." 
 
 The information seemed to surprise her greatly. 
 
 "In the forehead? Why, his sergeant wrote to 
 me that he was wounded in the stomach." 
 
 "In the stomach! Oh, Madame! What a shame 
 to tell stories like that! What does the sergeant
 
 296 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 know about him? Why, Madame, I was the only 
 one to see him, I tell you, the only one." 
 
 "Well, he told me that too in his letter," she added. 
 "He wrote 'Monsieur Gaspard has been a real 
 brother to your husband.' ' 
 
 "Oh, nothing to brag about," said Gaspard . . . 
 "Burette was a real pal . . . every time they gave 
 us any wine. . . ." 
 
 "Did he suffer much?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and lied cheerfully. 
 
 "Suffer! Why, not a bit. Why, he dropped in 
 one second, just like that ... a real hero, I tell you. 
 I was right beside him, Madame, and all I heard was 
 just one tiny little cry." 
 
 The woman's eyes filled with tears as she listened 
 to the soldier, but it was clear that the news he was 
 bringing her was making her feel very happy. 
 
 "Didn't he have time to speak to you about me?" 
 
 "Why, I should say he did," replied Gaspard 
 quickly. "But even before that he always used to 
 say to me, 'Gaspard, if I am killed don't fail to 
 tell my little wife how much I thought of her.' ' 
 
 "Did he really say that?" 
 
 "Yes, and he really meant it too . . . and then, 
 after he had fallen, another shell came along and 
 exploded right near by." 
 
 "My God! . . . And what then?" 
 
 "Well, it threw up a great big mass of earth which
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 297 
 
 came down softly upon him and buried him then and 
 there. ... It was a wonderful sight. . . . No one 
 had time to go near him . . . nothing remained . . . 
 he had disappeared completely with all his equip- 
 ment and everything he had with him, including the 
 tokens which reminded him of you." 
 
 It was another wonderful inspiration from Gas- 
 pard's good heart that induced him to conceal from 
 the widow the real facts about her husband's horrible 
 death and to attribute to Burette the glorious, im- 
 pressive end which came to Gaspard's other pal, Pro- 
 fessor Mousse. 
 
 She stood up and gave him both her hands. 
 
 "Monsieur Gaspard, now I understand all my hus- 
 band wrote to me about you. . . . You are a fine 
 man. . . . I'm going to show you his photo- 
 graph." 
 
 She left the room and meanwhile Gaspard began 
 to wonder whether he had done the right thing by 
 lying to her about her husband's death. His hesita- 
 tion was short lived, however. 
 
 "You poor fool," he said to himself. "Mousse 
 was an old bachelor ... he had no family. What 
 good would it have done him?" 
 
 Madame Burette came back, accompanied by her 
 maid, to whom she said: 
 
 "Marie, . . . this gentleman is a soldier ... he 
 was a friend of your master's. . . . My husband had
 
 298 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 a beautiful death, Marie. He was struck by a bul- 
 let in the forehead and as he fell a shell came along 
 and the explosion tore the earth apart and covered 
 up his body. . . ." 
 
 She said it in a trembling voice, but with a great 
 feeling of pride. The servant said: 
 
 "How wonderful, Madame, how wonderful!" 
 A long silence followed, during which the hearts 
 of these two human beings, so different from each 
 other, were beating together; the one happy at the 
 thought that his imagination had enabled him to give 
 the widow some happiness in her tragic sorrow; the 
 other proud and cheerful, thanks to her visitor's 
 efforts. 
 
 When he left Madame Burette Gaspard's eyes 
 were shining. 
 
 His mother asked him at once: 
 "Well, did you find it easy to tell her?" 
 "Yes . . . but I told it to her in my own way." 
 He took his family to the Champs Elysees in the 
 beautiful summer evening. A golden hue seemed to 
 cover trees and lawns and even those who were pass- 
 ing by. In the pure air of this delightful evening 
 Gaspard enjoyed an immense feeling of happiness, 
 greater than at any other time of his life; happy 
 at the thought that he had done his duty toward his 
 country and toward his friends; happy also to re- 
 alize that with him were his mother, his child and his
 
 PRIVATE GASPARD 299 
 
 wife the poor old woman who had given him birth 
 and had worked all her life for him . . . and Bi- 
 biche, whom he loved more than ever. Mingled with 
 these happy thoughts was a slight feeling of regret 
 that the war was not over and that men were still 
 being killed. 
 
 A one-armed newsboy came by shouting "Intran- 
 sigeant! Liberte!" 
 
 He spoke to the boy: 
 
 "Nothing new, eh? ... The Russians are still re- 
 treating? Ah! when will they give it to them for 
 good and end it all?" 
 
 Bibiche sighed, while Gaspard's boy repeated after 
 his father: "When will they end it all?" 
 
 Gaspard resented this and threatened the child 
 with dire punishment, but the youngster ran on 
 ahead, still laughing and making fun of his father. 
 
 Gaspard was red with anger, and called out to 
 Bibiche to slap the boy's face. The grandmother in- 
 tervened : 
 
 "Oh, leave him alone. . . ." 
 
 But Gaspard insisted and Bibiche slapped the 
 child, who screamed out at the top of his voice. 
 
 "What do you know about that!" said Gaspard. 
 "Just about as big as my shoe and putting on airs 
 already." 
 
 "Oh, putting on airs !" said the grandmother. 
 
 "Sure he's putting on airs just because he's got
 
 300 PRIVATE GASPARD 
 
 two legs and I've only got one. Just look at him ! 
 Trying to show off in front of his father." 
 
 The youngster had stopped crying and gave his 
 father an impertinent look as they turned into the 
 Avenue Alexander III. Gaspard looked sadly at 
 his one leg and continued: 
 
 "We've gone and had ourselves cut to pieces and 
 these youngsters are the ones who will reap the bene- 
 fits . . . they'll walk all over us . . ." 
 
 As he passed along the Grand Palais, however, 
 he added in a strong voice: 
 
 "Well, no matter. They will get our inheritance 
 and they will be happy . . . but the Boches, well, 
 nobody will deny that we were the ones who gave 
 them what was coming to them !" 
 
 The last words were uttered with a great feeling 
 of pride, and Gaspard looked up defiantly as if he 
 were throwing a supreme challenge to the great dome 
 of the Invalides. 
 
 THE END
 
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