 CHAPTER VIII. Christmas night. On Leftenon. On Leftenon. It's two o'clock. My faithful wattle-lot held the flickering candle just in front of my eyes to rouse me. What torture it is to be snatched from sleep at such an early hour. It would not be anything in summer, but it was the twenty-fourth of December, and it was my turn to go on duty in the trenches. A nice way of keeping Christmas. I turned over in my bed, trying to avoid that light that tormented me. I collected my thoughts, which had wandered far away whilst I was asleep, and had been replaced by exquisite dreams, dreams of times in peace, of welfare, of good cheer, and of gentle warmth. Then I remembered. I had to take command of a detachment of a hundred troopers of the regiment who were to replace the hundred now in the trenches. It was nearly a month since we had joined our army corps near Aar, and every other day the regiment had to furnish the same number of men to occupy a sector of the trenches. It was my turn, on the twenty-fourth of December, to replace my brother officer and good friend, Leftenon Dela G., who had occupied the post since the twenty-second. I'd forgotten all this. How cold it was! Whilst wattle-lot was taking himself off, I braced myself for the necessary effort of getting out of the warm sheets. Like a coward, I kept on allowing myself successive respites, bowing to rise heroically after each. I will get up as soon as wattle-lot has reached the landing of the first floor. I will get up when I hear him walking on the pavement of the hall, or rather when I hear the entrance door shut, and his boots creaking on the gravel path. But every noise was hushed. Wattle-lot was already some way off, and I still shied at this act, which, after all, was inevitable, to get out of bed in a little ice-cold room at two o'clock in the morning. Through the window which had neither shutter nor curtain, I saw a small piece of the sky beautifully clear, in which myriads of stars were twinkling. The day before, when I came in to go to bed, it was freezing hard. That morning the frost, I thought, must be terrible. Come up! With the bound I was on the ground, I rushed at once to the little pitch-pine wash-stand. Rapid ablutions would wake me up thoroughly. Horror! The water in the jug was frozen. Oh! Not very deeply, no doubt, but all the same I had to break a coating of ice that had formed on the surface. However, I was happy to feel more nimble after having washed my face. Quick! Two warm waistcoats under my jacket, my large cloak with its cape, my fur gloves, my campaigning-cap pulled over my ears, and there I was, with a candle in my hand going down the grand staircase of the chateau. For I was quartered in a chateau. The very word makes one think of a warm room, well upholstered and well furnished, with soft carpets and comfortable arches. But, alas! It was nothing of the sort. The good lady, whose house it was, had provided for all contingencies. The family rooms had been prudently dismantled and double-locked. A formidable concierge had the keys, and I was happy indeed when I found the butler's room in the attics. His bed, with its white sheets, seemed to me very desirable. And then, as we say in time of peace, one must take things as they come. The open hall door let in a wave of cold air, which struck cold on my face. But I had not a minute to lose. The detachment was to start at half-past two punctually, and it had, no doubt, already formed up in the market-place. I hurried into the street. The tall pines of the park stood out black against the silver sky, which with bare branches on the other trees formed thousands of abarresques and strange patterns all round. Not the slightest noise was to be heard in this limpid, diphanious night, in which the air seemed as pure and rare as the summits of the lofty mountains. Under my footsteps the gravel was soft. But once I had got outside of the iron gate, I found myself on ground as hard as stone. The mud formed by recent rains, and the ruts hollowed by streams of convoys had frozen, and the road was a maze of furrows and inequalities which made me stumble again and again. In front of the hotel deslacks, a certain number of the men had already lined up in front of their horses. Huddled in their cloaks with collars turned up, they were stamping their feet and blowing onto their hands. It must have been a real torture for them, too, to come out of their straw litter, where they were sleeping so snugly a few moments before rolled up in their blankets. They had got a liking for the kind of comfort peculiar to the campaigner, and invented a thousand and one ingenious methods of improving the arrangements of their novel garrison. Sleeping parties had been gradually organised, and sets of seven or eight at a time enjoyed delightful nights stretched on their clean straw. Many of them would certainly not be able to get the sleep if they suddenly found themselves in a real bed. And then it is less difficult to get up when one has gone to bed with one's clothes on, and when the room is not very warm. Not one of them complained. Not one of them grumbled. We can always count on our brave fellows. All present, one lieutenant. It was the senior non-commissioned officers of the two squadrons assembled there who reported. Everyone had got up and equipped himself at the appointed hour. Not one was missing at Rollcall. They had all assembled of their own accord. The corporals had not needed to knock at door after door to wake the sleepers. Asher Serres had very quickly established simple customs and rules of their own which ensured the regularity of the service without written orders. This intelligent and spontaneous discipline is one of the most amourable features of this campaign. It has grown by degrees, without any special orders or prescriptions from above, with the result that the hardest labours are carried out almost without supervision, because each man understands the end in view and the grim necessities which it involves. They understood at once that this early hour was the only one at which the relief could be affected, and every other day, just as on that December morning, twenty-five men out of each squadron get up at half-past one, equip themselves, and saddle their horses, whilst the cooks warm up a good cup of coffee for each man. Then without any hurry, but at the exact moment, they form up in fighting order at the appointed spot, and when the officer arrives in the dark rain, wind, snow, or frost, he is of receiving the same report. All present, one lieutenant. Quick. Mount. We shall feel the cold less trotting over the hardened roads this bright night and under this brilliant moon. Two and two, in silence, were issued from the village in the direction of R. I knew that I should find a little further on, at the crossroads where the crucifix stands, the fifty men of the first half regiment, and second lieutenant de Gie, who serves under me. Yes, there he was, coming to meet me on the hard road. It was a joy to me that Chance had given me this jolly fellow for my trench companion. I hardly knew him, for he had not been with us more than a few days. Taken from the military college directly war was declared. He had first been sent to a reserve squadron, and had only just been appointed to an active regiment. But I already knew, through my comrades of the first squadron, that he was a daring soldier and a merry companion. So much the better, I thought. War is a sad thing, and one must learn to take it gaily. A plague on gloomy spirits and long faces. True, we can no longer wage the picturesque war of the good old days. We shall never know another fontanoy, or rivoli, or illau. But that is no reason why we should lose the jovial humour of our forefathers. Thank heaven, we are preserved their qualities of dash and bravery. But it is more difficult to keep a smiling face in this hideous moral warfare, which is imposed upon even us troopers. All the more reason for liking and admiring the cheery officers who keep up our spirits, and G is one of them. We shook hands without speaking, for it seemed to us that if we opened our mouths, the frost would get into our bodies and freeze them. And we set off at a sharp trot along the narrow road, which crossing the high road to Paris leads to sea. There we should have to leave our horses, cross the zone of the enemy's artillery fire, and get to the trenches on foot. The horses snorted with pleasure, happy to warm themselves by rapid movement. Some of them indulged in merry capers, which were repressed not too gently by the more sedate riders. The hooves struck the uneven ground with a metallic ring, which must have echoed far, and the clink of the bits and stirrups also disturbed the sleeping country. Before us the road ran straight amidst the dark fields, a long pale ribbon, no one thought of laughing or talking. Sleep seemed still to hover over the column, and everyone knew that two days of trench duty would be long and hard to get through, even if the Prussians left us in peace. We passed across, which shone white on the side of the road under the pale light of the moon and saluted it. We had known it from the first days and had its inscription by heart. Eighty non-commissioned officers, corporals and soldiers of the 39th and 74th Regiments of Infantry, killed in action. Pray for them. We dimly discerned the modest reeds of green leaves, now faded and yellow, and the little nose-gaze of withered flowers attached to the arms of this cross, left there after the departure of the regiment, and undisturbed by any sacrilegious hand. We crossed the Paris Road with its double row of trees, which in the night appeared gigantic, and after answering the challenge of the territorial guarding the approach to sea, we entered the village. It appeared to be completely empty, and yet there were two battalions of the territorial's quartered there. The moon seemed to be amusing itself by casting the shadows of the houses on one side of the street upon the walls of the other in fantastic shapes. Dismount! We had reached the spot where we were to leave our horses. The men quickly unbuckled the blankets, which were to help them endure the weary hours of the following night. They slung them over their shoulders, and we set off towards the towing path of the canal. We went very slowly, as we had at least seven or eight kilometers before us, and a walk of eight kilometers for troopers laden and dressed as we were is no light matter. We found the towing path. Walking at that hour of the night is entirely not very alluring. However, the view was not lacking in grandeur. On either side of the canal the dark silhouettes of tall trees stood out against the sky. Their shadows were reflected in the water which gleamed with a metallic luster in the moonshine. How calm and silent it was! Who would have thought that we were at war? Not a cannon shot, not a rifle shot disturbed the peace of the night. Yet as a rule there were no long intervals between the reports which reminded us of the serious work at hand. That day it seemed as though some agreement had been come to by both sides to stop killing or trying to kill. However touching such an agreement might be, it would also be somewhat disturbing, for one must always be aware of an enemy who resorts so freely to tricks and traps of every kind. It was as well not to celebrate Christmas too obtrusively. Besides, I did not think that we were the only ones keeping vigil at that hour. From time to time we passed small groups of infantry, haggard, dusty, and heavily laden, marching in ranks with their arms slung by threes and fours without speaking, striding slowly as though they were trying to measure the length of the road. Some of them were carrying curious objects fastened to sticks, pots or big cans, perhaps baskets. Where were they going? Or what were they doing? We did not ask. Every man has his own job. If those fellows were going that way they had their orders, and nobody troubled himself about their object. All was well. The clattering of the chasseurs on the uneven road lent a little life to the picture. Perhaps they were talking together, but if so it was in an undertone, a whisper almost. And suddenly the enemy let us know that he was also keeping watch. Far ahead of us near sea a rocket went up into the clear sky and then fell slowly, very slowly, in the form of an intensely brilliant ball, lighting up the surrounding country wonderfully. We knew them well, those formidable German rockets, which seemed as though they would never go out and shed a pallid and yet blinding light. We knew that as soon as they were lighted, everybody who happened to be within range of the enemy's rifle fire had at once to lie flat on the ground and not move or raise his head so long as the light was burning. Otherwise shots would be fired from all directions, mowing down the vegetation and cutting up the earth all around him. This time we were well outside the range and we watched the dazzling star in front of us without halting. The shepherd's star said gee solemnly. Strange shepherds indeed must they have been who carried carbines as their crooks and were provided with cartridges enough to send a hundred and twenty of their fellow creatures into the next world. The star seemed to hang for a moment some yards from the ground, then slowly, slowly, as though exhausted by its effort, it fell to the ground and went out. The night seemed less clear and less diaphanous. We had now reached the glassworks and it was there that we were to leave our crooks. No one would have supposed that this large factory lay idle and that the hundreds of workmen employed there were dispersed. On the contrary, it seemed to have retained all the animation of the prosperous enterprise it had been before the war. It was a large square of massive buildings, almost a miniature town, planted on the side of the canal like an outlying bastion of the suburbs of Aar. The low white walls crowned with tiles had the stunted appearance of military works, but a nearer view gave rather the illusion of the life in a busy factory at night time. The gateway opened on a courtyard. The furnace fires shining here and there, shadowy forms passed backwards and forwards enlivening the dim scene with the bustle of a hive. Men came out by fives or sixes laden with different kinds of burdens and disappeared into the darkness making for mysterious goals. In front of the open gate other figures were unloading heavy cases from vans. These quantum glassworks were now a depot for the army supply service and a huge kitchen which administered and fed the whole sector of trenches of which ours formed apart. The Germans knew this, so every day and many times a day their guns fired a few salvos of shells on the huge quadrilateral, but agla troopers were none the worse. Instead of working in the large buildings, part of which had already been destroyed by shells, they utilised the vast basements of the factory. There were the stores and there they had their kitchens, where they worked day and night to supply their comrades in the trenches with the hot abundant food which twice a day made them forget for a few minutes the hardships of the cold, the rain and the mud. Our column halted under the bleak wall. At the wide gateway a sentinel was on duty standing motionless muffled in heavy grey cloak and through it our cooks passed, disappearing into the darkness under the guidance of the liaison officer of the preceding detachment. Whilst waiting for his return from the journey through the labyrinth Ashya sirs had a short rest before beginning the most difficult part of their journey. The last stage on the way to the trenches we were to occupy. I took the opportunity of talking with an infantry captain who was there walking up and down with his face buried in a thick muffler with his hands in his pockets of his heavy overcoat. On the sleeves of which three small pieces of gold lace were discernible. Hey, bien mon capitaine, anything new? Oh nothing, except my opinion that you will not be disturbed either today or tomorrow. Since yesterday evening they have not fired one shot and they were singing hymns till midnight. You may be pretty sure they'll redouble their oremus this christmas night so you may sleep soundly. Unless all this is merely a faint and tonight. Yes, you're right, unless tonight. The column started and guided by the liaison orderly we followed the high road for some hundred yards. Peshels had transformed it into a series of gorges, peaks, ravines and hills. We had to jump over big branches cut from the trees by the projectiles. It was a road that would not be a cheerful one on moonless nights. Fortunately for us that particular night was extremely bright. Everything around us could be distinguished. We could even divine about 1500 yards to our right, the solitary tree, the famous tree, standing alone in the middle of the vast bare plain, which marked the center of our sector of our trenches, and where I knew I should find the dugout belonging to the offices of our regiment. I was very much tempted to jump the ditch at the side of the road and cut across the fields to the final point of our march. It would have taken about 20 minutes and have saved us a long difficult journey through the communication trench. But our orders were very precise. We were not to take shortcuts even on dark nights, much less on starlit nights. Our chiefs do well to be cautious on our behalf, for it is certain that though fully alive to the danger of such a route there was not one of my hundred fellows who would have hesitated to dash across the country to save himself a few hundred yards. We came to the mouth of the approach trench. Four or five huge steps cut into the chalky clay. The frost had made them slippery and we had to keep close to the edge of the bank to avoid stumbling. Behind me I heard some of the men sliding down heavily and a din of mess tins rolling away amidst laughter and jokes. A merry heart goes all the way and I knew my chasseurs would soon pick themselves up and make up for lost time. This was essential for the approach trench had ramifications and unexpected cross passages which might have led a laggard astray. We went forward slowly. The communication trench was at right angles to the enemy's trenches. To prevent him from infallating it with his shells it had been cut in zig-zags and I hardly know of a more laborious method of progression than that of taking 10 paces to the right, marking a sharp turn and then taking 10 paces to the left and so on in order to cover a distance which as the crow flies would not have been more than 1500 yards. The passage was so narrow that we touched the walls on either side. The moonlight could not reach the ground we trod on and we stumbled incessantly over the holes in inequalities caused by the late rains and hardened by the frost. Now and again we slid over ice that had formed on the little pools through which our comrades had been paddling for two days before and this was some consolation for the severity of the frost, preferable hundred times to the horrors of the rain. At last we debouched into our trenches where our predecessors were impatiently waiting for us. Two days and two nights is a long time to go without sleeping, without washing, without having any other view than the walls of earth that shut you in. They were all eager to go back over the same road they had come by two days before to get to their horses again, their quarters, their friends, in short their home. So we found them quite ready to go, blankets rolled up and slung over their shoulders and knapsacks in their places under their cloaks. Whilst the non-commissioned officers of each squadron went to relieve the men at the listening posts, I brushed past the men lined up against the wall and went towards the solitary tree which seemed to be stretching out its gaunt arms to protect our retreat. I had to turn to the right in a narrow passage which went round the tree and ended in three steep steps cut into the earth, down which I had to go to reach the dugout. My old friend, Laji, was waiting for me at the bottom of this den, stretched out on two chairs, warming his feet at a tiny iron stove perched upon a heap of bricks. By the light of the one candle he looked imposing and serious, his tawny beard which had been allowed to grow since the war, spread like a fan over his chest and gave him a look of Henry IV. I knew that this formidable exterior concealed the merriest companion and the most delightful sly Joker that ever lived, so I was not much impressed by his thoughtful brow and his dreamy eye. Well, what's the news? I asked. We're all freezing, he replied. I rather suspected it, besides this fact which we had discovered before him. Laji could only confirm what the infantry captain had told me shortly before. You are going to have a most restful night, my dear fellow, and I advise you to have a Christmas manger arranged at the foot of the solitary tree and at midnight to sing Christmas Awake in Chorus. We know some hymns as well as the Germans. I had no lack of desire to put this proposal into action, but such pious customs as these would not perhaps have been quite in harmony with the tactical ideas of our commanding officer. Still, I promised Laji I would do my best for the realisation of his dream. Good-bye and good luck, he said. Good-bye, I replied. And he went away into the darkness. At the end of the little passage that led to the trench, I could see the men who had just relieved passing in a single file towards the communication trench by which we had come. Their dark forms defiled in closely and rapidly. Having completed their task, they were happy to be free to get back to their squadrons, and as they passed, they cracked their jokes at the others who had to stay. These answered back, but not in the most amiable manner. Then, little by little, silence settled down upon the scene. Every man was at his post. Some kept watch, others walked about in the bottom of the trench, or busied themselves with repairing or improving the indifferent shelters their predecessors had left them. G had gone to take the watch on which the junior officers of the units defending the sector relieved every other three hours. So there I was alone, alone in the midst of my brave chassures with the duty of guarding those five hundred yards of trenches, a very small piece at that time of the immense French line. Behind us, thousands of our fellows were sleeping in perfect confidence, relying upon this thin rampart we formed in front of them, and farther away still were the millions of Frenchmen and French women who, under their family roof or that of their house, were resting in peace because of their sleeveless nights. Our limbs stiffened by the cold, our carbines pointed through the loopholes of the trenches. Thus will we to celebrate the merry festival of Christmas. There was no doubt that far away among those who were keeping the sacred vigil more than one would think of us and sympathize with us. No doubt many a one among us would feel a touch of sadness that evening, thinking of his home. But none, not one I felt sure, would wish to quit his post to get away from the front. Military honour, glorious legacy of our ancestors, who could have foreseen that it would be implanted so naturally and so easily in the young souls of our soldiers. Within their youthful bodies, the same hearts were already beating as those of the immortal veterans of the epic days of France. Men are fashioned by war. Ten o'clock came on Christmas Eve to find that our day had passed in almost absolute calm. It had been a glorious winter day, a day of bright sunshine and pure clear air. The Germans had hardly fired at all. A few cannon shots only had replied to our artillery, which let off its heavy guns every now and then upon their positions from the heights behind us. And then night came. B and I had just finished our frugal meal. We had promised to pay a visit to the territorials who occupied the trenches to the right and left of ours. Achasseurs had been posted in that particular section so that in case of an attack they might form a solid base for the territorials to rely upon. They did not conceal their confidence in our men or their admiration for them. And their officers had no scruples in asking for our advice when difficult cases arose. In fact that very afternoon the captain commanding the company to our right had come to my dugout to arrange with me about the patrols that had to be sent that night in advance of the line. Wrapped in our cloaks we came out of our warm retreat. The night was just like the previous one starlit, bright and frosty a true Christmas night for times of peace. In our trenches one half of the men were awake in obedience to the orders. Carbines were loaded and placed in the loopholes and the guns were trained upon the enemy. In front of us at the end of the narrow passages which led to our listening posts I knew that our centuries were alert with eye and ear crouching in their holes in pairs. No one could approach that broad network of wire which protected us without being immediately perceived and shot. At the bottom of the trenches the men on watch were talking softly together and stamping on the ground to combat the intense cold. Those who were at rest lying close together at the bottom of the little dugouts they had made for themselves in the bank were sleeping or trying to sleep. More than one of them has succeeded for resounding snores could be heard behind the blankets pieces of tent canvas and sacking and all the various rags with which they ingeniously stuffed up the entrances to their rustic alcoves. One wondered how they could overcome the sufferings the cold must have caused them so far to be able to sleep calmly. The five months of war had hardened their bodies and accustomed them to face cold, heat, rain, dust or mud with impunity. In this hard school better than in any other men of iron are fashioned who last out a whole campaign and are capable of the supreme effort when the hour comes. We arrived at the territorial trench. Onsoir Montchère Comarade It was the second lieutenant whom I met at the entrance. He was a man of forty-two thin, pale and bearded. In the shadow his eyes shone strangely. Under the skirts of his great coat he had his hands buried in his trouser pockets. His elbows stuck out from his body. His knees were bent. His teeth chattered. And he was gently knocking his heels together. It isn't warm air, I asked. Oh no. And then you see. This sort of work is hardly the thing for fellows of our age. Our blood isn't warm enough. And however you cover yourself up there's always a chink by which the cold gets in. The worst of all is one's hands and feet. And there's nothing to be done for it. Wouldn't it be much better to trust to us, give us the order to fix mayonets and drive those boshies out of their trenches over there? You'd see if the territorials couldn't do it as well as the regulars. And then one would have a chance of getting warm. I felt sure that he spoke the truth. And that his opinion was shared by the majority of his companions. But our good comrades of the territorial force have no conception of the vigor, the suppleness, and of the fullness of youth required to charge up to the enemy's line under concentrated fire and to cut the complex network of barbed wire that bars the road. Achis were well advised in placing these troops where they were, in those lines of trenches scientifically constructed and protected, where their courage and tenacity would be invaluable in case of attack, and where they would know better than the others how to carry out the orders given to us. Hold on till death. Leave to the young soldiers the sublime and perilous task of rushing upon the enemy when he is hidden behind the shelter of his full guards, his parapets, and his artificial brambles, and entrusted brave territoriales the more obscure and not less glorious work of mounting guard along our front. I could make them out in the moonlight, standing silent and alert in groups of two or three, perched on the edge of the earth which raised them to the height of the parapet, and they had their eyes wide in the open darkness looking towards the enemy. Their loaded rifles were placed in front of them. Between two clods of hardened earth, they neither complained nor uttered a word, but suffered nobly. They understand that they must. Ah, where now were the fine terrains of pothouse orators and public meetings? Where now were the oaths to revolt, the solemn denials, and the blasphemies pronounced against the fatherland? All was forgotten, wiped out from the records. If we could have questioned those men who stood there shivering, chilled to the bone, watching over the safety of the country, not one of them certainly would have confessed that he was ever one of the renegades of yore. And yet if one were to search among the bravest, among the most resigned, among the best, thousands of them would be discovered. Heaven grant that this miracle wrought by the war may be prolonged far beyond the days of the struggle, and then we shall not think that our brother's blood has been spilt in vain. We brushed past them. They did not even turn around. Eyes, mind, and will were absorbed in the dark mystery of the silent landscape stretching out before them. But the night, though it was bright, gave everything a strange appearance, transformed all living things, and increased their size, made the stones, the stacks, and the trees move, as it seemed to our weary eyes, cast fitful shadows where there were none, and made us hear murmurs which sounded like the muffled tramp of troops marching cautiously. Those men watched because they felt that there was always the danger of a surprise attack, of a sudden rush of teutons who had crawled up through the grass of the fields. They had piled on their backs empty sacks, blankets, and old rags for warmth, and wailed their mufflers two or three times around their necks. They had taken all possible precautions for carrying out their duty to the very last. And although our hearts had been hardened by the unprecedented miseries of this war, we were seized with the pity and admiration. Presently one of them turned round and said to us, Hello? They're lighting up over there now. I jumped up onto the ledge and saw, in fact, light shining in three different places some way off. After looking attentively, I guessed the meaning of this quite unusual illumination in the rear of the trenches. The lights came up from some large fir trees placed there under cover of night, and beautifully lightened up. With my glasses I could make them out distinctly, and even the figures dancing round them. We could hear their voices and shouts of merriment. How well they had arranged the whole thing. They had even gone as far as to light up their Christmas trees with electricity, so as to prevent our gunners from using them as an easy target. In fact, every few minutes, all the lights on a tree were suddenly put out, and only appeared some minutes afterwards. We had thrilled instinctively. Suddenly there arose all over the wide plain, solemn, and melodious singing. We still remembered singing of a similar kind we had recently heard in Big Shoot, on a tragic occasion. And here were the same tuneful voices again, singing a hymn of the same kind as those they sang further to the north before shouting their hurrahs for the attack. But we did not fear anything of that kind now. We had the impression that this singing was not a special prayer in front of our little sector of trenches, but that it was general, and extended without limits over the whole of our provinces, violated by the enemy, over Champagne, Lorraine, Picardie, resounding from the North Sea to the Rhine. The territorial trench was full of noiseless animation. The men came up out of their little dugouts without a word, and the whole company was soon perched upon the ledge. There was a silence among our men, as if each man felt uneasy or perhaps jealous of what was going on over there. Then, as if to order, along the line of German trenches, other hymns rang out, and one choir seemed to answer the other. The singing became general. Quite close to us, in the trenches themselves, in the distance round their brightly littered trees, to the right, to the left, it resounded, softened by the distance. What a stirring name, grandiose impression those hymns made floating over the vast field of death. I felt intuitively that all this had been arranged long before, that they might celebrate their Christmas with religious calm and peace. At any other time, no doubt, many a clumsy joke would have been made and no little abuse hurled at the singers. But all that had been changed. I divine some regret among our brave fellows that we were not taking part in a similar festival. Was it not Christmas Eve? Had we not been obliged by our duty to give up the delightful family gathering which unites us yearly round the symbolic Yule log? This year our mothers, our sisters, and our children were keeping up the time honoured and pious custom alone. Why did not our larger family of today join in singing together around lighted fir trees? Our territorial did not speak, but their thoughts flew from the trenches, and the regrets of all were fused in a common feeling of melancholy. Little by little, the singing died away, and absolute silence fell once more upon the country. I went with Gee as far as his watch post. He had to resume his duty as officer of the watch from eleven o'clock in the evening to two o'clock in the morning. The post consisted of a kind of small blockhouse, strongly built and protected by two casemates with machine guns placed so as to command the enemy's trenches. A machine gunner was always on guard and could call the others at the slightest alarm to work the gun. These men were quartered in a kind of tunnel hollowed out close by, and at the first signal would have been ready to open fire with their terrible engines of destruction. In the centre of the blockhouse, a padded sentry box was arranged made of a number of sandbags, in which, by means of a loophole, the officer of the watch could observe the whole sector entrusted to us, and by means of a telephone station close at hand, he could communicate at any moment with the commander of the sector at the glassworks. G. had put on the goat-skin coat handed to him by the officer he relieved. This officer was a second lieutenant of territorial's and looked completely frozen. Here, my dear fellow, he said, I leave you the goat-skin provided for the use of the officer on duty. I should have liked to give it to you well-warmed, but I feel like an icicle myself. G. was nevertheless glad to have it. After wishing him good luck, I left him to get back to my hut, for in spite of my cloak the frost was taking hold of me, too. The faithful wattleot had done his best to keep our little stove going. Profiting by Luggy's example, I stretched myself on two chairs with my feet towards the fire. I gradually got warmer, and at the same time somewhat melancholy. What a curious Christmas Eve! Certainly, I'd never heard of one past in such a place. The walls were made of a grayish, friable earth which still showed the marks of the pick that had been used for the excavation. The furniture was simple and not very comfortable. At the back was the bed, made of a little straw already well tossed over by a number of sleepers. This straw was kept in by a plank fixed to the ground and forming the side of a modest couch. Against the wall opposite the stove was the table. This table which had to serve for writing and feeding, and perhaps for a game of cars, this table which was required to fill out the part of all tables of all rooms of any house, was, strange to say, a night table. I wondered who had brought it there, and who had chosen it. But such as it was, it served the purpose pretty well. We used it for dinner and found it almost comfortable, and upon it I signed a number of reports and orders. Together with the two chairs, the stove, the bed, and some nails to hang my clothes on, the table completed the furniture of the home where I meditated on that December night. The candle stuck in a bottle, flickered at the slightest breath, and threw strange shadows on the walls. It was the hour of solitude and silence, the hour of meditation, and of sadness too now and then. That evening dark thoughts were flying about in that smoky den, assailing me in crowds, and taking possession of my mind. I could not drive them away. It was one of those moments, those very fleeting moments, when courage seems to fail, and one gives way with a kind of bitter satisfaction. I remembered that months and months had passed since I had seen any of those belonging to me, and I conjured up in my mind the picture of the Christmas Eve they were keeping, too, at that same hour, at the other end of France. And the dear good friends I had left in Paris and in Rouen. Where were they at that moment? What were they doing? Were they thinking of me? How I should have liked to enjoy the wonderful power possessed by certain heroes in Arabian nights, which would have allowed me to see at that moment a vision of the loved ones far away. Were they talking about me, sitting together around the fire? I thought that this war had been a splendid thing to us chasseurs, as long as we were fighting as cavalry, scouring the plains, searching the woods, galloping in advance of our infantry, and bringing them information which enabled them to deal their blows, or parry those of the enemy, trying to come up with the Prussian cavalry which fled before us. But this trench warfare, this warfare in which one stays for days and days in the same position, in which ground is gained yard by yard, in which artifice tries to outdo artifice, in which each side clings to the ground it has won, digs into it, buries itself in it, and dies in it sooner than give it up. What warfare for cavalry? We have devoted ourselves to it with all our hearts, and the chiefs who have had us under their orders have never failed to commend us. But at times we feel very weary, and during inaction and solitude our imaginations begin to work. Then we recall our regimented full gallop over the fields and plain. We hear the clank of swords and bits. We see once more the flash of the blades, the motley line of the horses. We evoke the well-known figures of our chiefs on their charges. That night my mind became more restless than ever before. It broke loose, it leapt away, and lived again the unforgettable stages of this war. Chaleroi, Guise, the Marne, the defence of Chalgon Bridge, Montmerelle, Reims, Belgium, Big Chute, and then it fell back into the gloomy dugout where the flame of the single candle traced disquieting shadows on the wall. Suddenly a cold breath of air blew into my retreat. The door opened abruptly, and at the top of the steps a man stooping over the floor of the passage called to me in an undertone. Mon-Leftenant, come and see! Something is happening! With a bound I sprang up from my shelter and climbed up the ledge. Listen, Mon-Leftenant! That night in the trenches was destined to overwhelm me with astonishment, and this once surpassed all that I could imagine. I should like to be able to impart the extraordinary impression I felt, but one would have to have been there that night to be capable of realising it. Over that vast and silent plain in which everything seemed to sleep and where no other sound was heard there resounded from afar a voice whose notes in spite of the distance reached our ears. What an extraordinary thing it was! That song vibrating through the boundless night made our hearts beat and stirred us more than the most perfectly ordered concert given by the most famous of singers. And it was another hymn, unknown to us coming from the German trenches far away on our right. The singer must have been standing out in the fields on the edge of their line. He must have been moving, coming towards us, and passing slowly along the enemy's positions, for his voice came gradually nearer and became louder and clearer. Every now and then it ceased, and then hundreds of other voices responded in chorus with some phrases which formed the refrain of the hymn. Then the soloist began again and came still nearer to us. He must have come from the considerable distance for our chassers had already heard him for some time before they decided to call me. Who could this man have been? Who must have been sent all along the front of the troops to pray whilst each German company waited for him, so as to join in with him in prayer? Some minister no doubt who had come to remind the soldiers of the sanctity of that night and the solemnity of the hour. Soon we heard the voice coming from the trenches straight in front of us. In spite of the brightness of the night we could not distinguish the singer, for the two lines at that point were four hundred yards apart. But he was certainly not hiding himself, for his deep voice would never have sounded so rich and clear to us had he been singing at the bottom of their trenches. Again it ceased, and then the Germans directly in front of us, the soldiers occupying the works opposite hours, those men whom we were bound to kill so soon as they appeared and whose duty it was to shoot us as soon as we showed ourselves. Those men calmly took up the refrain of the hymn, with its sweet and mysterious words. They too must have come to the edge of their trench and struck up their hymn with their faces towards us, for their notes came to us clearly and distinctly. I looked along the line of our trench. All our men too were awake and looking on. They had all got on to the ledge, and several had left the trench and were in the field, listening to the unexpected concert. No one was offended by it, no one laughed at it. Rather there was a trace of regret in the attitudes and the faces of those who were nearest to me. And yet it would have been such a simple matter to put an end to that scene. A volley fired by the troop there, and it would all stop and drop back into the quiet of other nights. But nobody thought of such a thing. There was not one of our chasseurs who would not have considered it a sacrilege to fire upon those praying soldiers. We felt indeed that there are hours when one can forget that one is there to kill. This would not prevent us from doing our duty immediately afterwards. The voice drew further away, and retreated slowly and majestically towards the trenches situated at the place known as the Troopers of Seas Ground, where our two lines approached each other within a distance of fifty yards. How much more touching the sight must have been from there! I wished my post had been in that direction, so that time might have been present at the scene. Might have heard the words, and distinguished the figure of the pastor walking along the parapets made for hurling out death, and blessing those who next day might be no more. Ping! A shot was heard. The stupid bullet, which had perhaps found its mark? At once there was dead silence, not a cry, not an oath, not a groan. Someone had thought he was doing well by firing on that man. A pity. We should gain nothing by preventing them from keeping Christmas in their own way, and it would have been a nobler thing to reserve our blows for other heker tombs. I know that the barbarians would not have hesitated, had they been in our place, and that so many of our priests had fallen under their strokes, that they could not reasonably have reproached us. There are people who will say that our hatred should embrace everything German, that we should be implacable towards everything bearing that name, and spare none of the excreted race, which has been the cause of so many tears, so much blood, so much mourning. Never mind. I think in this case it would have been better not to have shot. A shot fired, not far from us, on our left brought me up from my shelter. It seemed strange after that complete calm of the night. It was seven o'clock. The sun was magnificent, and had already bathed the deserted plain, the fields, the heights of S, and the ruined village. In the distance towards the east the towers of the Cathedral of Ars stood out proudly against the golden sky. I looked and saw that all my chasseurs standing on the ledges waiting with interest, a scene which seemed to be going on in front of the trenches, occupied on our left by the Territorials. I got up by the side of one of them, and he explained to me what was happening. One left hand, and it's the infantry fellows who have just killed a hare that ran between the two lines. There, they're going to fetch it. And in fact, I saw this strange sight. Two men had gone out in full daylight from their trenches, and were advancing with hesitating steps towards the enemies. Behind them were a hundred inquisitive heads, looking out above the embrasures arranged between the sacks of earth. A few soldiers who had come out of the trench were even sitting on the bank of chalky earth. It was certainly such a scene as I had hardly expected to witness. What was the captain of the company occupying the trench doing? But my astonishment became stupification when I saw hundreds of heads that fringed the enemy's trenches. I at once sent G and a non-commissioned officer with the following order to all our men. No one is to show himself, every man to his fighting post, carbines loaded and ready to fire. The Germans opposite became suspicious on seeing our line so silent, and no man showing himself. They too waited on the alert behind their loopholes. But along the rest of their front, their men kept on coming out of their trenches unarmed, and making merry and friendly gestures. I became uneasy and wondered how this unexpected comedy might end. Or tie to have those men fired upon who were not quite opposite to us, and whose opponents seemed rather inclined to make a Christmas truce? Our two infantrymen had come to the spot where the hair had fallen, very nearly half way between the French and German lines. One of them stooped down and got up again, proudly brandishing his victim in the enemy's faces. At once there was a burst of applause from the German lines. They called out, Comrade, Comrade. This was going too far. I saw two unarmed Prussians leave their trench and come forward with their hands raised towards the two Frenchmen. So I consulted Gee. What, we to fire? I confess it would be rather unpleasant for me to order our fellows to fire upon these unarmed men. On the other hand, can we allow the least intercourse between the barbarous nation that is still treading our soil, and our good brothers in arms who are pouring out their blood every day to reconquer it? Fortunately, the officer who commanded the St. Théry Artillery, and who had observed this scene with his glasses, spared me a decision which would have been painful to me. Four shells passed, hissing over our heads, and burst with amourable precision 200 yards above the German trenches. The artillery officer, seen to have placed with a delicate hand the four little white puffs of smoke which, equidistant from each other, appeared to mark out the bounds in the heavens of the frontier line he wished to forbid the enemy to pass on the earth. The Germans did not fail to understand this graceful warning. With cries of rage and protest, they ran back to their shelters, and our Frenchmen did the same. And as though to mark the intentional kindness of what he had just done, hardly had the last the spiked helmets disappeared behind the parapets, when again the same hissing noise was heard, and PONG PONG PONG PONG! Four shells dropped, this time full upon the whitish line formed along the green plain by the upturned earth of their trenches. In the midst of the smoke, earth and rubbish of all kinds were seen flying. Achaise cried, Bravo! Everyone felt that the best solution had been found, and rejoiced at the termination of the brief Christmas truce. And now our minds were free to rejoice in the great day itself in company with our good troopers. In the night they had arrived well packed in smart hampers, the bottles of champagne which Major B had presented to his men, and we were looking forward to the time, only a few hours hence, when the soup would be upon the table, and we should keep our Christmas by letting off the corks in the direction of the German trenches. Our young fellow officers were already anticipating this peaceful salvo, which would certainly be heard by the enemy. End of Chapter 8 End of In the Field 1914-1915 by Marcel de Pont Recording by F.N.H. Visit www.bookranger.co.uk