June 1917.
My time for leave was due again, and as we were allowed to spend it in France without interfering1 with the number of those who desired to see their friends in England, I determined2 to go to Chamounix. I thought that the sight of a great natural wonder like Mont Blanc would have an uplifting effect upon the mind, at a time when everything human seemed to be going to rack and ruin. The white peaks of the Alps in their changeless purity against the blue of the infinite sky seemed to me a vision which the soul needed. So I started off one lovely morning on my way to Paris. I went by side-car to Amiens, where I took the train. It was a delightful3 expedition, and I left with a good conscience, because our men were not expected to attack, and were in a quiet sector4 of the line. The driver of the car, with the prospect5 of a good meal at Amiens and a good tip, was in the best of humours. The air was sweet and fresh and the grass wore its brightest green. The sunshine beat down from a cloudless sky, and when we paused for repairs, as we had to do from time to time, birds' songs furnished us with a most enjoyable concert. An expedition of this kind was made doubly charming by having in it a touch of adventure. When we came to a village, at once the map had to be studied and the turns in the road noted6. A conversation with some of the villagers as we journeyed, always broke the sense of loneliness, and gave us an insight into the feelings of the people. However, on this particular occasion, I was not able to complete the journey to Amiens in the side-car. Either the car broke down, or the driver preferred to go on by himself, for the thing came to a dead stop just as a car from the Corps7 was about to pass us. The occupants kindly8 invited me to go on to Amiens with them. It was a swifter way of continuing the journey and much more comfortable, so I said good-bye to my original driver and started off with my new friends.
Amiens was a bustling9 place then and very unlike the Amiens I saw a little over a year later. I started by train at six-thirty p.m., and at eight-thirty, after a pleasant journey, arrived at Paris, where I went to the Hotel Westminster. On the next evening, I started off with some friends for Evians-les-Bains. The train was very full, and there were no berths10 in the wagon-lit, so we had to stay up all night in a crowded first-class carriage. There was an old French Curé at one end of the compartment11, who, quite early in the evening, drew out a silk handkerchief and covered his head and face therewith, leading us to suppose that he had sunk into oblivion. We therefore carried on a very pleasant and vivacious12 conversation, as the night was warm and we were not inclined to sleep. Suddenly the old Curé pulled off the handkerchief and said in a gruff voice, "It is the time for sleeps and not for talks." and, having uttered this stinging rebuke13, re-covered his head and left us in penitent14 silence. We arrived at Evians-les-Bains in good time, and went to a very charming hotel with a lovely view of the Lake of Geneva in front. Unfortunately, I had hurt my foot some time before and it looked as if it had got infected. Not wishing to be laid up so far from medical assistance, I decided15 to return the same evening, which I did, and once more found myself at the Hotel Westminster. I now determined to spend my leave in Paris. There were many of our men in the city at that time. They were all in a very impecunious16 condition, for there was some difficulty in getting their pay and, in Paris, money did not last long. I did my best to try and help them, and later our system of payment was improved. It was perhaps just as well for some of them that their money was short.
Poor old Paris looked very shabby to one who remembered her in former days with her clean streets and many-fountained parks. She wore the air of shabby gentility. The streets were not clean; the people were not well-dressed, the fountains no longer played. France had been hard hit by the war, and the ruin and desolation of her eastern borders were reflected in the metropolis17. I spent most of my time in Paris trying to keep men straight, with more or less success. I can imagine nothing worse for a lonely young fellow, who had taken his leave after weary months in the front line, than to find himself in the midst of the heartless gaiety of the French capital. On all sides the minions18 of vice19, diseased in mind and body, lay in waiting for their prey20. To one who loved Canada and longed for the uplifting of the pure life of Canadian homes, it was a spectacle which filled the heart with anxiety. Before I left Paris, I wrote a letter to the Continental21 Daily Mail advocating the taking over of some hotels which could be turned into hostels22 or clubs for soldiers while on leave. This, I am happy to say was afterwards done.
I met many of our men at the soldiers' tea-rooms called "A corner of Blighty" in the Place Vendome, and I organized several dinner and theatre parties which went off very pleasantly. When the men had companionship, they did not feel the lure24 of vice which came to them in moments of loneliness. I met some interesting people in Paris, and at a Sunday luncheon25 in the charming house of the Duchess de la M—— I met Madame ——, the writer of a series of novels of rather lurid26 reputation. The authoress was a large person with rich orange-coloured hair, powdered cheeks, and darkened eyelashes. She wore a large black hat, enormous solitaire pearl ear-rings, and, as a symbol of her personal purity, was arrayed in white. She lamented27 the fact that women writers were not allowed to visit the front. When I told her that Mrs. Humphrey Ward23 had been there, she said, "Oh yes, they allowed her to go because they said she could write good English, but she cannot get the ear of the American people in the way I can."
There were two or three French officers present, one of whom was an attaché at the Embassy in Madrid. I was much impressed by their quiet dignified28 bearing, so typical of the chivalrous29 heroism30 of France, and so unlike anything which we could look for in the officers of the German Army. I could not help observing that the French were much depressed31 and filled with anxiety as to the issue of the war. A French lady said to me "How can we go on much longer; our man-power is nearly exhausted32?" It is a supreme33 delight to me to think that that wonderful nation, which suffered and bled so deeply and bore its wrongs so nobly, has now been avenged34 on the ruthless enemy, and that the tricolour once more floats over Alsace and Lorraine. Profoundly patriotic35 though we of the British Empire are, there is something in the patriotism36 of the French which goes down into the deepest roots of the human soul. I remember once in the private burying place of a noble family who owned a chateau37 not far from our front line, seeing a little child's grave. The child had died in Canada at the age of two years, and its body had been brought back to its ancestral resting place. On the tombstone, under the inscription38 were the words:—
"Petit ange
Priez pour
la France."
I was very much struck by the prayer. That the sorrow for a child's death should be coupled with the love of country seemed most strange and pathetic. I venture to say that it would be impossible to find a parallel instance of such a blending of emotions in any English churchyard. The present owner of the Chateau, which was at least two or three hundred years old, was away fighting for his country, and long grass and weeds filled the uncared for corner by the side of the old church. In past history, we have fought with the French again and again, but we always felt that we were fighting with gentlemen, and were sure that every courteous39 deed done by us would meet with an equally courteous response. One of the saddest things in the war was that, while we often admired the military efficiency of the Germans, we had absolutely no respect for their officers or men, nor could we regard them as anything but well-trained brutes40. The ties which bind41 us to France now are very intimate and personal, and it is a matter of thankfulness to all who love human idealism and true culture, that the reproach of the defeat of 1870 has been washed away in blood, and that France will emerge from her fiery42 trial a purer and a loftier nation.
I was not sorry when my Paris leave was over and I returned to my Headquarters at Chateau d'Acq. It was always delightful to get back to my war home and settle down again in the midst of those on whose shoulders the fate of civilization rested. I arrived back on June 29th, just in time to prepare for the special services which were to be held throughout the Corps on Sunday, July 1st, it being the jubilee43 of the Dominion44. I made arrangements with the band of the Royal Canadian Regiment45, as our Divisional band was away, to march over from Villers au Bois and play for us at the service. We had special hymns46 and prayers neatly47 printed on cards, which the men were to retain as souvenirs. The parade was held just outside St. George's Church, our new Divisional Commander, General Macdonell, and his staff attending. The occasion was particularly interesting to me, because I was the only man in the whole Canadian Corps at the front who could remember the first Dominion Day. I could remember as a child being taken by my father on the 1st of July, 1867, to hear the guns firing a salute48 on the grounds of McGill College, Montreal. Canada had travelled a long distance on the path of nationhood since that far-off time, and now, after fifty years, I had the satisfaction of being with the great Canadian Army Corps on European soil, engaged in the biggest war of history. Such an experience is not often the privilege of a human life, and the splendid body of men before me gave promise of Canada's progress and national glory in the future. Everyone felt the peculiar49 significance of the celebration.
Owing to the fact that my foot was still troubling me, I was sent down to the rest-camp at Fresnicourt, where I met many of the officers and men in that delightful old Chateau. The country round about was very pretty, and the views from the hills were charming. Every night I used to have either a service, or a talk with the men, on the grass beside a little stream. They were all enjoying the rest and refreshment50 that came from being able to live in pleasant surroundings and away from shells and work in the trenches51. On July 18th, I went by side-car to St. Omer where the Senior Chaplains of the Army were summoned to a conference. We were billeted in the large building used as the Chaplains' Rest Home, and there enjoyed the great privilege, not only of meeting one another, but of listening to some splendid addresses and lectures by those in charge. It was pleasant to re-visit St. Omer. The quaint52 old French town, with its rambling53 streets and polite inhabitants, took one away from the thoughts of war and gave one almost a feeling of home. In the smoking-room at night, we had the opportunity of discussing with one another the various moral and religious problems with which the chaplain had to contend, and many were the interesting experiences of those chaplains. On the last day of our meetings, at the early Eucharist, we had an address from the Archbishop of York, who had just come over to France. Later on, he gave an address at a general meeting of the chaplains at Bethune.
While at St. Omer I paid a visit to the Second Army School in their magnificent buildings in Wisques, where I saw the room that my son had occupied, and met some of the people who remembered him. The place was used as a training school for officers and was most wonderfully equipped. The building was a modern convent, and the large unfinished chapel54, with its high vaulted55 roof, was used as a dining-room. It was inspiring at dinner to see the hundreds of young officers, all so keen and cheery, sitting round the tables, while a good band played during the meal. It was hard to realize that they were only having a momentary56 respite57 from the war, and, in a week or two, would be once more up in the line facing wounds and death. The Commandant took great pride in the institution, and told me of the splendid records of the men who had passed through his hands.
Our Divisional Headquarters now moved to a place called Bracquemont, near Noeux les Mines. Here I had a very fine room in the house of the manager of one of the Mines, the offices of which were on the other side of the road. The house was well built, and had a most charming garden at the back. It was large and commodious58, and I always feared that my billet would attract the covetous59 desires of some high staff officer and that I should be thrown out to make way for him. My room was on the ground floor with two large windows opening on the street, enabling me to get the Daily Mail from the newsboy in the morning. The ceiling was high and the furniture most sumptuous60. A large mirror stood upon the marble mantel-piece. I had linen61 sheets on the bed and an electric light at my side. It did not seem at all like war, but the end of the mahogany bed and some of the chairs, also one corner of the ceiling, had been perforated by bits of shrapnel. So in the midst of luxury, there was the constant reminder62 that the war was still going on—a death's head at the feast.
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1
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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sector
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| n.部门，部分；防御地段，防区；扇形 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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22
hostels
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| n.旅舍，招待所( hostel的名词复数 )；青年宿舍 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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24
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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25
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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27
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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31
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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34
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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35
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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38
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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41
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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42
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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43
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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46
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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47
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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48
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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49
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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51
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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61
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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