|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 93
Julie said some words to Picard, and with a little _au revoir_ to John,
went away. John watched her until she was out of sight. He realized
again that young French girls were kept secluded from the world, immured
almost. But the world had changed. Since a few men met around a table
six or seven weeks before and sent a few dispatches a revolution had
come. Old customs, old ideas and old barriers were going fast, and might
be going faster. War, the leveler, was prodigiously at work.
These were tremendous things, but he had himself to think about too, and
personality can often outweigh the universe. Julie was gone, taking a
lot of the light with her, but Picard was still there, and while he was
grizzled and stern he was a friend.
John sat up quite straight and Picard did not try to keep him from it.
"Picard," he said, "you see me, don't you?"
"I do, sir, with these two good eyes of mine, as good as those in the
head of any young man, and fifty is behind me."
"That's because you're not intellectual, Picard, but we'll return to our
lamb chops. I am here, I, a soldier of France, though an American--for
which I am grateful--laid four days upon my back by a wound. And was
that wound inflicted by a shell, shrapnel, bomb, lance, saber, bullet or
any of the other noble weapons of warfare? No, sir, it was done by a
horse, and not by a kick, either, he jostled me with his knee when he
wasn't looking. Would you call that an honorable wound?"
"All wounds received in the service of one's country or adopted country
are honorable, sir."
"You give me comfort, Picard. But spread the story that I was not hit by
a horse's knee but by a piece of shell, a very large and wicked piece of
shell. I want it to get into the histories that way. The greatest of
Frenchmen, though he was an Italian, said that history was a fable
agreed upon, and you and I want to make an agreement about myself and a
shell."
"I don't understand you at all, sir."
"Well, never mind. Tell me how long Mademoiselle Julie is going to stay
here. I'm a great friend of her brother, Lieutenant Philip Lannes. Oh,
we're such wonderful friends! And we've been through such terrible
dangers together!"
"Then, perhaps it's Lieutenant Lannes and not his sister, Mademoiselle
Julie, that you wish to inquire about."
"Don't be ironical, Picard. I was merely digressing, which I admit is
wrong, as you're apt to distract the attention of your hearer from the
real subject. We'll return to Mademoiselle Julie. Do you think she's
going to remain here long?"
"I would tell you if I could, sir, but no one knows. I think it depends
upon many circumstances. The young lady is most brave, as becomes one of
her blood, and the changes in France are great. All of us who may not
fight can serve otherwise."
"Why is it that you're not fighting, Picard?"
The great peasant flung up his arms angrily.
"Because I am beyond the age. Because I am too old, they said. Think of
it! I, Antoine Picard, could take two of these little officers and crush
them to death at once in my arms! There is not in all this army a man
who could walk farther than I can! There is not one who could lift the
wheel of a cannon out of the mud more quickly than I can, and they would
not take me! What do a few years mean?"
"Nothing in your case, Antoine, but they'll take you, later on. Never
fear. Before this war is over every country in it will need all the men
it can get, whether old or young."
"I fear that it is so," said the gigantic peasant, a shadow crossing his
stern face, "but, sir, one thing is decided. France, the France of the
Revolution, the France that belongs to its people, will not fall."
John looked at him with a new interest. Here was a peasant, but a
thinking peasant, and there were millions like him in France. They were
not really peasants in the old sense of the word, but workingmen with a
stake in the country, and the mind and courage to defend it. It might be
possible to beat the army of a nation, but not a nation in arms.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|