THE POILU'S ROMANCE

Evening Star, Issue 16663, 20 February 1918, Page 8

THE POILU'S ROMANCE

» A FRENCH WAR STORX , Here is a war story with a tarob «? gaiety. The suffering and bitterness of war cannot altogether extinguish cheerfulness of spirit and naturalness of feeling. Life, even at the front, runs along the old grooves of emotion. In fact, the romantic impulse has been quickened by '•he war, and the relations between women and men have become purer and tenderer. Truly, as the writer of this story 6ays: " The poilu is an affectionate being, who has need of loving and being loved." From that point c-f view the romance which is set forth below has a truo war-time aspect. It is charmingly simple—an experience, doubtless, representative of thousands of othens in a time when men and women are being brought together on a footing of broader sympathy and more genuine fellowship. And the simplicity cf the poilu',? modest recital is not a bit more admirable than is its unaffected delicacy of sentiment. A soldier's knap-sack ie a good writing desk. For half an hour I have been scribbling on the top of mine. Beside me Durand smokes his pipe. Sly pen runs over the paper. Durand a.=ks me: , . ' ."Well, old man, what are you writing to your little lambkin? You are certainly, stringing it out." | I pretend not to understand him. Durand, I my dear friend, although you question me, I am not going to make you my confident. But you, monsieur, who do me the honor to read me, and you, madame, and espscially you, mademoiselle—you will listen to me without laughing at me, I am sure. Sine© I am going to confide in you, I must first make a little explanation for your benefit. Perhaps you already know what I am going to teii you. You at the rear know everything that happens at the front. You are sometimes better informed than wo are who are at the front. Excuse, then, my presumption- if I believe that I am telling you something new when I say that my comrades aiid I—all of us, even those who used to be the most sceptical—have become sentimental in the * extreme. Yes, despite his hirsute, weather-beaten, mud-stained appearance, the poilu is an affectionate being, who ha« need of loving and being loved. The poilu wishes to have <l woman in his life, a wife or a fiancee, on whom lie can centre hi 5 thoughts. The soldier, who knows that at every moment death is lying in waiting for him, likes to cherish hopes and dreams. All my comrades who have been on leave have come back marrh d or engaged to be married. For several weeks I was the only one in my class. I had become a sort of phenomenon. One day, not being able to stand it any longer, I wrote .to Mme Mouriez. She used to be my mother's best friend. I said to her: " Dear Madame, —I am going to have a furlough very soon. I shall visit you. From among the young girls you know, pick out one for me. You can then present me, and I shall try to please." Some days passed. Mme Mouriez wrote me an answer. My request had flattered and enchanted her. When women are too old to have love affairs of their own they find a. pleasure which is still delicious in occupying themselves with the love affairs of others. " I have the very girl for you," Mme Mouriez wrote. " She is Benee Bontois. You remember her, don't you?" Mion Dieu! (Did I remember her? I took out my stylograph and replied: '" Madame, I beseech you, what have I done that you should wish to inflict Mile Kontois on mer She is not a woman. She is a crocodile. She devours everything. She has already devoured everything—physics, logic, mechanics, ballistics, languages, philosophy, and mathematics. Mercy, mercy, madame! Don't offer me as provender for her redoubtable jaws." Two days later I got my leave. My captain and my lieutenant loft the cantonment the same day that I did. They graciously brought me with them to the railroad station in the company " cioach." The " coach " of the officers of my company is an ancient family omnibus. All its £»lass windows are smashed; nil its springs are broken; its shafts are patched together with bits of twine; its superb steeds are two broken-down horses, which they tried to paint green last summer, and which, after some weeks of a dirty grey, have now turned as white again as they were originally. At the station of V my captain and my lieutenant got into a first class car. I, humble private, had a right only to a third class passage. But let no one pity me. I am so glad that I travelled • third class! As a companion I had at first only an old priest with a countenance battered by time, with grey hair, as light =as the plumage of a tiny bird. Seated opposite me, he read his breviary. The train was an accommodation train, stopping at every little station. At one of them the door of my compartment opened. A young girl cast a quick glance inside, regarded me, and then noticed the pr'est. His presence decided her. She put the tip of her little shoe on the running board, iand, with a single movement, bounded lightly into our compartment. The train started again. For a while our new companion looked out at the countryside. Then, opening her bag, she drew out some knitting neei.es and began to knit. She was absorbed in her work; it alone seemed to exist for her. I had a chance, therefore, to study her. I did so discreetly, over the top of my newspaper. She was as pretty as one could wish. A brow well modelled; brown eyes, brilliant and tender; a rounded mouth, fresh as a strawberry; an air of smartness, gracdoueness, and candor —the air of a very genuine young woman. A dark straw hat set off her blonde hair. Her tailor-made suit was cut in faultless style. Obviously her type was different from that of the customary third class passenger. I was deeply interested. At the next stop we took on a peasant woman. She was returning from market. She opened the door, pushed in two big empty m*iket baskets, knocking them against my knees, and called, out: "Excuse me, Mr Soldier; take this little package for me; it oontains eggs. Handle it carefully. And take this; it ia butter. And, then take this; it is cheese." A pungent odor filled the compartment. The peasant woman got aboard last. She found a place for her panniers. The little packages were really big packages. We put them on the seats. The woman took one of them on her lap. I could now see my pretty 'companion with the knitting needles only across the clearway of the wicker hampers. In her corner the young girl squeezed herself up so as to make more room for the new arrival. At this moment I heard her voice for the first time. The peasant woman said to her: " I am afraid that I am crowding you, mademoiselle?" She answered: "Not at all, madame." Tina assurance was given in a cordial tone, as if to a friend in a drawing room. The train started again. Suddenly the peasant woman said to me: " Tell me, Mr Soldier, where do you come from? How are you gettir,;r along down there? Have you many big shells? Any many men killed?" I was abcut to answer her, very obligingly But there wae the plaoard staring me in the face. "Be silent I Be on your guard! Enemy ears hear you!" It was a reminder r.hat I ought to weigh my words. So I contented myself with answerirtg evasively : " We have lots of rain, and when it raiDs we get soaked." The pretty girl with the knitting needles did not lift her eyes from her work, but a slight smile ehowed about her mouth. Her .chcrming face was lighted up. 1 guessed what she was thinking: "If that gocd fellow..liad been depended on to invent powder, his comrades and he would still be fighting as they fought in the time of Merovaeus." It is useless for me to deny that I am somewhat sensitive. I felt humiliated. Who wishes to pass for a thickhead? Especially in the presence of a pretty girl. I Meanwhile the good "woman broke out in j lamentations. Her eon Arsene was fighting somewhere in the Ajgonne. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! She could no longer eat from worry. j Oh, my! Oh, my! I interposed : j " But, madame, all those who go to the war are not killed. I have fought for eighteen months." She listened to me, but without being convinced. She repeated over again: "Oh, ,my! Oh, my!" Then her cfiarming neighbor intervened. "The gentleman is right. I have two brothers who have been under fire ever 6ince the war besran. Only the elder has been wounded."

Little by little the peasant .woman calmed ( down. , l

"Alcat Alas!" she' sighed. " But as they say, one must bear misfortunes with patience. 1 * At'the next station she got out. When she was on the platform with all her paniers, the big ones and the little ones,- two young girls- appeared at the window o£ the compartment. They wore hate like that of my gracious companion. "Well, 'well," they said, aren't you going to rejoin as? ATe you going to stay in here all the way/ bomep" " Ye», I 001." Tne two sisters turned away and got l&jpk into their first-class compartment. I found myself alone, with the old cure and the young woman. She continued to knit. The stocking she was making grew longer. I puzzled my brain to, discover a reason why she should have left her sisters and travelled alone third class, but I couldn't find any. At the station in B , where I was to get off, I was surprised to see my companion get off also. On the platform she joined her sisters. One of them said to her: " You know, Monique, I have made a calculation. You have saved eleven francs and a-quarter. You can use it to buy tobacco for your wounded." At the exit a lady awaited them. The next day my friend, Mme Mouriez, presented me to the family.' Lebergier. And that, is the reason why I now have at the rear, like my comrades, an exquisite fiancee, who writes me long letters and of whom I think at night, when I am on guard under the stars!'