THE SPIRIT OF A NATION

Otago Witness, Issue 3250, 28 June 1916, Page 45

THE SPIRIT OF A NATION

CALM CONFIDENCE OF TIIE FRENCH. " GERMANY CAN NEVER WIN." From Malcolm Ross Official War Correspondent With the N.Z. Forces. NORTHERN FRANCE, May 1. "Would you like to see a miracle?" said the colonel, as wo camo to a urou'fc in the communication trench and looked alung a disused road. Yes, Ave assured him that we should. "Well, scatter," he added, ;us we emerged from the trench one at a time, for the Roches could see this road, and in these days even miracles cannot be seen in safety it* you cros-s open spaces in groups." In a green field on our righi. beside the road was a hugo shell hole. it was as if some earthly carbunclo had been rooted from the soil. " On the left, some little disstance ahead, wore the ruins of peasant homes. And near them, in a shattered shriiK.', wi:>s a Christ., life-sized and untouched., on a cross. The tumbled bricks lay in a red heap at the foot, of the cross. Only the aureole behind the crucifix was slightly broken. The cross and the figure had escaped unscratched. That was the miracle

"The people hero go down on their knees before that.," said the Colonel.

On a used road, close up behind the firing line, was another crucifix. A young woman walking along the road went up to it, made a genuflexion, and said an "Ave Maria." Continuing her journey, she saw a little child playing by the roadside. Sihe took the child back to the shrine and made her. also, say an "Ave Maria."

Change the, soono now to a homely interior in one oi tho villages also not far behind tho firing-line. The husband is home from tho trenches on leave, and is eating a meal. The women are working at (heir ordinary domestic duties. The boll for the Angelus tolls. Tho man stops his eating, the women their work. Each onegoes through tho same performance, reverently, as did the young woman and the little child at the roadside shrine. It is this deeply religious spirit, combined with pride of race and love of country, a supremo confidence in their own powers, and a great faith in their just cause, that is winning the war in France today. There are no rebels in this land, no conscientious objectors, no stop-the-war party. Everyone knows that tho war must go on —and go on as quickly as possible — to its legitimate end. And they realise fully that there is only one way out — the" destroying Hun must himself be destvoved. You tret your first impression of an altered France on landing at Marseilles. T sut Marseilles itself is not changed. The docks and quays seem to bo as busy as ever. There is. a vast amount of shipping, mostly British. In the' glorious avenues of the city the piano trees are bursting into leaf, as when you. last saw them. There are'no shattered monuments here. Marseilles is too far behind the lines. But you note a great change in the people Everywhere there are soldiers, many of them* wounded, sonic without a leg. some without -an arm. Out of the gateway of the fort at the entrance of the harbour that centuries ago held the argosies of tho old conquering Greeks comes a stream of strange troops—a mixture of black and white and brown. Some of them arc great big fellows, muon stronger than the Boches whom, under nxed bayonets we saw unloading tho ships near by" Marching up the Rue do la Repubhque comes a column of the little Senegalese, black and jolly, sweating in the warm sun under their packs and warm overcoats, lhe mixture of caste and colour, and the variety of uniforms—blue and red and grey—remind you that France, like England, lias her colonies, and that whereas Germany s overseas dominions arc to her a sealed book, there is free inter-oommunication between tho possessions of England and France and the mother lands. At one of the crowded quays soldiers partially recovered i from wounds and sickness—a shipload ol them—are going back to recruit their waste;! strength in Algiers. For the first time wo sec soldiers wearin"- their steel casques. It almost seems as if we had stepped back into "the spacious days of the crusades. Some of the casques have dints in them. In the varied cosmopolitan throng that moves and has its being in Marseilles one rubs shoulders with tall, handsome Serbs in khaki. Australians of the "grand chapeau"—the French at first mistook them for the corps Alpini of ItalyBritish, Canadians, New Zealanders, Maoris, French, Italian, and English naval officers, and the advance guard of the friendly Russian influx that a few days later was to thrill the city with a new enthusiasm. All this variety and the riot of military colour struck strangely on our after the dull faded khaki of Gallipoli and the Egyptian desert. By way of background there was a sombre note in the dresses of the women. A great many were in black, with veils of long heavy crepe such as mo Latins affect in times of mourning, But oven thesfi women were calm and confident. They were brave also, for they smiled through their tears. One save scarcely any young men. They were in the line's at Verdun stopping tho mad onrush of the Hunnish horde, and along the lines south to Switzerland and north to Flanders, where wore also the British, the Australian:'., the New Zealanders, and the Belgians, and more French. The old woman in the little shop whero

we buy soni" books has a brother in thei lmcs. and is quite cheerful about the -war. ir. will end all right for France. The Germans cannot win. Yes, she has seen many Australians passing through Marseilles—the men with the " grand chapeau." Where aro we going? Wo tell her we are going to in that place. In the evening w.e hail a fiacre to tako m= back to our transport-. The coeher demands six francs. Wo offered him five, bub he would not alter his first demand. Wo tried another man farther down the rank, lie demanded seven. We wont back to the first driver and accepted the original offer. "Aha!'' he said. "I'll wager "you the other man asked you seven." At the. end of the journey we told him we wera not rich men, and that it was the second year of the war. But to this his only reply was. " It is all a matter of commerce." Tha war, he said, was going all right. He bade us a cheery good-night, and went his way chortling, forgetting even to ask us for a " pourboire." In " The Rapide" to Paris. Wo are in a crowded train, travelling in the usual way at the usual speed. We climb the heights' and get passing glimpses of the lights of Marseilles, very much as one looks on tha lights at the head of the Adriatic as the train climbs from Fiumc on its way to Budapest. And there is no stint of good food and drink. The dinner is of the- best. You can have your choice of five different brands of champagne, and a variety in red and white wines. And you can finish with a glass of Benedictine or _ Grand Maniefl and a cigar—the latter, for preference, of your own providing. The French officers travelling back to the front aro bright and amusing and confident. Yet it was the fifty-fourth day of the battle of Verdun, and to the outside world the issue still linns' in doubt. No, no, Verdun waa not finished yet. But the Germans would never take Verdun. The English might be nervous about it—the French Were serenely confident. One could not but admire the spirit of a nation such as this at a time when the greatest war in tho world's history was. being waged within iia own boundaries.

Paris! A changed Paris! More women in black. More soldiers—though not so many as at Marseilles. Elderly bearded men, women, girls, and boys in tho streets. Where was tho gay boulevardier of the old Paris'/ He had become a thing of the past. The casual English have perhaps been too prone to think that the lighthearted Frenchman of the boulevfsrds wag the embodiment of the soul of France. Ho was not. The soul of France is rooted in her soil. You will find it in the towns and villages and in the fields behind the lines as much as in tho cities. But the business life of Paris seems to go on much as it did before the war. Such shops as were closed -at the height of tho German menace have in nearly every case reopened their doors. The ordinary shops are doing business as usual, though tho volume of trade may not be as great Ifc is very much as it is in London. Just as you miss the fashionably-dressed throng in Bond street, so you miss it in the Rue do la Paix. And jewellery there is cheaper than it was. In the Place Vendome the great costumiers who set tho fashions for half a continent are no longer adding up extravagant bills. No rich ladies from London and no American millionairesses ride up in their cars nowadays. The Place Vendome is almost as silent as a tomb. The Louvre is closed, ite treasures hidden farther south, but we are told that already they are coming back. Notre Dame, in tho silent gloom of which we rest and meditate a while, still stands, and tho light still shines through the glorious rose window as it did of old. Indeed, all the monuments of Paris are safe. Thank God. the destroying Huns, with their cold machines that have been made the symbol of their kultur, were foiled in their attempt to add Paris to their other acts of dosecra-

lion and destruction. It is some satisfaction to us to know that this waa in a measure made possible by the coming of the English. In large measure also tho plan failed because of the promptitude and th; resource of a French general, who, in thousands of taxi-cabs, hurriedly and unox pectedly rushed, up an army that formed a barrier upon which this wave of modern kultur broke and spent its force, and then receded. Pub it was touch and go ! And now a new spirit has fallen upon Paris. Paris still stands as it stood, but tha people have changed. The gay life—never quite so gay as it was painted, and Itsa vicious a great deal than that of Berlinhas given place to a sober seriousness that, while it does not seem natural to a Latin race, yet synchronises with the times. From Paris to and along the front in the next few days we rode many miles in trains and motor cars, through tha fertile fields of France. Everywhere one saw soldiers—here o regiment of young Frenchmen, in bluish-grey, singing aa they marched along the straight unending roads; there Canadian cavalry, strong, hardy, and resolute, riding along a fold in the hills; and yonder the tall, big, meat-fed men from "the outer lands, already going into the trenches.

But in the midst of all this preparation and atmosphere of war the most astonishing thing was the intense cultivation of the land. The old men and the women and children, with a determination and an industry of which few other nations aro capable, had left scarce a square yard that could bo spared from the grass lands untitled. Streams ran swollen through the gently-sloping valleys in which the meadows" were emerald. Cowslips and violets decked the floor of the woods where elms wore budding and the tender green of the chestnuts relieved the brown. Peach and cherry blossoms, were already brightening the .scene. The corn was sprouting quickly under the soft influenco of passing x\pril showers. The country, like its people. wa3 smiling' through its tears.