Read Ebook: L'Illustration No. 0025 19 Août 1843 by Various

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Ebook has 224 lines and 36485 words, and 5 pages

II Red Tape in Traveling 9

V The Northwest Front--Mud! 25

VI A Weird Night 30

X "Trench Nightmare" 51

XX The Heroism of the Wounded 116

XXX My Mental Processes 168

XL The Psychology of France 228

XLI The Contagious Spirit of Sacrifice 233

XLII The Heritage of Hate 238

American Ambulance Headquarters, Neuilly, France 22

Ambulance Ready to Leave for the Front 22

An American Woman Caring for a Little Wounded French Child 38

An American Ambulance Ready for Duty 60

American Ambulances on the Road to the Front 80

Allied Troops Charging Through Barbed-Wire Entanglements 102

A Dressing Station Set Up on Newly Captured Ground 120

A Hurry Call 134

"Jumbo," the Biggest Ambulance on the Western Front 134

The Burning of a French Field Hospital 170

Ambulance Men Working Over a "Gassed" Soldier 225

Destruction of a French Hospital by a German Bomb 238

American Hospital at Neuilly Transferred to General Pershing 246

"Back From Hell"

A FORMER PACIFIST

Others were going, and made no bones about saying so, because they were natural born soldiers of fortune and were inclined to go anywhere that action and excitement were likely to be found. A few were to be mere onlookers who were crossing the sea as students of a great world movement, who, from an economic or social point of view, would tabulate in a cold and matter-of-course way, the facts which they observed and the conclusions to which they came.

I belonged to neither of these classes. I was an innocent idealist, though soon, alas, to be disillusioned. I had resigned a comfortable pastorate in order to go over and, as I conceived of it, relieve the pain and soothe the fevered brow of those who were in suffering, irrespective of whether they were Allies or Germans, and thus help usher in a world Utopia.

I had always taken myself rather too seriously at home, and thought I was a broad-visioned person whose universality of mind elevated me to a position where I could see beyond provincial boundary lines, and overlook such things as race and creed and national ideals, thinking of all men as made in the image of God, and all destined for one great goal which was the Brotherhood of Man, where all would be happy, and each would deal justly and kindly with his neighbor.

It is a natural tendency, I suppose, of most ministers to be optimistic about the ultimate outcome of the human race, and I was one of this class. I had buttoned my long frock coat close about my collar and rubbed my hands in that familiar, good-natured way, saying that sometime national prejudices would be wiped out and the people of the various countries would come to see each other's viewpoints, and then their differences would vanish away. I hadn't yet seen the German at his worst. The time would come, I thought, when all would fraternize as God intended that they should and this wicked rivalry and jealousy would cease.

It seemed to me that even my fellow-Americans, along with the French and other nations, were too narrow in their views of things, and that, they were equally guilty with the Germans in failing or refusing to understand the minds of other people. The men who had urged intervention in Mexico and intervention in Europe, I took it, were men who were engaged in manufacturing munitions, or who were directly interested in war from a business point of view. They wanted dollars. A part of my philosophy was that God would bring about a settlement of all these conflicts in His own good time, and we need not worry about it. Another part of my philosophy, so it happened, was pacifism. I was a great admirer of William Jennings Bryan, and I thought his peace teaching was--well--great stuff! I had interpreted the life and teaching of Jesus as being unalterably opposed to violence of any kind. No matter what the circumstance, bloodshed could not be justified. "Resist not evil" was His ideal and, therefore, it should be mine also, and as I look at it now, I guess I went even further than He did, in my theories at any rate. For He did use violence occasionally, when it was necessary.

"If a man smite thee on one cheek, turn the other also," was my motto, and I did not believe in striking back. Tolstoi, with his doctrine of nonresistance, from whom Mr. Bryan received large influence, as he once told me, was my ideal man, and the only real Christian since Jesus.

I had also said there would never be another war; a war of any size. I knew, of course, that there had always been crusades in history, and even the most religious people had killed each other by thousands, and had often made the claim that God had told them to do so, but I considered them to have been misguided fanatics of an outgrown age who may have thought they were doing right, but who were in reality committing murder and breaking God's great law.

My father had also been a minister, and he was so meek and peaceful that he held one pastorate for a quarter of a century, a thing which, by the way, I doubt if I shall ever do! He was inclined to be a bit pessimistic and to lament the heartless struggle which takes place all through nature and human life, and he was extremely pacific. I inherited the same traits. My mother also had been a peace-loving woman, but she believed in justice, and I think I inherited from her my aggressive disposition. I was such a pacifist that I was militant in it and sometimes alienated even my admirers by my doctrine.

However, after Europe went to war I could see the storm gathering in the United States, and I looked upon it with feelings of fear and foreboding. I was down in the depths. I felt that "over there" they were already, and over here it was likely that we soon would be violating God's commandment,

"THOU SHALT NOT KILL."

I did not believe in killing. I had lectured with David Starr Jordan and spoken with Mr. Bryan. I hated war. As a minister of the gospel my natural inclination was to preach gentle forgiveness and tender mercy, and how I did preach it! I was for peace at any price. I preached peace in my church and I preached it on the street. I even went so far as to rent halls and denounce the doctrine of military preparedness as a dangerous and vicious propaganda.

I declared with all my power that America ought to keep herself out of this war and that she ought to suffer any indignity rather than take up the sword and slay other people. I said that was murder. While not approving of the sinking of the merchant ships, yet I said that those people who traveled on belligerent vessels did so at their own risk and that the United States ought not to bring blood upon her hands because others had done so. I had no antipathy toward the German people. I liked them. I had shown this by studying German in college as my only foreign language. I joined the "Deutscher Verein" as my only fraternity, and when I went abroad to study, it was a German university that I sought.

I knew of course that Germany's military system was a despotic one and that her own people were virtually slaves to the government. But above all I cried "Peace for the United States!" So when I resigned my pulpit in Patton, Pa., and told my congregation that I was going to the scene of war in Belgium, they were astonished beyond measure. I hastened to reassure them, however, that the purpose of my going was not to fight, but rather to relieve distress and carry in the wounded. I had felt a call to take up this task, and at this they became somewhat more reconciled. So in a few weeks' time I was on my way.

When I embarked upon that great ship in New York I was alone. And I want to tell you if you have never gone down the long pier and walked in solitude up the gangplank of a transatlantic liner you cannot imagine the feeling of loneliness I had. Especially strong was this feeling because that ship was to take me to the hell of a world war and I did not know to what else. As we put off and glided down by that old Statue of Liberty, leaving it in the distance, I began to cry, for I didn't know whether I should ever see it again. It seemed as if I had said good-bye to my last friend. Many of the people aboard were foreigners and I suppose I looked a pathetic figure as I stood there. I know I felt like one.

That night the lights were doused and we began to realize that things were serious. When great ships sail in darkness there is something wrong. The ensuing voyage lasted ten days and when I was not walking the decks those days I used to lie in my berth and look out the porthole and often wonder what was ahead for me.

L'?lite de nos artistes assistait, le mercredi 16 ao?t, aux obs?ques de J.-P. Cortot. MM. Bosio, Raoul Rochette, Blondel et ?mery tenaient les cordons du drap mortuaire. M. Raoul Rochette, dans un discours ?l?gamment ?crit, a montr? Cortot sorti des rangs du peuple, et s'?levant ? force de luttes courageuses. Il a signal?, comme principaux caract?res du talent de l'artiste, la grandeur et la noble simplicit? de l'ordonnance. M. Jarry de Mancy a lu de touchants adieux au nom de M. Dumont, qu'une grave indisposition emp?chait de suivre le cort?ge fun?bre de son ami. M. ?mery, ancien libraire, beau-fr?re du d?funt, a exprim? d'une voix alt?r?e des regrets d'autant plus vils, qu'il le connaissait depuis quarante-sept ans, et qu'apr?s avoir encourag? ses premiers pas, il avait eu la douleur de lui fermer les yeux.

Courrier de Paris.

L'?vasion des quinze prisonniers et les sc?nes sanglantes qui l'ont accompagn?e ont d?cid? l'administration municipale ? changer la destination des b?timents de la Force. Une prison s'?l?ve en ce moment hors de la ville et pourra, dans quelques mois, ouvrir ses portes cr?nel?es et les refermer sur l'horrible client?le de l'?chafaud et des bagnes. Cette translation avait, depuis longtemps, paru n?cessaire; la r?cente catastrophe, faisant toucher au doigt le danger, en h?tera l'ex?cution.

Ce sont de terribles locataires, en effet, que ces malheureux jet?s incessamment par le crime dans les cachots de la Force: tribu hideuse et d?sesp?r?e, qui campe au sein m?me de la cit?, dans un de ses quartiers les plus populeux. On a beau dire que la tente est scell?e de verrous, de barres de fer, de sentinelles et de pierres de taille, vous voyez que la race criminelle passe ? travers; si les murailles l'arr?tent, elle creuse la terre, et rampe, et trouve une issue.

Il peut arriver qu'au lieu d'?tre saisis, comme l'autre jour, en flagrant d?lit d'?vasion, nos boh?miens s'?chappent, en effet, soit que la nuit les favorise, soit que le hasard oublie de pousser ? leur rencontre ce premier venu, qui jette le cri d'alarme et donne l'?veil.

?tez l'honn?te gar?on de bain qui se trouvait l? pour arranger sa baignoire, et le champ restait libre: les quinze d?mons passaient sans bruit, sans obstacle, et gagnaient la rue clandestinement; apr?s eux, sans doute, d'autres seraient venus, s'?chappant du m?me enfer et par le m?me chemin. Qu'on se figure alors tout un quartier en proie ? une cinquantaine de m?cr?ants de cette esp?ce, sans ressources, sans remords, et pr?ts ? se laisser aller ? toutes les tentatives furieuses que sugg?rent l'habitude du crime et la faim. Et quels moyens n'ont-ils pas de se d?rober aux poursuites dans cette ville immense, dans cette foule, dans ce tumulte, dans ce labyrinthe inextricable de rues et de repaires tortueux! Les malfaiteurs viennent de loin pour se cacher dans la bonne ville de Paris; l'oeil vigilant de la justice a grand'peine ? les suivre ? la piste et ? les reconna?tre; quelle chance pour ceux qui s'y trouvent tout domicili?s!

Le mal n'a pas ?t? grand cette fois: les bandits sont retomb?s en quelques heures, et sans aucune exception, dans les mains de la justice: les courageux citoyens qui s'?taient d?vou?s en seront quittes, Dieu merci, pour des blessures sans danger; mais le projet d'?loigner de Paris cette formidable prison, n'en est pas moins un projet sage, plein d'?-propos et ?videmment inspir? par l'int?r?t de la s?curit? publique.

Ainsi, voil? encore un b?timent fameux que le temps d?pouille d'une longue possession et d'un caract?re, en quelque sorte, consacr?; la Force va cesser d'?tre la Force! Que va-t-on substituer ? son terrible privil?ge? Il est tout simplement question de mettre le marteau dans ces vieilles murailles et de les faire dispara?tre; une rue nouvelle, des maisons ?l?gantes, assainiraient la place criminelle et lui ?teraient son aspect lugubre.--Quand ces vo?tes, qui ont abrit? si longtemps les plus f?roces passions, viendront ? s'?crouler, est-ce qu'il ne s'en exhalera pas des miasmes horribles, un air impr?gn? d'une odeur de sang? Et les premiers honn?tes gens qui dormiront sur cette terre maudite, n'entendront-ils pas le blasph?me ?hont?, le d?sespoir, le cri du remords retentir dans leur sommeil comme un lamentable ?cho, et troubler l'innocence de leurs nuits?

L'histoire de la Force remonte au treizi?me si?cle; c'?tait alors une habitation princi?re qui appartenait ? un des fr?res de saint Louis; d'ann?e en ann?e, et apr?s plus d'une transformation, elle arriva aux mains du duc de la Force, qui lui a laiss? son nom. En 1754, la ville en fit un h?tel militaire; en 1780, apr?s la suppression du Fort-L'?v?que et du Petit-Ch?telet, Necker changea l'h?tel en prison; on y enferma d'abord les d?biteurs insolvables, les femmes suspectes, les mendiants et les vagabonds; puis, peu ? peu, la Force devint la grande et terrible prison que vous savez; voil? comme on fait son chemin!

On sait que, pendant vingt-quatre heures, quatre des ?vad?s parvinrent ? se soustraire ? toutes les recherches; ce fut seulement le lendemain que la police les surprit dans un cabaret, d?j? occup?s ? d?valiser l'h?telier; cela s'appelle ne pas perdre de temps; jusqu'? cette arrestation d?finitive des restes de la bande, et m?me quelques jours apr?s, l'?motion fut grande dans les rues voisines de la prison et dans tout le quartier Saint-Antoine. Les habitants ?taient sur le qui-vive, et regardaient, en quelque sorte, chaque passant sous le nez, pour voir s'il n'avait pas un air d'?chapp? et ne sentait pas le cabanon et le cachot. Il fallait ressembler plus qu'? un honn?te homme pour n'?tre pas suspect. Cette surveillance et cette inqui?tude ont produit quelques ?pisodes qui ne manquent pas d'originalit?.

Un portier saisit au collet son propri?taire, qui rentrait ? pas de loup: <> On eut beaucoup de peine ? lui faire l?cher prise. Le propri?taire, d?chir?, meurtri, l'habit en lambeaux, se loua, dit-on, beaucoup de la vigilance et du d?vouement de son concierge.

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