La Grande Nation

All! qu’elle est belle de haut en bas, cette France de 1914! Tout y est a recueillir dans nôtre memoire, pieusement, et a suspendre pour jamais dans notre maison de famille, comme des tableaux devant Iesquels les generations viendront prier et se recueillir. Quelle fraîcheur universelle! Il semble que toutes les ames soient redevenues neuves et simples. Nous n’avions connu que des chrysalides. La France vient d’ouvrir ses ailes.

MAURICE BARRES. de l’Academie Frangaise.

I

BEYOND all question Barrès is right. For the past two months I have traveled through the length and breadth of France, talking with all sorts and conditions of men, from the government officials at Bordeaux to the last pitiful refugees of the devastated provinces, and as I look back on those crowded days, the impression left on my mind is one of ever-recurring wonder and increasing admiration. For to those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, France presents to-day a splendidly moving spectacle of spiritual renaissance; the nation, purified and ennobled by sacrifice and suffering, is finding itself in a new world of rare moral beauty. War, the destroyer, has become also the restorer. In France it has swept away all frivolous and aimless things, all the petty strifes of class and creed, that seemed so vital a little while ago; all the sordid differences imposed upon men by the uninspired routine of commercialism and politics. It has united the nation, as never before, in a blood-brotherhood of fervent patriotism; brought it back to the eternal verities, the things that matter. In a flash, with the first call to arms, all the symptoms of that malady of individualism, which seemed so deep-rooted, have disappeared; the old Gallic serenity of soul has been born again, the clear vision of the world’s most chivalrous and humane civilization has been restored.

Come what may of evil from this devastating war, this much is certain, that the France of to-morrow will be a new and vivifying moral force, a force that shall help to teach the world to make the ways of peace nobler than those of war. If there is one national characteristic that stands out more clearly than another against the unbroken front of serene courage and self-sacrifice which France presents to-day, it is the people’s conscious hatred of militarism, its determination to carry this war through to an end where that tyranny shall cease, so that, the peace of the future may turn the hearts of men to thoughts and deeds as noble as those inspired by war. The social and political ideals of the future are bound to be higher than those of the past in France, because the spirit of the soldierpatriot, the spirit of obedience and duty and discipline, will henceforth impress itself upon the whole life of the nation, making of the new democracy a braver and a nobler guide. All the intellectual and moral activities manifested in Paris and in the provinces point conclusively to a profound moral renaissance.

Nowhere is this renaissance more convincingly manifested than in the hospitals for the wounded. I have visited them in all parts of the country, from the English Channel to the Mediterranean, from Bordeaux to the frontiers of Italy, and never, amid all the pitiful wreckage of human health and strength, have I heard any murmur of self-pity or complaint. The simplest piou-piou of peasant stock seems to have drawn serenity of soul from his part in the common heroism, to accept his share of suffering with a pride which completely dominates his sufferings. He feels, and every one about him helps him to feel, that he has done his share of a glorious work for France, that shall not be in vain. He feels, as Paul Bourget has finely said, that because heroism is justly measured by devotion to the common cause, he also has become part of the greatness of France. There is no moral distress in any Red Cross hospital, none of the bitterness, the hopelessness, the forlorn self-pity of the wreckage of industrial life — only a conviction of duty well worth doing and well done.

In writing for the Atlantic Monthly I realize how difficult it is to convey to readers in America a sense of the passionate fervor, of the lofty and intelligent patriotism which animates the people of France, moving the women in their stricken homes as deeply as the men in the trenches, making all the atmosphere of daily life to vibrate, as with chords of solemn music. I realize that, in America, the minds of many earnest pacifists are sincerely unable to sympathize with manifestations of that national instinct which involves recourse to the elemental brutalities of war, and this because the social and economic results of the struggle for life in a self-sufficient and geographically protected continent, have been of a nature to suspend such manifestations of this national instinct in the United States. Highly cultured men and women in America, reared in the traditions of peace and benevolent humanitarianism, of philosophic detachment from all the stern realities of the great armed camps of Europe, must of necessity regard as unfeminine, almost uncivilized, the attitude of the mothers and daughters of France, speeding their sons and brothers to the front, stoically accepting all the sorrows and sufferings of this war, for the sake of the redemption of la patrie. And yet, could they but see and hear these women of France, could they but realize from personal observation of their thoughts, words, and deeds, what has been the life-history of the nation, the silent travail of its soul, since the fathers and mothers of the men who are to-day fighting Germany ate of the bread of humiliation in 1870, they would realize too that this instinct of nationalism, patriotism in its highest expression of collective effort, remains the strongest and deepest of all human emotions, — deeper than the love of home and children, stronger than the fear of death.

France, more than all the lands that have dallied with panaceas of pacifism, anti-militarism, internationalism, is conscious to-day of the truth that the instinct of race-survival transcends the law of individual self-preservation, and that in the world-struggle for life, the race shall survive which is trained as a compact force in self-discipline and selfdefense. France knows also that prosperity invites aggression.

There was very little violent hatred of Germany among Frenchmen before the war; even now they display but little bitterness of spirit — only, throughout all classes of society, a calm acceptance of the inevitability of this ruthless struggle for national existence. All the ‘isms’ of the Socialists and Syndicalists, all the professed internationalism in the Labor groups, have proven to be as dust in the balance against the race-menace of the Teuton. Moreover it is clear to every student of history and psychology that the spirit of selfsacrificing devotion to duty, now made manifest throughout the length and breadth of France, is the ripe fruit of the seeds of conscious nationalism which the victorious Germans sowed in 1870. Since that day of humiliation, the ancient unconquerable spirit of the Gaul has been in travail, often unsuspected by its political exponents, preparing for the trials and triumphs of la revanche.

How swift has been the transformation in every phase of the national life! At the first roll of the drum, this people, whom we Anglo-Saxons have been wont to regard as light-heartedly unstable, and easily misled by false comfortable doctrines, has laid aside all its garments of frivolity, its laughter and luxury, and set itself without hesitation or murmuring to the stern task of duty. The fervent, spontaneous unanimity of the country has surprised even patriotic Frenchmen, fearful of the pernicious cosmopolitanism which destroyed the unity of France in 1870. Like Barres, they have marveled and given thanks at the spectacle of the Grande Nation, one and indivisible. No single note of discord has jarred upon the splendid symphony of its battle hymn.

It is impossible for any one who has not lived and moved among the French since the outbreak of war to form any conception of the unflinching determination of the people as a whole. One can realize, even from the laconic reports of the official communiques, something of the spirit of the army which maintains its unbroken front from Nancy to the sea; but the indomitable temper of the nation behind it, and especially of the women of France, has not been fully realized, either in Germany or in England. This is partly because the masses, wholly concentrated on the struggle before them, are sternly undemonstrative and silent; partly because most of the men who usually guide and express public opinion are serving with the colors. Indeed, nothing could more forcibly illustrate the temper of the nation than the present condition of the French press (shorn as it is of the fiery polemics and the audacity of inquisitiveness which normally distinguish it) and the philosophic acquiescence by the public in the autocratic activities of the censorship. In this respect, indeed, one is almost inclined to believe in a radical modification of the traditional attitude of the French people toward constituted authority. Paris, ever accustomed to scrutinize and to discuss all things, to criticize its rulers and to air its own views, has submitted to the arbitrary rules and regulations of martial law and to the frequently unconvincing proceedings of the press censors, with a far better grace than London. For three months, although all immediate danger to the capital has been removed, the citizens of Paris have cheerfully consented to being turned out of their cafes at 8 P.M., and out of their restaurants at 9.30. They have gone without music, without theatres, cafes chantants, politics, literature, and art; and there has been no voice of complaint among them, because, by common consent, self-denial and thrift have been accepted as the first duty of every good citizen. For an Englishman, coming from the crowded music halls and football fields of London to the high seriousness of Paris, it is impossible not to feel that, as a nation, the English are paying a heavy price, in the domain of things spiritual, for the sense of personal security which has grown out of their naval superiority.

II

As matters stand, and are likely to remain until the end of the war, the French press reflects but faintly the intellectual and political currents that are now forming as the result of this earth - shaking upheaval, — currents which nevertheless are gaining strength and depth with every passing day. It could not fail to reflect, the nation’s splendid unity of purpose, its unswerving fortitude, and all those virtues of mutual help and sympathy which have sprung up, like fragrant flowers of human kindness, behind the marching regiments. It could not fail to see and proclaim the awakening of the soul of France, the unfolding of her wings, but it has not yet endeavored to discuss the direction of their future flight. Nor is this matter for wonder; for, as I have said, the elite of the press, nearly all its clearest thinkers and ablest writers, are either at the front or so busily employed in the relief of suffering and distress, that they have no leisure either for meditation or for speculation. The literary, artistic, and purely political journals of the capital have therefore suspended publication; the daily press confines its activities almost exclusively to recording the events and progress of the war. Even the economic aspects of the struggle, its effect upon the trade, finance, and industries of the country, are scarcely discussed in the serious reviews. The intellectual as well as the physical energies of the nation are concentrated upon the war, all its activities directed toward driving the invader from French soil and ministering to the needs of the fighting line and the wounded. For the moment, the Shaws and Wellses and Arnold Bennetts of France have ceased to be vocal . For this reason, observers overseas can form but little idea of the present evolution of thought in France, of the future attitude of its intellectual leaders, and of the great changes which this year of blood and iron is destined to bring about in the political and social ideals of civilization’s most sensitive culture.

And yet, beneath the surface, certain broad symptoms and tendencies of public opinion are apparent, tendencies manifested as distinctly in the talk of wounded soldiers in hospital wards as in the conversation of political leaders at Bordeaux and Paris. First among these is the unmistakable resentment of the nation toward the class of professional politicians who, in the selfishness of their party strife, have neglected to maintain the country’s defenses in the state of efficiency requisite to withstand the German invasion. This is no time for recriminations or for bringing offenders to book; but the French people know, and deeply resent the fact, that the charges brought by M. Humbert last July against the administration of the Ministry of War, and the guarded admissions of M. Messimy on the subject, revealed a condition of unpreparedness which has cost the country dear, and which, had France had no allies, must have resulted in irretrievable disaster. I have talked to hundreds of soldiers in every part of the country and can speak with certainty as to the bitterness with which they denounce the selfseeking activities of the breed of lobbyists, professional agitators, and financiers who are chiefly responsible for the government’s failure to provide adequate munitions and equipment for the army. A similar spirit of resentment exists in England, directed against the Socialists and Little-Navyites who have preached the gospel of disarmament in order to catch with doles of public money the votes of the working classes; but the offense of the professional politician is the more grievous in France because the army was actually in being, established by the law of the land, and to starve it in the matter of guns and ammunition was to expose French lives to danger and French provinces to invasion. It is an open secret that all over France, even at this moment, there are vast numbers of effective troops in garrison (the number is estimated by competent authority as over eight hundred thousand) who have not been available for service in the fighting line for lack of the necessary equipment and munitions of war. Every soldier knows this, and realizing what it means, he is determined, as a citizen and a voter, to put an end hereafter, so far as in him lies, to the callous cynicism of the party system. The vision of Deroulede bids fair to be fulfilled; and with the restoration of Alsace-Lorraine, France may well hope to face the future with a system of government strengthened and purified by the ordeal of war, a system in which the self-seeking, smooth-tongued demagogue will find his stratagems and spoils checked by the action of a more conscious and determined type of intelligent nationalism in the masses.

Another symptom, to some extent connected with the popular resentment against professional politics, lies in the growth of a new force of public opinion, spreading from official and commercial circles to the man in the street, against the pernicious influences which cosmopolitan financiers have been able to exercise of recent years in the control of French capital and French industries. For some time past, warning voices have been raised, pointing out the serious dangers and disabilities to which French interests have been exposed by the visible and invisible German influences lurking behind certain insinuating financiers who claimed to be French citizens, but whose sympathies were ever fundamentally Teutonic. These warnings fell upon deaf ears, however, even when they were sensationally confirmed by the exposé of M. Caillaux’s politic finance in the Congo and Morocco, because, until the present war came to open men’s eyes, the great body of public opinion was blind to the activities of the denationalized financial agent of German Welt-Politik. Now the French nation, like the Belgian, has learned in the school of bitter experience that the German financiers and industrial magnates who have so long protested friendship for France and played so prominent a part in her affairs, have been nothing better than traitors and spies. It is now realized that French capital, the strongest weapon in the national armory next to the army itself, has hitherto been freely placed at the disposal of individuals and institutions whose proceedings have generally been directed by the powers of darkness in high places Teutonic. Beneath the velvet glove of Jerusalem, France has now felt the Mailed Fist of Berlin, and the revelation of the political significance of many of the financial activities that seemed so beneficent to the rentier, has produced a widespread revulsion of feeling and a determination in high quarters to cleanse the Augean stables of cosmopolitan finance.

The French government will without any doubt put an end to the insidious influences which in the past have subordinated French national interests to the workings of a money-machine, made in Germany, — influences which have gained much of their pernicious force from the relations established between la haute finance and the French press. Also, the average French citizen, fearlessly facing the facts, as is his wont, realizes that these corrosive influences have sapped the foundations of civic virtue, putting love of commissions before love of country, preaching their comfortable doctrines of ‘economic interdependence’ for the ultimate benefit of the Teuton. There will be no social or intellectual pogrom directed against the Rosenbergs, the Spitzers, the Schroders, and the Speyers, but effective steps will be taken, by legislation and by force of public opinion, to limit henceforward the activities of those aliens, who have made espionage a by-product of every trade and industry, and to insure for the future the control of French political finance by none but pur-sang Frenchmen. Among politicians, publicists, and business men all over the country I found a most significant unanimity of opinion on this subject, all the more remarkable for the fact that it has so far found practically neither inspiration nor utterance in the press.

Beyond all question a profound reaction is taking place in France against the international character of the government’s political finance. Its results must be far-reaching, affecting not only the future scope of joint action by the Powers of the Triple Entente, but all the activities of Anglo-French capital in the industrial markets of the world.

III

But more important than any of the symptoms of impending political and economic movements are the evidences of a deep religious revival. It is impossible to travel anywhere in France today without being deeply impressed by the manifestations of religious fervor widespread among all classes of the people. The phenomenon is no less remarkable in Paris than in the provinces. M. Rene Bazin of the Academie Française, writing on the subject in the Echo de Paris, states an indisputable fact when he says that the churches are daily attracting greater numbers of worshipers and communicants, that in many parts of the country the old custom of family prayers has been spontaneously revived, that public and private devotions are manifestly approved by public opinion, and that ‘the road to church has been resumed by many who may have ceased for a time to tread it but had never forgotten the way.’ This religious movement is particularly marked in the army: ‘Thousands upon thousands of soldiers, before starting for the front, have gone to confession and asked the blessing of the Church.’

There is nothing in this phenomenon to surprise those who have studied the psychology of modern France, who for years have watched the growth of the spirit of self-sacrifice and passionate love of country which has grown out of the trials and humiliations of 1870. In a crisis like the present, when all the surface winds of controversy are stilled and the great deeps lie revealed, when all political bickerings have ceased and social differences have been forgotten in a common fervor of patriotism, it is inevitable that the soul of the people should find courage and consolation in the practice of its ancient faith; that, in the day of supreme trial, the dross of superficial triviality should be purged and the fine gold of the national character revealed. The great upheaval of this war has brought France together, as never before, in a great brotherhood of human kindliness. Class prejudices and bitterness have been swept away on the flowing tide of duty and altruism; the body politic has been cleansed of its petty jealousies and sordid intrigues, and, in this process of regeneration, religion has escaped from the paralyzing influences of political strife and revealed itself to the nation with healing in its wings. Whatever may be hereafter the social and national results of the present revival, it is certain that, during the lifetime of the present generation at least, the relations between State and Church in France are destined to be marked by kindlier feelings than have existed in the past, by tolerance and mutual sympathy, born of the good understanding of the present. M. Georges Clémenceau, with whom I had occasion to discuss this question, expressed, I think, the feelings which prevail among his free-thinking countrymen in a few significant words: ‘Hitherto they have had nothing more than strict justice. Henceforward they are entitled to something more, to our sympathy and respect. For they have proved themselves good citizens and brave men.’

Thus, in the hour of danger, the stern realities of war, great leveler of all the artificial differences that separate man from man, have brought the nation back to the essentials of life, from surface conventions to simple sincerity of word and deed.

There can be no question as to the reality of the revival of piety which has taken place during the past three months. Before the war there were no outward and visible signs of increasing religious activity. The great mass of the people remained apparently indifferent to the perpetual strife of clericals and anti-clericals; the church-going class remained at its normal level; and this, beyond all question, because in the minds of many thinking men the practice of religion had become inextricably associated with politics. But with the outbreak of war all this was changed, and the deep-rooted religious instincts of the people, instincts as remote from dogma as they are from politics, asserted themselves throughout the entire structure of national life. Sectarian quarrels ceased, without discussion as to the terms of truce. The government, disregarding the opposition of the extreme anti-clericals, and realizing the supreme necessity of uniting all France in a common bond of patriotism, reestablished chaplains throughout the army and the fleet, and authorized the performance of religious rites in the field and in all military hospitals. At the funeral of the Comte de Mun a significant spectacle was seen, when all the members of the government and even many extreme radicals paid reverential homage to the memory of this aristocratic head of the Catholics of France, because, political differences notwithstanding, he stood for all that is best and bravest in public life. It was a noble and inspiring spectacle, and there have been many others, all combining to prove that, in this national crisis, love of country counts for much more in France than all the political and religious quarrels that seemed so important eight months ago. Thus, on the field of battle, Catholics and Protestants have fought and worked together as brothers, and even rabbis of the Jewish faith, remembering that they were French, have not hesitated in emergencies to administer the last Christian rites to the dying.

In establishing this truce of God, the French government have merely expressed and indorsed an unmistakable manifestation of the soul of the people, and given effect to its instinctive impulse of piety. (Admitted that this instinct may be closely connected with that of self-preservation; it is none the less admirable, in that it makes for good citizenship and courage.) Officially, of course, the government adheres to its declared principles as regards the state’s complete neutrality in the matter of liberty of conscience. By his circulars of the 14th and 26th of October, M. Millerand insists on the maintenance of that neutrality, but the whole tone of these documents shows clearly that the neutrality is very benevolent. Under the supervision of the military authorities, religious services of all denominations may be held, if desired, in military hospitals, and the authorities are directed ‘ to work in touch with the representatives of the Red Cross societies, so as to ensure the application of this circular in the spirit of concord, moderation, and tolerance which has inspired it and which should also inspire all your actions.’

The steps taken by the government to place the unity and safety of the country before all political considerations, have been warmly welcomed and supported by clericals and anti-clericals alike. It is, possibly, easier for a freethinker to be sure of himself and his patriotism in the face of the foe than for many a devout member of the church. It is undeniable that for many good Catholics modern France has been identified in its government with antichrist, and infidel persecutions of the church; yet in the hour of national danger, the church has proclaimed that its first duty is the defense of la patrie, right or wrong. There has been no sign of hesitation as to the path of duty. Priests — even bishops — have come straightway from their mission work in Central Africa and the Far East to take up arms for the defense of France. (One bishop has served in the ranks as a private soldier.) Not a word has been heard of all the protestations which, in time of peace, were raised against the law imposing military service on the priesthood. The sons of the church have fought, and are fighting, with splendid devotion and courage, as their long list of killed and wounded sufficiently testifies.

And therein lies the secret, revealed by the war, of ‘the concord, moderation, and tolerance,’ which have put an end to the strife that seemed inseparable from the relations of church and state in France. The hour of trial has proved to the French people that the church in their midst is no longer the unchanging anachronism of anti-clerical tradition; that gradually, more or less unconsciously, it has informed itself with the spirit of French nationalism, and moved with it on broader paths of intellectual freedom. While the German clergy continue to urge their Rhinelanders forward for the glory of the Kaiser in the name of an ancient feudal system, the French priesthood, forgetting in its patriotic ardor its grievances against modernism, fights under the banner of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. And in the days to come France can never forget that the priest has borne himself worthily as a citizen and as a man. Never again can any politician raise the cry that the church is more Roman than French; never again will men mock the wearer of the clerical frock; they will remember how gallantly he donned the red trousers in the hour of need. The good understanding that has been cemented by comradeship in arms will last for many a day; for the manhood of France has learned to respect the cure as a Christian and a gentleman, because they have seen him behave like one in the trenches and in many a post of danger more deadly than the battlefield.

And because of this good understanding, it would seem most probable (if one may judge from current opinion) that, after the war, a means will be found to prevent the revival of strife, by the establishment of a permanent modus vivendi between Church and State. Public opinion appears generally to recognize the expediency of renewing relations with the Holy See, as a measure likely to be advantageous to both parties; for, on the one hand, the French government can never expect to exercise its benevolent protectorate over Catholics in the Orient, except by agreement with the Pope; and, on the other, the church is well aware that it cannot hope to set back the hands of the clock in France, that the state must preserve neutrality in the matter of religion and public education, and that the days of monasticism are gone beyond recall.

The foundations of sympathy and mutual respect now being laid are likely to stand the strain of years; France has therefore good reason for hoping and believing that the present religious revival will make hereafter for peace within her borders and good-will among men.

IV

I have spoken of the splendid patriotism of the women of France, of their stoic submission to the sacrifices and sufferings imposed upon them by this devastating war. Their silent, matterof-course heroism, manifested alike by the women of the aristocracy, of the bourgeoisie, and of the laboring classes, their cheerful acceptance of economic conditions far harder than those which English women have to bear, their efficient thriftiness and capability in organization, all combine to present a spectacle calculated to restore one’s belief in the fundamental virtue of human nature.

It is not only in the field ambulances and hospitals of France that one sees the bravery of her women; not only in the soup-kitchens and homes for refugees of Paris and the provinces that their housewifely talents are directed to the effective relief of distress. All over the country — in the tilling of the fields, in the management of business enterprises, and even in the public services of the towns — women have taken the places of the absent breadwinners and have tried to ‘carry on,’ giving hardly a sign of all their burden of deadly anxiety. (One of the things which impresses one most in talking with French soldiers is their recognition of the truth that the burden which the war lays on women is heavier than that borne by men.) And even those whose activities are necessarily limited to the care of their own families are eager and proud to prove their patriotism by making ends meet on the meagre soldier’s separation allowance of twenty-five cents a day, with ten cents for every child. The women of the thrifty middle classes consider it just as much their duty to devote their hard-won savings to the common cause as their men-folk do to bear arms against the enemy. There is only one point at which their patriotism is lacking in intelligence (and in this matter they only follow the lead of their men), namely, that they generally refuse to leave their money in the hands of the banks. Competent authorities have estimated that the total amount withdrawn from circulation by private hoarding in France is about three billion dollars.

To any American, lover of France, who would see the soul of this nation worthily confronting the greatest crisis in its history, I would say in conclusion that while traveling in most parts of the country may not afford the height of luxury, it may confidently be recommended as a most stimulating and instructive moral tonic. As a matter of fact, the conditions of travel on all the railways outside the actual zone of military operations in the North, have been greatly improved during the past few weeks. You can reach Bordeaux from Paris in fourteen hours and the Riviera in twenty-one. Cook’s offices have reopened at the most important towns, and hotel prices, generally speaking, are fifty per cent lower than those usually charged. Furthermore, because of the splendid work which the American Red Cross Society is doing at Pau, the American Ambulance in Paris, and private philanthropists in many parts of the country, citizens of the United States will find in France an appreciative welcome and a world of new and absorbing interest. There is hardly a town of any importance in all the South and West which has not either a Red Cross hospital, a community of destitute refugees, ora concentration camp for German prisoners; there is not a railway station on any of the main lines of traffic that does not present a picturesque object lesson in the economics and ethics of a nation under martial law; there is not a man or woman, from the highest to the lowest, but has something to say well worth hearing; because, in these days, artificial values have disappeared, only the human values count, and men and women have become surprisingly and splendidly human.