We meet General Renaux, commanding the Division, who comes to inspect the sector.
"My poor children, what a state you are in!"
"General," replied a _poilu_, straightening, "that is nothing. It is we--the men of BRONZE!"
MAJOR HÉLY'S VISIT, EPARGES. _December_, 1915.
It is reception day, to-day. Major Hély of the General Staff, after having inspected the sector, will dine with us.
And so, there are fresh flowers on the table--chicken and champagne.
A ray of sun is equally in the party. What luck! The boches are quiet.
Ménard brings the _jus_, excellent coffee which he pours in the cups. The only coffee spoon makes the rounds of the table. Ménard also deposits a dusty bottle which we all regard in silence but with respect.
Captain Gunther himself will pour the precious liquor in the little glasses----
Major Hély sips this plum nectar like a connoisseur. He sniffs the brandy and it causes him to smack his lips----
"Ah! Gunther, where did you unearth this marvelous stuff?"
"In a cellar of the village, under the corpse of an old woman."
PRECAUTION TRENCH, EPARGES. _December_, 1915.
Precaution Trench leaves a memory of horror with all those who have frequented it--. There is such an accumulation of German and French corpses; all huddled together, that one feels a swelling of the heart if one remains for any length of time in this charnel-house----
But we have to put the trench in condition. With sweeps of the shovel human arms and legs are dismembered so that free passage may not be blocked. Legs and bodies are, above all, difficult to disentangle----
At night, when the earth breathes, our men faint occasionally, and it is necessary to give them menthol-alcohol on bits of sugar----
"Look, _mon vieux_, at that rotting breast----"
"It's possible a woman, dearly loved, has been tightly pressed against that breast there!"
"This man has been reported missing--he still wears his identification tag----"
"Perhaps they are waiting at home for him--they are always hoping, without doubt----"
"Him? Ough! he's shot to hell--but--what about her?"
YOU'RE A SLACKER! EPARGES. _December_, 1915.
Do you believe all those who have survived this horrible December winter, at Eparges, are martyrs? Not at all. Listen to what I heard this morning.