The A. E. F.: With General Pershing and the American Forces. Broun Heywood
being, it elevates and fortifies the soul, drives away ennui, alleviates suffering, and, a pleasure without an equal, it is still the salt of all other pleasures'—what do you think of that? Just the French you want to know! I don't want to address the graduating class, I want to tell a barber to leave it long on top, but trim it pretty close around the edges."
The happy purchaser of the book did not throw it away, however, until he turned to the chapter headed "At the Tailor's" and found that the first sentence set down in French meant, "The bodice is too tight in front, and it is uncomfortable under the arms. It is a little too low-necked, and the sleeves are not wide enough."
Sundown sent most of the soldiers scurrying back to camp, but the port lacked no life that night, for sailors came ashore in increasing numbers and American officers were everywhere. The two hotels—the Grand and the Grand Hotel des Messageries, known to the army as the Grand and Miserable Hotel—were thronged. Generals and Admirals rushed about to conferences and in the middle of all the confusion a young second lieutenant sat at the piano in the parlor of the Grand and played Schumann's "Warum" over and over again as if his heart would break for homesickness. The sailors and a few soldiers who seemed to have business in the town had no trouble in making themselves at home.
"Mademoiselle, donnez moi un baiser, s'il vous plait," said one of the apt pupils to the pretty barmaid at the Café du Centre.
But she said: "Mais non."
Crowds began to collect just off the main street. I hurried over to one group of sailors, convinced that something important was going on, since French soldiers and civilians stood about six deep. History was being made indeed. For the first time "craps" was being played on French soil.
CHAPTER III
LAFAYETTE, NOUS VOILÀ
THE navy was the first to take Paris. While the doughboys were still at the port crowding themselves into camp, lucky sailors were on their way to let the French capital see the American uniform. I came up on the night train with a crowd of them. Their pockets bulged with money, tins of salmon, ham and truffled chicken. They had chocolate in their hats and boxes of fancy crackers under their arms, while cigars and cigarettes poked out of their blouses. They would have nothing to do with French tobacco, but favored a popular American brand which sells for a quarter in New York and twice as much over here. One almost expected each sailor to produce a roast turkey or a pheasant from up his sleeve at meal time, but it was pretty much all meal time for these men who were making their shore leave an intensive affair. One was a very new sailor and he was rejoicing to find land under his feet again.
"Oh, boy!" he said, when I asked him about his ship, "that old tub had two more movements than a hula dancer."
The little group in my compartment was sampling some champagne which hospitable folk at the port had given them. It was not real champagne, to be sure, but a cheaper white wine with twice as many bubbles and at least as much noise. It sufficed very well, since it was ostentation rather than thirst which spurred the sailors on and they spread their hospitality throughout the train. A few French soldiers headed back for the trenches were the traveling companions of the Americans. The poilus were decidedly friendly but somewhat amazed at the big men who made so much noise with their jokes and their songs. Of course the French were called upon to sample the various tinned and bottled goods which the sailors were carrying. It was "have a swig of this, Froggy" or "get yourself around that, Frenchy." The Americans were still just a bit condescending to their brothers in arms. They had not yet seen them in action. Of course there was much comparison of equipment and the sailors all tried on the trench helmets of the French and found them too small. The entente grew and presently there was an allied concert. The sailors sang, "What a Wonderful Mother You'd Make," and the French replied with the Verdun song, "Ils Ne Passeront Pas," and later with "Madelon."
I heard that song many times afterwards and it always brings to mind a picture of dusty French soldiers marching with their short, quick, eager stride. They are always dusty. All summer long they wear big overcoats which come below the knee. Dust settles and multiplies and if you see a French regiment marching in the spring rainy season, it will still be dusty. Perhaps their souls are a little dusty now, but it is French dust. And as they march they sing as the men sang to the newly arrived Americans in the train that night:
| For all the soldiers, on their holidays, |
| There is a place, just tucked in by the woods, |
| A house with ivy growing on the walls— |
| A cabaret—"Aux Toulourous"—the goods! |
| The girl who serves is young and sweet as love, |
| She's light as any butterfly in Spring, |
| Her eyes have got a sparkle like her wine. |
| We call her Madelon—it's got a swing! |
| The soldiers' girl! She leads us all a dance! |
| She's only Madelon, but she's Romance! |
| When Madelon comes out to serve us drinks, |
| We always know she's coming by her song! |
| And every man, he tells his little tale, |
| And Madelon, she listens all day long. |
| Our Madelon is never too severe— |
| A kiss or two is nothing much to her— |
| She laughs us up to love and life and God— |
| Madelon! Madelon! Madelon! |
| We all have girls for keeps that wait at home |
| Who'll marry us when fighting time is done; |
| But they are far away—too far to tell |
| What happens in these days of cut-and-run. |
| We sigh away such days as best we can, |
| And pray for time to bring us nearer home, |
| But tales like ours won't wait till then to tell— |
| We have to run and boast to Madelon. |
| We steal a kiss—she takes it all in play; |
| We dream she is that other—far away. |
| A corp'ral with a feather in his cap |
| Went courting Madelon one summer's day, |
| And, mad with love, he swore she was superb, |
| And he would wed her any day she'd say. |
| But Madelon was not for any such— |
| She danced away and laughed: "My stars above! |
|
Why, how could I consent to marry you,
|