France At War On the Frontier of Civilization-Rudyard Kipling

Section 1 of France at War On the Frontier of Civilization by Rudyard Kipling This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Tim Bulkeley of stories.org.nz Section 1 On the Frontier of Civilization It's a pretty park, said the French artillery officer.

We've done a lot for it since the owner left.

I hope he'll appreciate it when he comes back.

The car traversed a winding drive through woods between banks embellished with little chalets of a rustic nature.

At first the chalets stood their full height above ground, suggesting tea gardens in England.

Further on they sank into the earth till, at the top of the ascent, only their solid brown roofs showed.

Torn branches drooping across the driveway, with here and there a scorched patch of undergrowth, explained the reason for their modesty.

The chateau that commanded these glories of forest and park sat boldly on a terrace.

There was nothing wrong with it, except, if one looked closely, a few scratches or dints on its white stone walls, or a neatly drilled hole under a flight of steps.

One such hole ended in an unexploded shell.

"'Yes,' said the officer, "'they arrive here occasionally.' something bellowed across the folds of the wooded hills something grunted in reply something passed overhead querulously but not without dignity two clear fresh barks joined the chorus and a man moved lazily in the direction of the guns well suppose we come and look at things a little said the commanding officer an observation post there was a specimen tree a tree worthy of such a park the sort of tree visitors are always taken to admire a ladder ran up it to a platform what little wind there was swayed the tall top and the ladder creaked like a ship's gangway a telephone bell tinkled fifty foot overhead Two invisible guns spoke feverishly for half a minute, and broke off like terriers choked on a leash.

We climbed till the topmost platform swayed sickly beneath us.

Here one found a rustic shelter, always of the tea-garden pattern, a table, a map, and a little window wreathed with living branches, that gave one the first view of the devil and all his works.

it was a stretch of open country with a few sticks like old toothbrushes which had once been trees round a farm the rest was yellow grass barren to all appearance as the veldt the grass is yellow because they have used gas here said an officer their trenches are you can see for yourself the guns in the woods began again they seemed to have no relation to the regularly spaced bursts of smoke along a little smear in the desert earth two thousand yards away no connection at all with the strong voices overhead coming and going It was as impersonal as the drive of the sea along a breakwater.

Thus it went, a pause, a gathering of sound like the race of an incoming wave, then the high-flung heads of breakers spouting white up the face of a groin.

Suddenly a seventh wave broke, and swept the shape of its foam like a plume overtopping all the others.

"'That's one of our taupilleurs, what you call trench-sweepers,' said the observer among the whispering leaves.' Someone crossed the platform to consult the map with its ranges.

A blistering outbreak of white smoke rose a little beyond the large plume.

It was as though the tide had struck a reef out yonder.

Then a new voice of tremendous volume lifted itself out of a lull that followed.

Somebody laughed.

Evidently the voice was known.

"'That's not for us,' a gunner said.

they're being waked up from he named a distant french position so-and-so is attending to them there we go on with our usual work look another torpilleur the barbarian again a big plume rose and again the lighter shells broke at their appointed distance beyond it the smoke died away on that stretch of trench as the foam of a swell dies in the angle of a harbour wall and broke out afresh half a mile lower down in its apparent laziness in its awful deliberation and its quick spasms of wrath it was more like the work of waves than of men and our high platform's gentle sway and glide was exactly the motion of a ship drifting with us toward that shore the usual work only the usual work the officer explained sometimes it's here sometimes above or below us i have been here since may a little sunshine flooded the stricken landscape and made its chemical yellow look more foul a detachment of men moved out on a road which ran toward the french trenches and then vanished at the foot of a little rise other men appeared to be moving towards us with that concentration of purpose and bearing shown in both armies when dinner is at hand they looked like people who had been digging hard same work always the same work the officer said and you could walk from here to the sea or to Switzerland in that ditch and you'll find the same work going on everywhere it isn't war it's better than that said another it's the eating up of a people they come and they fill the trenches and they die and they die and they send more and those die we do the same of course but look he pointed to the large deliberate smoke heads renewing themselves along that yellowed beach that is the frontier of civilization they have all civilization against them those brutes yonder it's not the local victories of the old wars that we're after it's the barbarian all the barbarian now you've seen the whole thing in little come and look at our children soldiers in caves we left that tall tree whose fruits are death ripened and distributed at the tingle of small bells the observer returned to his maps and calculations the telephone boy stiffened up beside his exchange as the amateurs went out of his life some one called down through the branches to ask who was attending to belial let us say for i could not catch the gun's name it seemed to belong to that terrific new voice which had lifted itself for the second or third time it appeared from the reply that if belial talked too long he would be dealt with from another point miles away the troops we came down to see were at rest in a chain of caves which had begun life as quarries and had been fitted up by the army for its own uses there were underground corridors antechambers rotundas and ventilating shafts with a bewildering play of cross-lights so that wherever you looked you saw goyer's pictures of men-at-arms every soldier has some of the old maid in him and rejoices in all the gadgets and devices of his own invention death and wounding come by nature but to lie dry sleep soft and keep yourself clean by forethought and connivance is art and in all things the frenchman is gloriously an artist moreover the french officers seem as mother keen on their men as their men are brother fond of them maybe the possessive form of address mon gnral mon capitaine helps the idea which our men cloak in other and curter phrases and those soldiers like ours had been welded for months in one furnace.

Section 1 of France at War On the Frontier of Civilization by Rudyard Kipling This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Tim Bulkeley of stories.org.nz Section 1 On the Frontier of Civilization It's a pretty park, said the French artillery officer.

We've done a lot for it since the owner left.

I hope he'll appreciate it when he comes back.

The car traversed a winding drive through woods between banks embellished with little chalets of a rustic nature.

At first the chalets stood their full height above ground, suggesting tea gardens in England.

Further on they sank into the earth till, at the top of the ascent, only their solid brown roofs showed.

Torn branches drooping across the driveway, with here and there a scorched patch of undergrowth, explained the reason for their modesty.

The chateau that commanded these glories of forest and park sat boldly on a terrace.

There was nothing wrong with it, except, if one looked closely, a few scratches or dints on its white stone walls, or a neatly drilled hole under a flight of steps.

One such hole ended in an unexploded shell.

"'Yes,' said the officer, "'they arrive here occasionally.' something bellowed across the folds of the wooded hills something grunted in reply something passed overhead querulously but not without dignity two clear fresh barks joined the chorus and a man moved lazily in the direction of the guns well suppose we come and look at things a little said the commanding officer an observation post there was a specimen tree a tree worthy of such a park the sort of tree visitors are always taken to admire a ladder ran up it to a platform what little wind there was swayed the tall top and the ladder creaked like a ship's gangway a telephone bell tinkled fifty foot overhead Two invisible guns spoke feverishly for half a minute, and broke off like terriers choked on a leash.

We climbed till the topmost platform swayed sickly beneath us.

Here one found a rustic shelter, always of the tea-garden pattern, a table, a map, and a little window wreathed with living branches, that gave one the first view of the devil and all his works.

it was a stretch of open country with a few sticks like old toothbrushes which had once been trees round a farm the rest was yellow grass barren to all appearance as the veldt the grass is yellow because they have used gas here said an officer their trenches are you can see for yourself the guns in the woods began again they seemed to have no relation to the regularly spaced bursts of smoke along a little smear in the desert earth two thousand yards away no connection at all with the strong voices overhead coming and going It was as impersonal as the drive of the sea along a breakwater.

Thus it went, a pause, a gathering of sound like the race of an incoming wave, then the high-flung heads of breakers spouting white up the face of a groin.

Suddenly a seventh wave broke, and swept the shape of its foam like a plume overtopping all the others.

"'That's one of our taupilleurs, what you call trench-sweepers,' said the observer among the whispering leaves.' Someone crossed the platform to consult the map with its ranges.

A blistering outbreak of white smoke rose a little beyond the large plume.

It was as though the tide had struck a reef out yonder.

Then a new voice of tremendous volume lifted itself out of a lull that followed.

Somebody laughed.

Evidently the voice was known.

"'That's not for us,' a gunner said.

they're being waked up from he named a distant french position so-and-so is attending to them there we go on with our usual work look another torpilleur the barbarian again a big plume rose and again the lighter shells broke at their appointed distance beyond it the smoke died away on that stretch of trench as the foam of a swell dies in the angle of a harbour wall and broke out afresh half a mile lower down in its apparent laziness in its awful deliberation and its quick spasms of wrath it was more like the work of waves than of men and our high platform's gentle sway and glide was exactly the motion of a ship drifting with us toward that shore the usual work only the usual work the officer explained sometimes it's here sometimes above or below us i have been here since may a little sunshine flooded the stricken landscape and made its chemical yellow look more foul a detachment of men moved out on a road which ran toward the french trenches and then vanished at the foot of a little rise other men appeared to be moving towards us with that concentration of purpose and bearing shown in both armies when dinner is at hand they looked like people who had been digging hard same work always the same work the officer said and you could walk from here to the sea or to Switzerland in that ditch and you'll find the same work going on everywhere it isn't war it's better than that said another it's the eating up of a people they come and they fill the trenches and they die and they die and they send more and those die we do the same of course but look he pointed to the large deliberate smoke heads renewing themselves along that yellowed beach that is the frontier of civilization they have all civilization against them those brutes yonder it's not the local victories of the old wars that we're after it's the barbarian all the barbarian now you've seen the whole thing in little come and look at our children soldiers in caves we left that tall tree whose fruits are death ripened and distributed at the tingle of small bells the observer returned to his maps and calculations the telephone boy stiffened up beside his exchange as the amateurs went out of his life some one called down through the branches to ask who was attending to belial let us say for i could not catch the gun's name it seemed to belong to that terrific new voice which had lifted itself for the second or third time it appeared from the reply that if belial talked too long he would be dealt with from another point miles away the troops we came down to see were at rest in a chain of caves which had begun life as quarries and had been fitted up by the army for its own uses there were underground corridors antechambers rotundas and ventilating shafts with a bewildering play of cross-lights so that wherever you looked you saw goyer's pictures of men-at-arms every soldier has some of the old maid in him and rejoices in all the gadgets and devices of his own invention death and wounding come by nature but to lie dry sleep soft and keep yourself clean by forethought and connivance is art and in all things the frenchman is gloriously an artist moreover the french officers seem as mother keen on their men as their men are brother fond of them maybe the possessive form of address mon gnral mon capitaine helps the idea which our men cloak in other and curter phrases and those soldiers like ours had been welded for months in one furnace.