“It’s obviously a Boche,” said M. Poisson. “Yes; look at his fair hair.” “Perrin, you ought to have thought of it sooner,” added the doctor. The officers were about to go out, when M. Poisson turned round and said: “Take the thing out of the coffin; since he’s a German, put him in the earth as he is, with all the other Huns.” CIVILISATION I must know first what you mean by civilisation. That is a question I can well put to a man of understanding and intelligence like yourself; and then, too, you are always boasting of this famous civilisation. Before the war I was an assistant in a commercial laboratory; but now I swear that, if ever I have the doubtful privilege of surviving this horror, I will never take up the work again. The country--the pure, fresh country for me! Anywhere away from these filthy factories--far from the roar of your aeroplanes and all the machinery in which formerly I took an interest when I did not understand things; but which horrify me now because I see in them the very spirit of the war--the principle and the cause of the war. I hate the twentieth century as I hate this degenerate Europe--as I hate the world which Europe has polluted. I know it may seem ridiculous--this high talk. But what do I care! I’m not speaking to the crowd, and besides I might as well be laughed at for this as for anything else. I repeat, I shall fly to the hills, and I shall see to it that I am as much alone as I possibly can be. I had thought of escaping among the savages, but there are no real savages now. _They_ are all riding bicycles and clamouring for medals and honours.... I am not going to live with the savages--we have done our best to corrupt them: I have seen it done too well at Soissons. In the spring of this year I was at Soissons with the G.B.C. I see that G.B.C.[2] rather mystifies you, but you must blame civilisation for that: the Tower of Babel is being rebuilt by it, and soon we shall have so debased our mother tongue that it will be nothing more than a telegraphic code, ugly and colourless. The retreat of the Germans had taken the line back towards Vauxaillon and Laffaux, and there fighting went on pretty vigorously. In one sector there was a spot--the Laffaux mill--which was a veritable thorn in a wound, keeping it always inflamed. About the beginning of May a great attack was launched on the mill, and nearly the whole of my division had to turn out on field duty. “You, sergeant,” said one officer to me--“you will remain at the hospital and take charge of the A.C.A.[3] section. I’ll send a number of men to help you.” I was by this time thoroughly conversant with the subtleties of military speech. When I was told that a number of men were to be put under my charge, I understood perfectly that there would be no one; and in point of fact I was given four miserable outcasts--weak, half-imbecile creatures of no use to any one.