Thus it happens that Ernest Psichari’s fame must rest on three small volumes, of which the finest by far appeared after his death--that _Voyage du Centurion_, which is the unforgettable record of a mystic’s conversion in the blazing African desert. There is less genius and less force in this earlier, tiny volume called _l’Appel des Armes_, so full of inexperience, of an ardent evident _parti-pris_, but also of a sincerity, a living sensibility, a moral earnestness such that I would recommend it to the English reader (and I am sure there are many such) puzzled by the great spirit, the heroic steadfastness that the French have shown in this war, for which he finds little warrant in the ‘yellow-backs’ on his table. Among many others, this brief record of the mind and conscience of a young French officer is a _document à l’appui_ of no mean value. It relates the story of a youth of twenty who turns from the Radical, humanitarian views of his father, the village schoolmaster, to find salvation (for it is, in his case, really a sort of religious conversion, a change of heart) as a soldier in Africa. And the reader will remark here--as also in the last novels of Émile Nolly--an almost mystical view of military matters recalling the recent German theories. ‘“Croyez bien,” répondait Nangès, “que la force est toujours du côté du droit.” ‘L’instituteur se récriait:-- ‘“Mais certainement,” expliquait Timothée. “Qu’est-ce que la force? C’est l’intelligence, la ténacité, c’est la patience, c’est l’habileté, c’est la courage, c’est la volonté. Voilà, Vincent, les facteurs de la force. Voilà les fibres du tissu. Ne croyez-vous pas qu’avec toutes les vertus qui la composent, la force n’a pas de grandes chances d’avoir toujours le droit pour elle?” ‘Naturellement, Vincent ne comprenait pas.’ (_L’Appel des Armes_, p. 84.)