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France at War: On the Frontier of Civilization. Rudyard KiplingЧитать онлайн книгу.

France at War: On the Frontier of Civilization - Rudyard Kipling


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      France at War: On the Frontier of Civilization

      FRANCE1 BY RUDYARD KIPLING

       Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul, Furious in luxury, merciless in toil, Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil, Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of men's mind, First to follow truth and last to leave old truths behind – France beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind.

      Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side

      by side we lay

      Fretting in the womb of Rome to begin

      the fray.

      Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one

      taste was known —

      Each must mould the other's fate as he

      wrought his own.

      To this end we stirred mankind till all

      earth was ours,

      Till our world-end strifes began wayside

      thrones and powers,

      Puppets that we made or broke to bar

      the other's path —

      Necessary, outpost folk, hirelings of our

      wrath.

      To this end we stormed the seas, tack for

      tack, and burst

      Through the doorways of new worlds,

      doubtful which was first.

      Hand on hilt (rememberest thou?), ready

      for the blow.

      Sure whatever else we met we should

      meet our foe.

      Spurred or baulked at ev'ry stride by the

      other's strength,

      So we rode the ages down and every ocean's

      length;

      Where did you refrain from us or we

      refrain from you?

      Ask the wave that has not watched war

      between us two.

      Others held us for a while, but with

      weaker charms,

      These we quitted at the call for each

      other's arms.

      Eager toward the known delight, equally

      we strove,

      Each the other's mystery, terror, need,

      and love.

      To each other's open court with our

      proofs we came,

      Where could we find honour else or men

      to test the claim?

      From each other's throat we wrenched

      valour's last reward,

      That extorted word of praise gasped

      'twixt lunge and guard.

      In each other's cup we poured mingled

      blood and tears,

      Brutal joys, unmeasured hopes,

      intolerable fears,

      All that soiled or salted life for a thousand

      years.

      Proved beyond the need of proof, matched

      in every clime,

      O companion, we have lived greatly

      through all time:

      Yoked in knowledge and remorse now we

      come to rest,

      Laughing at old villainies that time has

      turned to jest,

      Pardoning old necessity no pardon can

      efface —

      That undying sin we shared in Rouen

      market-place.

      Now we watch the new years shape,

      wondering if they hold

      Fiercer lighting in their hearts than we

      launched of old.

      Now we hear new voices rise, question,

      boast or gird,

      As we raged (rememberest thou?) when

      our crowds were stirred.

      Now we count new keels afloat, and new

      hosts on land,

      Massed liked ours (rememberest thou?)

      when our strokes were planned.

      We were schooled for dear life sake, to

      know each other's blade:

      What can blood and iron make more than

      we have made?

      We have learned by keenest use to know

      each other's mind:

      What shall blood and iron loose that we

      cannot bind?

      We who swept each other's coast, sacked

      each other's home,

      Since the sword of Brennus clashed on

      the scales at Rome,

      Listen, court and close again, wheeling

      girth to girth,

      In the strained and bloodless guard set

      for peace on earth.

       Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul, Furious in luxury, merciless in toil, Terrible with strength renewed from a tireless soil, Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of men's mind, First to follow truth and last to leave old truths behind, France beloved of every soul that loves or serves its kind.

      I

      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 of 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 50 foot overhead. Two invisible guns spoke fervently for half a minute, and broke off like terriers choked on a leash. We climbed till the topmost platform swayed sicklily beneath us. Here one found a rustic shelter, always of the tea-garden pattern, a table, a map, and


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First published June 24, 1913.

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