Paths of Glory

by Humphrey Cobb

  “Got a smoke on you, captain?” said Férol.

  The captain passed out a package of cigarettes and watched it, after making the rounds, disappear into Férol’s pocket. He gave Didier a match and the men lighted up.

  “You all know,” the captain continued, “that the attack this morning was a failure. Division insists that it was because the attacking wave failed to advance on account of cowardice. They can’t punish a whole regiment so they’ve decided that one man from each of the first-wave companies is to go before a court martial on charges of cowardice. I can’t argue about the right or wrong of this now, I haven’t time. And anyway it wouldn’t get us anywhere. Colonel Dax has personally done all in his power to prevent this, but he’s up against a stone wall. Orders are orders. My name is Etienne. I’m in command of Number 7 Company of the Second Battalion and the colonel has appointed me to defend you at the court martial because I’m a lawyer in civil life. What good that’ll do me at a court martial remains to be seen. I’ll do my best, you can be sure, but I don’t want to give you any false hopes or take anything for granted. A court martial is quite a different thing from a civil court, even a criminal one.

  “Now, first, I want to ask each one of you a question and I want you to answer it with absolute honesty. It will be for your own good if you do. If I am to defend you, I must not be in the dark about anything. And remember that whatever you tell me here is in the strictest secrecy. It is just as safe with me as if it were said to a priest in the confessional.

  “Did any of you three men do anything, show any sign that might be construed by witnesses as cowardice in the face of the enemy?”

  “No.” The word was spoken three times with varying degrees of emphasis.

  “If you did, I beg of you to tell me so that we can work out a defence. I don’t want them to spring any witnesses on me and not have an answer ready.”

  “I was way through our wire,” said Férol. “Meyer can tell you that, he was with me. So can Captain Sancy.”

  “I was right near to Lieutenant Bonnier in the wire when he was killed,” said Langlois.

  “And I was climbing onto the parapet,” Didier said, “when Corporal Valladier’s body fell on top of me and knocked me back into the trench. It knocked the wind right out of me. By the time I was on my feet again, my company was all back in the trench. They couldn’t advance.”

  “That’s good,” said the captain with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. “My advice to you is to stick to those stories and not to let the prosecutor shake you out of them. I’ll help you all I can, but the rules of evidence do not obtain in courts martial the way they do in other courts. You must expect to find the whole business very arbitrary.

  “Now, one or two hints about your behavior. Remember that you will still be soldiers in the presence of your superior officers, not litigants before a bar of justice. Make your bearing respectful but in no sense cringing. Act like what you are, soldiers and brave ones at that, but don’t overdo it to the point of seeming to be arrogant or lacking in a sense of discipline. I’ve looked at the room where the court will sit. You will have the afternoon light in your eyes. Don’t let this disconcert you and above all don’t let it make it seem as if you were dropping your eyes, hang-dog. Just brace yourselves to the light. Keep your chins up. Repeat it to yourself, if necessary: ‘I must keep my chin up.’ When you are speaking, look each of the judges in the eye. Don’t whine or plead or make speeches. Just make statements in a soldierly manner. Make them short, but make them so they can be heard all over the room. Try not to repeat yourselves. I’ll do that for you when I sum up. I’ll emphasize the points you brought out in your testimony. Confine yourselves to answering the questions that are put to you and leave the speech-making to me. Is there anything you want to say to me now?”

  “Yes,” said Férol. “Will you leave us a few matches before you go?”

  “Yes,” said Langlois. “I was drawn by lot for this business. Wouldn’t that point be an excellent defence? It shows obviously that there was no coward in my company whom the sergeant-major could put his finger on.”

  “Yes,” said Didier, and he began to tell the captain the story of the patrol. He told it to him quietly, not omitting anything, not even that he had fired at Roget to prevent him from killing Lejeune. The three men listened to him intently and, when he was through, each one, to his own capacity, felt anger in his heart.

  “You believe me, sir, don’t you?” Didier asked, passionately desiring to be believed.

  “Yes, I believe you, Didier, but who else will? Who else will want to? I’m afraid your story won’t do you much good, and it might do you a lot of harm. In the first place, you’ve got no witnesses. That’s very bad. Secondly, even if you had, I think the story would only antagonize the court. They couldn’t very well tolerate a private soldier bringing such accusations against an officer. And they would be bound to suspect and to believe that you were trumping them up in order to save yourself. That would react against you in the worst way. Take my advice and don’t say a word about that affair at the court martial. If things go wrong, I’ll see what use can be made of it later, in private conversation with one of the judges or someone.”

  “Do you think things will go wrong? What chances have we got?”

  “Frankly, men, I must tell you that this is a very serious matter for you. Division wants examples. What makes it serious is that apparently they don’t care who the examples are.”

  “But drawing by lot . . .” Langlois began.

  “Yes, I know. But it’s an accepted practice in the army. I’m afraid that just because you were drawn by lot, your position will be the weakest. I’ll have to see how the trial is going before I make up my mind what to do about that. What about you, Férol? How did they decide on you?”

  “They always decide on me, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go. Keep up your courage, show them a brave front. We’ll do the best we can for you, you may be sure. The colonel himself is going to put in a plea for you. I’ve talked to him about it and we’re going to bring out your record as a regiment and as individuals . . .”

  “Leave mine out,” said Férol.

  “I mean your record as attack troops. Then we’ll make a strong plea for mercy, or for imprisonment at most. Don’t forget what I said about a soldierly bearing. I attach a lot of importance to that. The court will sit in about half an hour. Sergeant! Open the door, please!”

  “The matches, captain . . .” said Férol.

  A sergeant put his head into Colonel Couderc’s office at Divisional Headquarters.

  “I’ve got Colonel Dax, sir,” he said. “He’s on the wire.”

  Couderc nodded and picked up the receiver on his desk.

  “Hello! Dax?”

  “Dax speaking.”

  “This is Couderc. About the men to go before the court martial. I find the names of only three in your report. There should be four. Where is the fourth? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I didn’t know.”

  “You don’t know! But it’s your business to know.”

  “I have merely obeyed instructions, Couderc. I gave the company commanders the orders the general gave, namely, to each choose a man for the court martial. One of them didn’t, that’s all.”

  “One of them didn’t, you say? Why didn’t he? Did he refuse?”

  “Oh, no, he didn’t refuse. He merely said there was no man in his company against whom he could bring such charges.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “Well, he didn’t say it. He wrote it.”

  “You should have sent me a copy.”

  “Didn’t I? I’m very sorry. I must have overlooked it.”

  “Have you got his note there, Dax? Read it to me.”

  “He says: ‘In reply to your et cetera I have the honour to report that I am unable to comply with your instructions because there is no me
mber of my company against whom charges of cowardice in the face of the enemy can either be made or be found tenable.’”

  “That’s nothing less than a refusal. Have you drawn his attention to that?”

  “I can’t. He’s gone off for a ride and won’t be back till the court martial is over.”

  “That’s clearly a case of refusal then. You must put him under arrest immediately upon his return. What’s his name?”

  “Captain Renouart, of Number 1 Company.”

  “Spell it.”

  “R-e-n-o-u-a-r-t.”

  “Well, arrest him at once when he gets back and I’ll let you know what’s to be done with him. Is Colonel Labouchère there?”

  “Did you get his name correctly? Renouart?”

  “Yes, I understand: Renouart. Now, Dax, let me speak to Labouchère.”

  “I beg your pardon, I don’t think you do quite understand . . .”

  “What don’t I understand?”

  “That Renouart is an officer of the utmost independence and courage . . .”

  “There’s no place for independence in this army.”

  “That may be quite true. But Renouart is not the type of man who is going to take anything meekly. He is a man of strong principles and he will fight for them to his last breath. I’m merely warning you, Couderc, that you are dealing with a spirited personality who may turn out to be more troublesome than you think. I’d go slow about this, if I were you, especially in view of all the circumstances surrounding this court-martial business. It’s all been a little hasty, to say the least . . .”

  “Well, I can’t worry about that, Dax. It wasn’t my doing. But no officer in this division is going to refuse to obey orders with impunity. You’ve got to arrest him. There are no two ways about that.”

  “There’s another thing you seem to have overlooked, and that is that there’s a Senator Renouart who is a member of the Parliamentary Commission for the Army. I don’t know that they are in any way related, but I thought you might like to look into that side of the affair before . . .”

  “Oh, well, that’s different. Why didn’t you say so before? You’re quite right, Dax, we must be careful. I tell you what you do. You send me a copy of your order to him and his reply in the original. I’ll take the matter up with the general and see what he says. I’m glad you mentioned the point, even though there may be nothing in it. Now let me have a word with Labouchère, will you?”

  “Here he is.”

  “Labouchère speaking.”

  “This is lucky, Labouchère, my being able to get hold of you. You heard my conversation with Dax?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then you know there will only be three men to be tried, after all. As president of the court, please see that the question of the fourth man does not come up at the trial. What I wanted to speak to you about was this. The general has given me a note for you but I’ll have to read it over the telephone as there isn’t time to send it to you now. He wants you to pass it on to the other judges before the proceedings begin. It is as follows: ‘The accused are to appear before the court martial as soon as possible. I have no doubt whatever that the court will know how to do its duty. Signed, Assolant.’ Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “When is the court martial going to begin?”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “All right then. Ring me up as soon as you have passed sentence, then report back here. Au revoir.”

  The salon of the château was a spacious, high-ceilinged room which faced the west and a view of lawn that seemed to have been spread there like a carpet for the declining rays of the setting sun. The room had, ever since it had been built in the late eighteenth century, seen its share of war and of warriors. Napoleon had spent two nights at the place, and it was in honour of this that its name had become Château de l’Aigle. Later, Wellington had danced there into the small hours of another night. Because it happened to be too far to the west, it was neglected by the soldiers of the Franco-Prussian war. Forty-four years later, however, its polished hardwood floors and courtyard flagstones again resounded to clinking spurs, and its mirrors reflected glittering uniforms, uniforms which glittered less as time went by. Von Kluck had lunch there one day not long before he made his fatal blunder at the gates of Paris. That was three days after Sir John French had dined there. A bandy-legged officer with bristling moustaches, wearing a general’s oak leaves on his cap, had stopped there to telephone on his way up to see the King of the Belgians. “Foch speaking,” he had said. At one time or another most of the higher officers of the allied armies had stayed there. Joffre had dined there, silently but with gusto, and then had gone to bed and slept undisturbed by any nightmares of Verdun. Haig had sat his charger at the lodge gates and had taken the salute of Canadian regiments on the way up to the Passchendaele butchery. Clemenceau had stopped at the same lodge to ask directions.

  “I’m jealous of you,” he had said to the old woman who lived there.

  “Why, monsieur le minister?” she had asked.

  “Because you have a better moustache than I.”

  Curiously enough, the line of high-ranking officers and celebrities who had visited the place was destined to be ended, as it had been begun in this war, by the presence of a German, a tall, cold, sorrowful man who sat in that spacious room with a little group of his countrymen, eating a frugal supper, late on a night of November, 1918. This was General von Winterfeldt, military member of a delegation which was going to ask Foch for armistice terms the next morning.

  Just at present, however, the highest-ranking officer in the room was Captain Etienne of the 181st Regiment of the line. He was seated at a table which faced a longer table opposite to him and parallel to the western wall and windows of the room. Behind the captain sat three men on a bench. They were hatless, unarmed, and seemed not to know what to do with their hands. They looked like just what they were, prisoners. Right behind the three men a sergeant and six others stood. These were helmeted, equipped in parade order, namely, with ammunition pouches and rifles with fixed bayonets. They had their rifles with which to occupy their hands, but they, too, didn’t seem to be quite at ease.

  The room began to fill up. Officers drifted in and took seats towards the back. Regimental Sergeant-Major Boulanger came in, put some papers on the long table, then looked the whole scene over carefully, moved one or two chairs around and re-spaced the sentries at the doors and along the wall.

  The tension in the room was increasing. Every time someone came in, it seemed to ease a bit, then it would return with added force.

  Another officer entered, carrying a large envelope. He went over and shook hands with Etienne, smiled and exchanged a few words with him without looking at the prisoners, then went to a neighbouring table and pulled some papers out of the envelope. Etienne felt slightly encouraged when he noticed how scant their bulk was.

  “The prosecutor,” said Etienne, turning to the prisoners. Didier and Langlois both looked at him, studied his profile, the back of his shoulders, neck, and head. Férol, apparently, wasn’t interested.

  The prosecutor was looking around for someone.

  “Orderly, get me the sergeant-major!”

  In a minute Boulanger was bending over the prosecutor’s table.

  “Most irregular,” said the prosecutor. “Take the prisoners out. They are not to come in until the court is sitting and orders it.”

  The sergeant-major gave some commands. The prisoners were surrounded by their guards and marched out. Hope instantly began to rise in them.

  The sergeant-major came in again, motioning to the sentries to throw the doors wide.

  “Attention!” he roared. “Guard, present arms!”

  There was a scraping of chairs, the rattle of accoutrements, the clicking of spurred and unspurred heels. The petrifaction of the salute.

  Three officers walked in in single file, Colonel Labouchère leading. The one in rear, a lieutenant, was out of step, bu
t he picked it up before he was half-way across the room. The colonel went straight to the centre seat at the judges’ table and stood behind it, then waited while the captain and the lieutenant disposed themselves respectively to his right and left. Labouchère saluted the group that faced him and said, “Rest!”

  The bodily tension of the room subsided, but the emotional didn’t.

  “The court martial is open,” said the colonel. “Bring in the accused.”

  Commands were shouted in the hall outside and the prisoners were tramped in again.

  “This is a summary court martial,” said Labouchère, when it was quiet again, “and we shall therefore dispense with most of the formalities. However, the order appointing the judge should be read. The clerk will please do so.”

  A lieutenant, sitting at one end of and at right angles to the judges’ table, got up and began reading:“The general commanding the division orders that the Summary Court Martial assembled at the Château de l’Aigle to judge the cases of four men accused of cowardice in the face of the enemy shall be composed as follows:

  “President: Colonel Labouchère;

  “Judges: Captain Tanon; Lieutenant Marignan;

  “Prosecutor: Captain Ibels;

  “Clerk: Lieutenant Mercier.

  “(Signed) Assolant

  “General of Division.”

  ETIENNE (rising): May I request that the service status of the officers composing the court be stated?

  PRESIDENT: What is the purpose of the request?

  ETIENNE: To determine whether they are in the services of the rear or whether they are officers of the line. In other words, combatant officers.

  TANON (the only combatant officer on the court, moving so his collar will show): You can see that by looking at our insignia.

  PRESIDENT: Quite irrelevant. Please don’t take up our time with stupid technicalities. We shall omit the reading of the indictment. It is lengthy and it states that the prisoners are accused of having shown cowardice in the face of the enemy during this morning’s attack on the Pimple. Accused, stand up!