Now on our left at the bottom of the widened valley lay La Ferrière, grouped coquettishly round the tall chimney of a factory, whence escaped slowly-swelling volumes of smoke; the slender Jougninaz meandered ribbon-like among the grasses, slipping towards the neighbouring Orbe. On the side of the opposite slope, often lost to view in the zone of bushes and brushwood, the railway and the winding road, embracing each rocky contour, descended from the summit of the Col. Up above, the huge grey wall of the Mont d'Or rose in a peak, whose ridges stood out clearly against a pale blue sky, a scarcely perceptible cross marked the crest of the mountain. In olden days Mandrin and his bands used to come back into France by night by giddy pathways along this rampart; any one who stumbled was fair game for the wolves at the bottom. Midday had been roasting; but the height, and the approach of evening, brought coolness; not a trace of mist on the mountain tops; everything was quietness and purity.
The road had just taken a turn. Jougne came into view, a vision which always enchanted me: the houses in the village, brand new, dazzlingly white, or a light vermilion, contrasted with the stalwart old grey church[Pg 20] overhanging a high fortress. One imagined that the place must have been unparalleled in the command afforded over the only two big valleys which for ten miles round cut through the rugged chain of the Jura.
Cipollina suddenly stood still and put his hand on my shoulder:
"Just listen!"
Straining my ears in the direction of the village, I listened intently.
"Well! What's up?" I said. "The bells?"
"Yes, the bells.... What are they ringing for there?"
A gentle breeze had got up, and bore with it the call of the bronze; it was a sinister throbbing, hurried and unequal; I had a feeling that there was neither a peal of joy bells, nor the dismal tolling of the knell. We went on for a few steps. Now, more powerful and sonorous, with three jerky notes repeated at short intervals, the wild peal of alarm filled all the valley.
"The tocsin!" said Cipollina.
"Well?"
"When do they ring the tocsin?"
"In case of fire, I suppose."
"Do you see any trace of fire?"
With the same circular glance, we took in our surroundings.
Two miles of verdant valley, lay unfolded before us; not a puff of smoke, save the column of the factory, and the steam from a descending train.
Cipollina muttered:
"Don't they also sound the tocsin in case of ... mobilisation?"
"Oh! Steady on!"
"What do we know about it!" he exclaimed.
[Pg 21]
There was a short silence, then I said:
"We shall find out at Jougne. Are you coming?"
"No, I'm going back."
"Aren't you curious about it?"
"I've no reason for going down there."
I looked him in the face. He met my gaze quite comfortably; but the twist in his nose struck me.
"Well, then, till we meet again!" I said to him.
"You'll come back to the hotel this evening?"
"Why ... of course."
"Yes, of course."
While hurrying towards Jougne, I tried to recall as much as I could the events of the last few days. It was not much. A month ago, at the beginning of my holidays, there had been the Grand Duke Ferdinand's assassination; it seemed a tragic incident and nothing more. A famous law-suit had diverted attention from it. Last Saturday, a sensational coup; a startling awakening: Austria's ultimatum to Serbia couched in terms very different from the usual courtesy shown in diplomatic notes. Relaxation had come during the following days, at least as far as I could see. The small State was giving in; councils of prudence from St. Petersburg had, without doubt, been received at Belgrade; everything seemed to be going to calm down; though the decision was to be referred to the arbitration of the Great Powers. But since, since!... How stupid it was that my papers should have failed me just these two days! To-day's not arriving! In seventy-two hours the world moves! What had Cipollina said? The whole of Europe in arms! A fact more novel than alarming. I suddenly brought to mind certain articles with pessimistic undercurrents. Cer[Pg 22]tain coincidences occurred to me: the campaign for armaments, that belonged to last week; like the socialistic call to make a stand against war ... and the Government away! And England's difficulties! Supposing that, having considered all this "They" had judged the moment propitious?
No. I smothered my agitation. We had come through so many of these critical times: Algeciras, Agadir, Saverne, Lunéville, Nancy.... The little Landry girl was right, we should have no more war, it was too terrible, too risky!
The bells had stopped ringing their tumultuous peal, I attributed to their silence the virtue of an appeasement. I even smiled. I mocked at my fears. Oh, come now! The War, the Great War! Would it be likely to break out in such a way!
I had reached the bottom of the valley. On my way I leaned over the Jougninaz, which had dwindled. It was the trout season! I would suggest a little fishing to my cousin one of these days.
I thoughtlessly began to climb the sudden rise of the mountain. When I had reached the summit in a perspiration, I threw a friendly glance, by way of greeting, at the Aiguillon de Baume, and on the right at the bald summit of the Suchet, which we had reached the other night. I stopped to breathe for a moment. I should have smoothed my hair, and wiped the dust off my forehead if I had known I was to meet my pretty cousin Germaine, at her people's house, but she had rejoined her husband, a captain at Belfort, not long before.
A few minutes later I passed through the railings. There was no one in the shade of the elders. I crossed the courtyard, and began to climb the stairs.
[Pg 23]
My cousin's silhouette appeared on the landing above.
"Who's there? Is it you, Michel?"
"How are you?" I cried gaily.
"Have you heard?" she called to me.
"Heard what?"
"War is declared."
"No!"
A mist enfolded me. I managed to get up to the top by holding on to the banisters. On the landing I said mechanically:
"What? what did you say?"
She pushed me into the drawing-room.
"Go in, go in. Your cousin will tell you all about it."
Left alone for a minute I considered the well-known furniture in a dazed way; the piano with the open score of Rigoletto, the arm-chairs in loose covers, the two big couches, the two greenish screens ... I sought a new aspect of it all; I childishly reminded myself that I must remember that the things were in a like state when war was declared.
My cousin, the doctor, a sturdy mountaineer, tall and highly coloured, came in and quietly held out his hand to me.
"Well, there we are!" he said.
I got nothing but a few concise particulars out of him; ever since the morning they had realised that things were going from bad to worse, the "Pontissalien" usually so guarded ended its leading article by a very clearly stated warning that we must be prepared for anything. Our frontier had been violated, communications cut off. Our custom-house officers at Petit-Croix had been shot at last night. Negotiations had[Pg 24] continued, however. As a matter of fact the official telegram, which had arrived on the stroke of five o'clock contained only the seven words:
"Sunday. August 2nd.
First day of Mobilisation."
"What do you say to going to the Town Hall?" suggested the doctor.
I agreed, as meekly as one intoxicated. We went out. We had only a step or two to go.