Paths of Glory eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 340 pages of information about Paths of Glory.

On the way out he stopped to speak with Sergeant Rosenthal who, having furnished the provender for the forthcoming feast, was now waiting to share in it.  Using German, the lieutenant said: 

“I’m being kept pretty busy.  Two citizens of this town have just been sentenced to be shot, and I’ve orders to go and attend to the shooting before it gets too dark for the firing squad to see to aim.”

Rosenthal did not ask of what crime the condemned two had been convicted.

“You had charge of another execution this morning, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” answered the lieutenant; “a couple—­man and wife.  The man was seventy-four years old and the woman was seventy-two.  It was proved against them that they put poisoned sugar in the coffee for some of our soldiers.  You heard about the case, didn’t you?”

“I heard something about it,” said Rosenthal.

That was all they said.  After three weeks of war a tragedy like this has become commonplace, not only to these soldiers but to us.  Already all of us, combatants and onlookers alike, have seen so many horrors that one more produces no shock in our minds.  It will take a wholesale killing to excite us; these minor incidents no longer count with us.  If I wrote all day I do not believe I could make the meaning of war, in its effects on the minds of those who view it at close hand, any clearer.  I shall not try.

Six-fifteen p.m.  We have dined.  The omelet was a very small omelet, and two skinny pullets do not go far among nine hungry men; still, we have dined.

My journal breaks off with this entry.  It broke off because immediately after dinner word came that our train was ready.  A few minutes before we left the taverne for the station, to start on a trip that was to last two days instead of three hours, and land us not in Brussels, but on German soil in Aix-la-Chapelle, two incidents happened which afterward, in looking back on the experience, I have found most firmly clinched in my memory:  A German captain came into the place to get a drink; he recognized me as an American and hailed me, and wanted to know my business and whether I could give him any news from the outside world.  I remarked on the perfection of his English.

“I suppose I come by it naturally,” he said.  “I call myself a German, but I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and partly reared in New Jersey, and educated at Princeton; and at this moment I am a member of the New York Cotton Exchange.”

Right after this three Belgian peasants, all half-grown boys, were brought in.  They had run away from their homes at the coming of the Germans, and for three days had been hiding in thickets, without food, until finally hunger and cold had driven them in.

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Paths of Glory from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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