16 - War by Pierre Loti

Discover the compelling insights of Pierre Loti [Julien Viaud] (1850-1923), a French naval officer and novelist, in War. This captivating work of non-fiction features a selection of letters and diary entries that reveal his thoughts and experiences during the tumultuous times of war. Loti not only reflects on his involvement in World War I but also shares his perspectives on the preparations leading up to the Turkish Revolution of 1923, a significant event that inspired the naming of a famous hill and a beloved café in Istanbul after him. Join us as we explore the mind of a man who witnessed history firsthand. (Summary by Carolin)

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter sixteen of War. This is a LibriVox recording. All
LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Reading done
by Jules Harlock of Mississauga, Ontario, Canada. War by Pierre Loti,

(00:25):
translated by Marjorie Laurie, Chapter sixteen, The Inn of the
Good Samaritan, August nineteen fifteen. In spite of the kindly
welcome which the visitor receives and a wholesome spirit of
gaiety which never fails, it is an inn that I

(00:48):
cannot honestly recommend without reserve. In the first place, it
is somewhat difficult of access, so much so that ladies
are never admitted to climb up to it, for it
is perched very high. The traveler must need make his
way for hours through ancient forests which the axe had

(01:11):
spared until a very few months ago, along unknown paths
winding as steep gradients, among giant trees, pines or larches
felled yesterday, which still lie about in all directions, paths
that are concealed by close growing greenery with such jealous

(01:33):
care that in the few open spaces occurring here and
there trees have been planted right into the ground, trees
uprooted elsewhere, and which are here only to hide the
wayfarer behind their dying branches. It may be supposed that
on the neighboring hills, sharp eyes unfriendly eyes are watching,

(01:55):
which necessitate all these precautions. But there are many people
along the road through those forests which seem at first
site virgin. Viewing from the little distant all these mountains
covered with the same strong growth of forests, so luxuriant,
and everywhere so alike in appearance, who would imagine that

(02:16):
they sheltered whole tribes, and such strange tribes, evidently survivors
of an entirely prehistoric race of men, and in the
anomalous position of having no women folk. Here are nothing
but men and men, all dressed alike with a singular
fancy for uniformity, in old faded woolen gray coats of

(02:42):
horizon blue. They have not paid much attention to their
hair or beards, and they have almost the appearance of brigands,
except that they all have such pleasant faces and such
kindly smiles for their wayfarer, that they inspire no tears.
So far from this, he is tempted rather to stop

(03:04):
and shake hands with them. But what curious little dwellings
they have built, some isolated, some grouped together into a village.
Some of them are quite lightly constructed of planks of wood,
and are covered over with branches of pine, and within
our mattresses of leaves that serve for beds. Some are underground,

(03:26):
grim as caves of troglodytes, and the approach to them
is protected by huge masses of rock, doubtless their defense
against formidable wild beasts haunting the neighborhood. And these dwellings
are always close to one of the innumerable streams of
clear water, which rush down babbling from the heights among

(03:50):
pink flowers and mosses. For these miniature waterfalls are many,
and all these mountains are full of the pleasant music
of running water. From time to time, to be sure,
other sounds are heard, hollow sounds of evil, import detonations
on the right or the left, which the echoes prolong.

(04:12):
Can it be that there is artillery concealed almost everywhere
throughout the forest? What want of taste thus to disturb
the symphony of the springs. They have probably just arrived here.
These savage tribes dressed in grayish blue. They are recent settlers,

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for all their arrangements are new and improvised, and so
likewise as the interminable winding road which they had laid out,
and which to day our motor cars, with the help
of a little good will, managed to climb so rapidly.
One of the peculiarities of these hidden villages, which crouch

(04:55):
in the shade of the lofty forest trees, is that
each has its own cemetery, tenderly cared for, so close
that it almost borders on the dwellings, as if the
living were anxious not to sever their comradeship with the dead.
But how comes it that death is so frequent among
these limpid streams in a region where the air is

(05:19):
so invigorating and so pure. These tombs, so disquieting in
their disproportionate numbers, are ranged in rows, all with the
same humble crosses of wood. They have borders of ferns
carefully watered, or of little pebbles. Well selected flowers, such

(05:40):
as thrive in shady places and are common in these parts,
shoot up their pretty pink spikes all around, and the
whole scene is steeped in the green, translucent twilight which
envelops the whole mountain, the twilight of these unchanging trees, pines,

(06:01):
and larches stretching away into infinity, crowded together like wheat
in a field, tall and straight like gigantic masts. In
our haste to reach that end of the Good Samaritan,
which is our destination, we keep on climbing at a
rapid pace, notwithstanding acute angle corners where our cars have

(06:24):
to back before they can effect the urn, and other
awkward places where our cars slip on the wet soil,
skid and come to a stop. These tribes, so primitive
in appearance through whose midst we have been traveling since
the morning, seem to be concentrating their energies, especially on

(06:46):
making these roads, which one would think cannot really be
necessary to their simple mode of existence. In our onward
course we meet nearly all these men, working with might
and main, with axes, shoveled stakes and picks, hurrying as
if the task were urgent. They stand erect for a

(07:10):
moment to salute us, smiling a little with touching and
respectful familiarity, and then they bend down again to their
arduous work. Leveling, enlarging, timbering, or digging out roots that
are in the way and rocks that encroach. And when
we were told that it is scarcely ten months since

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they began this exhausting work in the midst of Forest Virgin,
hitherto we are fain to believe that all the geni
of the mountains have roused themselves and lent their magic help.
Oh what tribute of admiration mingled with emotion do we

(07:53):
owe to these men? Likewise, the builders of roads are
gallant territorials who seem to be playing at wild men
of the woods. They have revived for us the miracles
of the Roman legions who so speedily opened up roads
for their armies through the forests of Gaul thanks to

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their prodigious labor, performed without a break, without a murmur.
The conditions of warfare in this region, only yesterday still inaccessible,
will be radically changed for the benefit of our dear soldiers.
Everything will reach them on the heights ten times more
expeditiously than before, arms, avenging shells, rations, and in a

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few hours the seriously wounded will be gently driven down
in carriages to comfortable field hospitals. In the plains, roughly speaking,
at an altitude of about fourteen or fifteen hundred meters,
the ancient forest, with its arching trees, ends abruptly. The

(09:00):
sky is deep blue above our heads, and infinite horizons
unfold around us their great spectacular display of elusive images.
The air is very clear and pure today in honor
of our arrival, and it is so marvelously transparent that
we miss no detail of the most distant landscapes. We

(09:24):
are told that we have reached the plateau where stands
that hospitable inn. It is, however, not yet in sight,
but the plateau itself, where it is situated in which
country of the world. In the foreground around us and below,
nothing is visible except summits, uniformly wooded with trees of

(09:47):
the same species. This brings back to mind those great
monstrous expanses of forests which must have covered the entire
earth in the beginning of our geological period. But it
is characteristic of no particular country or epoch of history.
In the distance, it is true there are signs of

(10:09):
a more telltale nature. Thus yonder on the horizon, that
succession of mountains, all mantled with the same dark Verdure
bears a close resemblance to the Black Forest. That chain
of glaciers over there, silhouetting so clearly against the horizon,

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its ridges of rosy crystal might well be taken for
the Alps. And that peak in particular is too strikingly
like the jung Frau to admit any doubt. But I
may not be more definite in my description. I will
merely say that those bluish plains in the east, rolling

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away at our feet like a great sea, were but
lately French, and I am now about to become friend
wrench once more. How spacious is this plateau, and how
naked it stands among all those other summits mantled with trees.
Here there is not even brushwood, for doubtless the winter

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winds raged too fiercely. Here Nothing grows but short, thick
grass and little stunted plants with insignificant flowers. It is
ecstasy to breathe here, in this delicious intoxication of pure
air and of spaciousness and light. And yet there is
some vague sense of tragedy about the place, due perhaps

(11:37):
to those great round holes freshly made, to those cruel
clefts with which here and there the earth is rent.
What can have fallen here from the sky leaving such
scars on the level surface. We are warned moreover that
monstrous birds of a very dangerous kind with iron mussels

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often come and hover about overhead in that fair blue sky,
And from time to time a cannon shot from some
invisible battery comes to disturb the impressive silence and reverberates
in the valleys below, and then comes long drawn out
the whirring of a shell, like a flight of partridges.

(12:21):
Going past, we notice some French soldiers, alpine chasseurs or
cavalry on their horses, scattered in groups about this plain,
as it may be called, situated in such an altitude.
At this moment, all lift their heads and look in
the same direction. This is because one of those great

(12:44):
dangerous birds has just been signaled. It is flying proudly
remote in the open sky in the clear blue, but
immediately it is pursued by white clouds, quite miniature clouds,
which give the effect of being created instantaneously, only to
vanish as quickly little explosions of white cotton wool. One

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might say, and it seems impossible that they should be
freighted with death. However, that evil bird has understood, he
is aware that good marksmen are aiming at him, and
he turns back on hasty wing, while our soldiers gaily
burst out, laughing. And the inn it lies just in

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front of us, a few hundred paces away. It is
that grayish hut, with its gay tricolored floating on the
light breeze of these altitudes. But near it stands a
very lofty cross of pinewood, four or five yards high,
stretching out its arms as in solemn warning. The fact

(13:52):
is I must admit that people die very frequently at
this Inn of the Good Samaritan, or in its neighborhood.
And it is for this reason that in the beginning
I recommend it with reserve. It is surprising, is it not,
in such health giving air. But the truth of it
is indisputable, and it has been necessary hurriedly to attach

(14:16):
to it a cemetery whose existence this tall cross of
pine proclaims from afar to travelers. Yes, many men die here,
but they die so nobly, a death of all deaths,
most desirable, each according to his own temperament, according to
the nature of his soul. Some in the calm, serenity

(14:39):
of judy done others in magnificent exaltation, but all in glory.
Can this be the famous Inn? In other words, the
dwelling of those officers who command this outpost and wear
their friends on rare and brief visits. Liaison officers bearers
of dispatches are sure of finding such cordial and genial hospitality.

(15:05):
This modest hutting built of planks, so it is, and
that there may be no mistake. There is an imposing signboard,
in the fashion of old times. Shaped like a shield,
it hangs from an iron rod and bears the inscription
in of the Good Samaritan. The legend is painted in

(15:27):
ornamental letters, and the humor of it is irresistible among
such crusoe like destitution. Doubtless, one day some officer, in
especially happy mood, thought of this jest as a welcome
for comrades coming thither on special duty. Naturally, he found

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it once among his men, one who was a carpenter
and another a decorator in civil life, both very much
amused at being ordered to put this unpremeditated idea of
forthwith into execution. The furniture of the Inn is very
rough and ready, if the truth be told, and the

(16:09):
walls of plank just shelters you from the snow or rain,
but from the wind hardly, and from shells not at all.
But one fills one's lungs to the full with the
air that reaches one through the little windows, and from
the threshold, looking downwards, there is a marvelous bird's eye

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view of great forests, of an unending chain of glaciers,
clear as crystal, of unbounded distances, and even over the
tops of clouds. Ah well, all along the battle front
there are such ends of the Good Samaritan. These others
are perched less high, and they do not bear the

(16:52):
same name. Indeed, very often they have no name at all.
But in all of them prevails the same spe spirit
of kindly hospitality, firm confidence, smiling endurance, and cheerful sacrifice.
Here as there between two showers of shells, men are

(17:13):
capable of amusing themselves with childish trifles, so stout of
heart are they, And if axes were not forbidden on
military grounds, I would invite all pessimists in the background
who have doubts of France and of her destiny, to
come here for a curer, And now having seen the inn,

(17:35):
let us pay a pious visit to the annex. The
inevitable annex alas around the wooden cross which dominates it,
is a piece of ground enclosed with an open fence
made of boughs of larch, artistically intertwined within its bounds.
These tombs, too numerous, already preserves something of a military aspect,

(18:00):
ranged as they are in such correct alignment, and all
with the same little crosses adorned with a wreath of greenery.
The cross, in spite of all infidelity, denial, scorn, the cross,
still remains the sign to which a tender instinct of
adivism recalls us at the approach of death. There is

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not a tree, not a shrub, for none grow here
on the ground. There is only short grass that grows
upon this windswept plateau. An attempt has been made to
be sure to make borders of certain stunted plants found
in the neighborhood, but rows of pebbles last best, and

(18:47):
in five weeks or so, thick shrouds of snow will
begin to cover up everything, until another spring succeeds the
snows and the grass grows green again. In the midst
of still deeper oblivion. Nevertheless, let us not pity them,
for they have had the better part, these young dead,

(19:09):
who rest there on the glorious mountain top, which is
destined to become once more after the war, a solitude
ineffably calm, high above forest valley and plain. End of
Chapter sixteen,