We had seen no such tremendous
parks of artillery and aviation by the roadside, no such store of shells
for big guns and little guns, no such pyramids of grenades for trenches
and aeroplanes. We were engulfed in war, swallowed up in war. It was
thrilling beyond words.

But all the road flashed bright with thrills. There was a thrill at "le
Bois de Regrets," forest of dark regret for the Prussians of 1792, where
the French turned them back--the forest which Goethe saw: a thrill more
keen for the pointing sign, "Metz, 47 kilometres," which reminded us
that less than thirty miles separated us from the great German
stronghold, yet--"_on ne passera pas_!" And the deepest thrill of all at
the words of our guide: "_Voila la porte de Verdun! Nous y sommes_."

Turning off the road, we stopped our car and the little Ford to look up
and worship. There it rose before us, ancient pile of gray stones, altar
of history and triumph, Verodunum of Rome, city of warlike, almost royal
bishops and rich burghers: town of treaties, sacked by Barbarians; owned
and given up by Germans; seized by Prussians when the French had spiked
their guns in 1870; and now forever a monument to the immortal manhood
of France!

Perhaps it was the mist in my eyes, but at first sight Verdun did not
look ruined, as I saw it towering up to its citadel in massive strength
and stern dignity. The old houses on the slope stood shoulder to
shoulder and back to back, like massed men fighting their last stand. It
was only when we had started on again, and passing through the gate had
slipped into the sorrowful intimacy of the streets, that Verdun let us
see her glorious rags and scars.

You would think that one devastated town would be much like another to
look at save for size. But no! I am learning that each has some
arresting claim of its own to sacred remembrance. Nancy has had big
buildings knocked down like card houses by occasional bombardment of
great guns. Sermaize, Gerbeviller, Vitrimont and twenty other places we
have seen were thoroughly looted by the Germans and then burned, street
by street. But Verdun has been bombarded every day for weeks and months
and years. The town is a royal skeleton, erect and on its feet, its
jewelled sceptre damaged, but still grasped in a fleshless hand. The
Germans have never got near enough to steal!

"You see," said the smart young captain who had come out to meet us at
the gate and take us to the citadel, "you see, noth