he had not. For one thing, he has not always been sober, he
is confessing, when Noah interrupts with the comment that insobriety is
not such a very serious affair. In fact, he himself once ... and by this
time the reader begins to get the drift of this joyous humane fantasy,
the point being that the hierarchy of Heaven are all on the side of the
brave simple soldier who has died that France might live. As how could
they not be? Another time, the Poilu continues, he was sent to prison
for cutting a piece from his coat in order to mend the seat of his
trousers--in other words, for injuring Government property; and here St.
Martin breaks in with indignation at the punishment. "Why, when I did
very much the same," he says, "and cut my cloak to cover a paralytic, I
was canonized for it!" And so on.

Then comes a graver note. The Poilu, feeling an effort to be necessary,
for the Good God has never relaxed His sternness throughout, becomes
eloquent. Not only was he killed, but before that, he says, he suffered
much. The hardships of war on the Western front are terrible. He had
been famished, he had been frozen, he had been burned by the sun. He had
been sleepless, he had been footsore, and the sweat had poured from him
under his heavy burdens, for often he had carried not only his own
haversack but those of his comrades. In short.... But here St. Simon,
speaking softly to Christ, says, "Like you, Lord, at Golgotha." In my
prose this is, of course, too crude; but I assure you that in the poem
it is a great moment. And another follows it, for as the Good God still
says nothing, the Poilu points to the blue robe of the Blessed Virgin,
and to the great white beard of the Good God himself, and to the red
cloak of our Lord, and exclaims, "Voila mes trois couleurs. The three
colours of France. It was for them that I have lost my life; fighting
for them has brought me to this Judgment Hall!"

That is fine, is it not? Only the French genius is capable of just such
a splendid blend of naivete, emotion, and the best kind of
theatricalism. And at these words at last the Good God smiles, and
behind Him Heaven opens for the Poilu to enter.

There is a little more--for it seems that Heaven is full of Poilus with
blue caps, and golden helmets, and wings that remove the possibility of
getting wet feet or weary feet any more for ever and ever. And our Poilu
joins these others, who look happy and are happy, and sings with them
"Glory to God