ization should be published. "I go the second day." "I
the first." Those of the standing army who were on leave were recalled
individually to the barracks. All these events were tending in the same
direction--war.

The Germans were invading Luxembourg; the Germans were ordering their
armies to invade the French frontier when their ambassador was still in
Paris making promises of peace. On the day after the death of Jaures,
the first of August, the people were crowding around some pieces of
paper, written by hand and in evident haste. These papers were copies of
other larger printed sheets, headed by two crossed flags. "It has come;
it is now a fact!". . . It was the order for general mobilization. All
France was about to take up arms, and chests seemed to expand with a
sigh of relief. Eyes were sparkling with excitement. The nightmare was
at last over! . . . Cruel reality was preferable to the uncertainty of
days and days, each as long as a week.

In vain President Poincare, animated by a last hope, was explaining to
the French that "mobilization is not necessarily war, that a call to
arms may be simply a preventive measure." "It is war, inevitable war,"
said the populace with a fatalistic expression. And those who were going
to start that very night or the following day were the most eager and
enthusiastic.--"Now those who seek us are going to find us! Vive la
France!" The Chant du Depart, the martial hymn of the volunteers of the
first Republic, had been exhumed by the instinct of a people which
seek the voice of Art in its most critical moments. The stanzas of the
conservative Chenier, adapted to a music of warlike solemnity, were
resounding through the streets, at the same time as the Marseillaise:

La Republique nous appelle.
Sachons vaincre ou sachons perir;
Un francais doit vivre pour elle.
Pour elle un francais doit mourir.

The mobilization began at midnight to the minute. At dusk, groups of men
began moving through the streets towards the stations. Their families
were walking beside them, carrying the valise or bundle of clothes.
They were escorted by the friends of their district, the tricolored flag
borne aloft at the head of these platoons. The Reserves were donning
their old uniforms which presented all the difficulties of suits long
ago forgotten. With new leather belts and their revolvers at their
sides, they were betaking themselves to the railway which was to carry
them to the