Paris: The Novel

socialists were astonished. The revolution was supposed to begin in the industrialized countries, where there was an urban proletariat, not in backward Russia. Evidently the war had been the catalyst. And if in Russia, why not elsewhere? A stream of literature began to reach Le Sourd from Paris. All along the Western Front, other men like himself were being alerted. For the committed men of the Left, a new excitement was in the air.
    And then, at the end of May, after the disaster of the Nivelle Offensive, the news had come. The authorities might be able to keep it hidden from the outside world, but they couldn’t stop the rumors spreading along the front. They spread like wildfire.
    “There’s a mutiny. Whole regiments are leaving the front.” Ten, twenty, thirty thousand men had marched to the rear and refused to go back to their posts. The conditions were terrible. The direction of the war was completely incompetent. The slaughter was senseless. All along the line, troops that had been in the towns behind the line were refusing to obey orders. Just after the start of June, an entire regiment had taken charge of itself and marched back to occupy the little town Missy-aux-Bois which it was holding for itself.
    An infantry brigade had looted a supply column and was returning to Paris. A motor convoy had been taken over as well.

    They had been here at the front when the mutiny had come to their regiment. It had started with a small incident. The enemy trenches had a number of outworks at that point in the line, and a sniper had taken possession of one of them. During the last few days he had managed to wound one fellow and kill another. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take him out, if possible. So one of the lieutenants had gone to the section of trench just beyond Le Sourd’s, and told a corporal and a few of his men that he’d lead them on a reconnoiter that night, to see what could be done about the sniper.
    And whether he’d been planning to, or whether it just came to him at that moment, the corporal had said no.
    “Don’t refuse an order,” the lieutenant had said to him quite kindly. But it hadn’t done any good.
    “I refuse. I’ve had enough,” the corporal replied, and the private beside him had ceremoniously laid down his rifle and said, “Me too. No more orders. It’s finished.” There had been a murmur of assent from all the men around.
    And that was it. A mutiny.
    Le Sourd had wasted no time. Within minutes, he was distributing leaflets down the line. In his own section of the trench, he had the men singing “The Internationale.” One young man improvised a red flag and hoisted it over the trench.
    “The mutiny is just a start,” he told the men. “It will be nothing unless it leads to something with real meaning. France led the world with its Revolution. That was the beginning. But now we have the chance to take the next great step forward. This war has shown the absurdity of the capitalist world. Now is the time to join your fellow workers in Russia and all over the world. We want revolution and nothing less.”
    For a few days, he thought it might work. Other units across the front also raised the red flag. If the mutiny had been complete, if the troops had turned and converged upon Paris, then who knew what might have happened?
    But the French troops still loved their country. And the government for once acted wisely. Nivelle lost his command. And in his place they put a very brave and clever man.
    Pétain.
    General Pétain acted swiftly. Word went out at once to all the troops. Their grievances would be heard. Their tours of duty at the front were to be shortened, and there was to be more leave, forthwith. Last but not least: “The Americans will be with us soon. There shall be no new offensive until we have the support of American arms and men.”
    With this promise, the mutiny of the French army was calmed, and everyone sat down to talk.
    But the mutiny could not be ignored. Discipline must be restored. The chief culprits must face a court-martial. And each regiment where there had been a mutiny was told: “Choose the ringleaders only, and they’ll have a fair trial.”
    Commissions were sent out to give guidance to each regiment, and to escort the culprits to trial.
    Le Sourd was quite clear that he would be chosen. He was guilty of more than inciting mutiny. He’d encouraged the troops to overthrow the government itself.
    And if he’d had even the faintest doubt on the