It had never occurred to Desnoyers that his carpenter might become a
soldier, since he was so opposed to all kinds of authority. He hated
the flics, the Paris police, with whom he had, more than once, exchanged
fisticuffs and clubbings. Militarism was his special aversion. In the
meetings against the despotism of the barracks he had always been one
of the noisiest participants. And was this revolutionary fellow going to
war naturally and voluntarily? . . .
Robert spoke enthusiastically of his regiment, of life among comrades
with Death but four steps away.
"I believe in my ideas, Boss, the same as before," he explained as
though guessing the other's thought. "But war is war and teaches many
things--among others that Liberty must be accompanied with order
and authority. It is necessary that someone direct that the rest may
follow--willingly, by common consent . . . but they must follow. When
war actually comes one sees things very differently from when living at
home doing as one pleases."
The night that they assassinated Jaures he howled with rage, announcing
that the following morning the murder would be avenged. He had hunted up
his associates in the district in order to inform them what retaliation
was being planned against the malefactors. But war was about to break
out. There was something in the air that was opposing civil strife, that
was placing private grievances in momentary abeyance, concentrating all
minds on the common weal.
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