In that tormented, feverish France where the ardor of the Revolution
still boils, there were, before the war, different parties, cliques,
groups and churches. The war has leveled, united and bound them all
together.
In some admirable pages, consecrated to the "Effort of French
Womanhood," M. Louis Barthou has painted the picture of the sacred
union there is among all the French women:
I have seen [he writes] our women at the front and behind
the lines, in the hospitals, the railway stations, the
automobile service, the canteens, the factories, in relief
work and in charity work. I have met nurses, unmoved under a
bombardment. I have tested the spirit of fellowship which
unites them, including as it does the names of the most
aristocratic French families and the most modest citizens.
There is no false pride among those in high places nor envy
among those lower in the social scale. They wear the same
garb, the same cap, with the same cross on their foreheads.
For the soldiers there is the same uniform, and when you say
uniform you mean equality in devotion, in the risk of life,
and in loyalty to duty. Between the classes of society there
is no contention, there is only emulation.
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