Foch of the Pyrenees
Jammes, Francis
May 8, 1929 THE COMMONWEAL 17 FOCH OF THE PYRENEES By FRANCIS JAMMES THE news reached us in a little telegraph station, on Sunday at noon. It seemed, as it came, very like one of those...
...Like Him he gathers up the laurels of a people...
...It saluted the tomb of the brothers of Elbee...
...He but follows the example of his Lord in a sacred festival of palms...
...At Bidassoa it saluted Sancho of Gramont...
...Proudly it pointed its beak toward the frontier, and the whirr of its wings at that height mated the distant rumbling of Biscay Bay...
...He came from this valley which I love, where Bernadette was born—from the flank of this kingly range of hills which are of snow, of shadows and of azure...
...The kingdom of heaven, therefore, is for those like unto him...
...But his was also humility among the humble ones whom he loved...
...Sinking its talons into a garland of oak leaves which it carried, the eaglet whispered to infinity the name of—Someone...
...The eaglet hastened with such force that the very land seemed to disappear below...
...Desperately it called to—Someone...
...And as they listened to its flight above the farms, old men and their wives who had lost dearly loved sons in the ghastly conflict, and the women who had conceived life for the life of France, and all the little children, understood that a marching order has been given in the universe beyond and bowed their heads beneath an invisible and heart-breaking swiftness...
...The flag itself shall be silent in the wind, even as are the mantles of widowhood...
...She who is gentle and immaculate looked at the weeping eagle...
...Eagle, praise you the Lord...
...While the vast republic and distant empires acclaim him, I go remembering him as a little child, simple of speech and faith, with the place marked carefully in his missal and his coat neatly buttoned, walking quietly across the land which he saved...
...It seemed, as it came, very like one of those small eagles one sometimes glimpses on the mountain of Hasparren, pursuing their airy routes among the cliffs of the Aldudes, the Tardets and Garralda...
...And in speech having ineffable cadence, the language of eternal silence, she said: "Be quiet, beautiful bird, to whom my Son has given the glance which vanquishes the sun, and regal wings, and the heart which beats so strong—so that today you may go to the Arch of Triumph in the city of Valentine, to tell all men that Foch is dead...
...It paused over Pau, where the smile of the Bernadacs and their companions in arms is eternal...
...Only the storm of the crowd, the crunching of wheels, are heard...
...And the simpleness of his life has followed him into peace...
...18 THE COMMONWEAL May 8, 1929 "Foch is indeed great among the great...
...and, for all that it was far from the Soule, it swept on in a circuit that seemed the movement of an army and looked upon the grave of Clement of Andurain...
...It passed above Orthez, and the ashes of my dead young friends were stirred...
...It flew on toward Bayonne, and as it was poised above the rocks in the glittering Nive, it crowned them with flakes of snow which, in that blue sparkling like the blade of a sword, seemed even as apple bloom...
...While you flutter before me, messenger clad with a majestic urge, the body of a just man is in the care of watchers who are humble and bear patiently the Saviour's name...
...And then the eaglet, restless still, bowed its head and placed the wreath it had borne at the Virgin's feet...
...Then it fluttered past Betharram, and with lordly speed, clinging firmly to the golden wreath in its clutches, swooped down with widespread wings before the Virgin of Lourdes...
...Vibrant and desolate, with wings powdered by the snows of spring, it now swung low above my roof, and then soared deep into the spaces around Adour...
...Neither he nor his have care for the vanity of pomp...
...Praise also, eagle, the child of these prairies round about Tarbes, which even yet hear the neighing of the horses of a just victory...
...The rhythm of its flight—a rhythm so august that only the soul could overhear—grew swifter as it turned to the east...
Vol. 10 • May 1929 • No. 1
