But a dissertation of this kind has taken us far from the canteen, and the methods employed by the conscript in spending his spare time. Not that the canteen is the only place of amusement, but in stated hours, as in the British Army, the canteen is the rallying point of men off duty. It is closed to men undergoing _salle de police_ at all times, and this forms a not inconsiderable part of their punishment; for to a soldier the canteen is not merely a place where he may obtain refreshments, alcoholic and otherwise, but also a place to meet his friends, hear a good song, discuss the doings of various companies, and of various friends, whom he meets here and with whom he can compare notes. The barrack room may not contain more than one close friend--if that--and the other men in the squad to which the conscript belongs may be of different provinces, of totally different ideals and ways of thought--as if a Highland Scot were planted down in a squad of Londoners. In the canteen, however, a man can be certain of meeting and sitting down for a confab with his own chums, men not only of his year--that is, joining on the same first of October as himself--but also hailing, perhaps, from the same town or village as himself, glad to share a bottle of claret at a franc the bottle and to talk over the things left behind with civilian clothing.
As for canteen songs, one may guess that in the French Army there is always plenty of real talent, for the nation as a whole, like all Latin nationalities, is a very musical one, and since all come to the Army, the singers come with the rest. The songs, perhaps, are not of the highest drawing-room order, even for French drawing-rooms, but the musical and vocal abilities of the singers are beyond question; for in a gathering of men where the best can be obtained, little short of the best ventures to bring itself to notice.
This mention of canteen songs recalls the fact that the French infantryman beguiles the tedium of route-marching by songs, interminably long songs which go on and on for miles; in recalling what the next verse will be, a man forgets the number of miles between him and the end of the march, or he thinks he may be able to, which amounts to very nearly the same thing. They still sing songs that were in vogue at the time of Fontenoy, as they march at ease along the endless straight roads of the country, with their rifles slung anyhow and their formations broken up that friend may march with friend. This is when marching "at ease" only, for let a column of marching infantrymen come to the streets of a town, and they immediately stiffen up to show themselves at their best before the girls at the windows. The Army of the Republic is a part of the nation, but the women of the nation manifest no less interest in it for the fact that their fathers and brothers have served. There is something in the sound of a military band and the sight of a column of uniformed men that will always bring faces to the windows of a French house. "So our Jacques is perhaps marching somewhere," they say, or--"Thus we marched to relieve Bazaine," will remark a veteran of the '70 campaign, feeling the while that these men may yet make of "'70" a thing no longer to remember in connection with lost provinces. And, once the town or village street is left behind, and the road stretches unbroken before the column, the men begin to sing again, and their officers smile at the song--they are too wise, in the French Army, to suppress the singing and the cigarette smoking, and thus the men march well. As well, certainly, as any infantry in the world, and probably better than most.