The Germans were invading Luxembourg; the Germans were ordering their armies to invade the French frontier when their ambassador was still in Paris making promises of peace.  On the day after the death of Jaures, the first of August, the people were crowding around some pieces of paper, written by hand and in evident haste.  These papers were copies of other larger printed sheets, headed by two crossed flags.  “It has come; it is now a fact!”. . .  It was the order for general mobilization.  All France was about to take up arms, and chests seemed to expand with a sigh of relief.  Eyes were sparkling with excitement.  The nightmare was at last over! . . .  Cruel reality was preferable to the uncertainty of days and days, each as long as a week.

In vain President Poincare, animated by a last hope, was explaining to the French that “mobilization is not necessarily war, that a call to arms may be simply a preventive measure.”  “It is war, inevitable war,” said the populace with a fatalistic expression.  And those who were going to start that very night or the following day were the most eager and enthusiastic.—­“Now those who seek us are going to find us!  Vive la France!” The Chant du Depart, the martial hymn of the volunteers of the first Republic, had been exhumed by the instinct of a people which seek the voice of Art in its most critical moments.  The stanzas of the conservative Chenier, adapted to a music of warlike solemnity, were resounding through the streets, at the same time as the Marseillaise: 

     La Republique nous appelle. 
     Sachons vaincre ou sachons perir;
     Un francais doit vivre pour elle. 
     Pour elle un francais doit mourir.

The mobilization began at midnight to the minute.  At dusk, groups of men began moving through the streets towards the stations.  Their families were walking beside them, carrying the valise or bundle of clothes.  They were escorted by the friends of their district, the tricolored flag borne aloft at the head of these platoons.  The Reserves were donning their old uniforms which presented all the difficulties of suits long ago forgotten.  With new leather belts and their revolvers at their sides, they were betaking themselves to the railway which was to carry them to the point of concentration.  One of their children was carrying the old sword in its cloth sheath.  The wife was hanging on his arm, sad and proud at the same time, giving her last counsels in a loving whisper.

Street cars, automobiles and cabs rolled by with crazy velocity.  Nobody had ever seen so many vehicles in the Paris streets, yet if anybody needed one, he called in vain to the conductors, for none wished to serve mere civilians.  All means of transportation were for military men, all roads ended at the railroad stations.  The heavy trucks of the administration, filled with sacks, were saluted with general enthusiasm.  “Hurrah for the army!” The soldiers in mechanic’s garb, on top of the swaying pyramid, replied to the cheers, waving their arms and uttering shouts that nobody pretended to understand.