<html xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><body><h1 align="center" class="head">Jean Desprez</h1><p class="byline"> ROBERT W. SERVICE <br xmlns:exist="http://exist.sourceforge.net/NS/exist" xmlns:html="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"/>From "Rhymes of a Red Cross Man," by Robert W. Service, published and copyright, 1916, by Barse & Hopkins, New York. Special permission to reproduce in this book.</p><div class="stanza"><p class="line">OH ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to W'ar's romance,</p><p class="line">Hear ye the story of a boy, a peasant boy of France;</p><p class="line">Alad uncouth and warped with toil, yet who, when trial came,</p><p class="line">Could feel within his soul upleap and soar, the sacred flame;</p><p class="line">Could stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only heroes may:</p><p class="line">Oh, harken! Let me try to tell the tale of Jean Desprez.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">With fire and sword the Teuton horde was ravaging the land,</p><p class="line">And there was darkness and despair, grim death on every hand;</p><p class="line">Red fields of slaughter sloping down to ruin's black abyss;</p><p class="line">The wolves of war ran evil-fanged, and little did they miss.</p><p class="line">And on they came with fear and flame, to burn and loot and slay,</p><p class="line">Until they reached the red--roofed croft, the home of Jean Desprez.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">"Rout out of the village, one and all!" the Uhlan Captain said.</p><p class="line">"Behold! Some hand has fired a shot. My trumpeter is dead.</p><p class="line">Now shall they Prussian vengeance know; now shall they rue the day,</p><p class="line">For by this sacred German slain, ten of these dogs shall pay."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They drove the cowering peasants forth,. women and babes and men,</p><p class="line">And from the last, with many a jeer, the Captain chose he ten;</p><p class="line">Ten simple peasants, bowed with toil; they stood, they knew not why</p><p class="line">Against the grey wall of the church, hearing their children cry;</p><p class="line">Hearing their wives and mothers wail, with faces dazed they stood.</p><p class="line">A moment only. . . . Ready! Fire! They weltered in their blood.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But there was one who gazed unseen, who heard the frenzied cries,</p><p class="line">Who saw these men in sabots fall before their children's eyes;</p><p class="line">A Zouave wounded in a ditch, and knowing death was nigh,</p><p class="line">He laughed with joy: "All! here is where I settle ere I die."</p><p class="line">He clutched his rifle once again, and long he aimed and well. ..</p><p class="line">A shot! Beside his victims ten the Uhlan Captain fell.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They dragged the wounded Zouave out; their rage was like a flame.</p><p class="line">With bayonets they pinned him down, until their Major came.</p><p class="line">A blond, full-blooded man he was, and arrogant of eye.</p><p class="line">He stared to see with shattered skull his favorite Captain lie.</p><p class="line">"Nay, do not finish him so quick, this foreign swine," he cried;</p><p class="line">Go nail him to the big church door: he shall be crucified."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">With bayonets through hands and feet they nailed the Zouave there, </p><p class="line">And there was anguish in his eyes, and horror in his stare;</p><p class="line">"Water! A single drop!" he moaned; bat how they jeered at him, </p><p class="line">And mocked him with an empty cup, and saw his sight grow dim;</p><p class="line">And as in agony of death with blood his lips were wet,</p><p class="line">The Prussian Major gaily laughed, and lit a cigarette.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">But 'mid the white--faced villagers who cowered in horror by, </p><p class="line">Was one who saw the woeful sight, who heard the woeful cry:</p><p class="line">"Water! One little drop, I beg! For love of Christ whodied.... "</p><p class="line">It was the little Jean Desprez who turned and stole aside;</p><p class="line">It was the little barefoot boy who came with cup abrim</p><p class="line">And walked up to the dying roan, and gave the drink to him.</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">A roar of rage! They seize the boy; they tear him fast away.</p><p class="line">The Prussian Major swings around; no longer is he gay.</p><p class="line">His teeth are wolfishly agleam; his face all dark with spite:</p><p class="line">"Go shoot the brathe snarls," that dare defy our Prussian might.</p><p class="line">Yet stay! I have another thought. I'll kindly be, and spare.</p><p class="line">Quick! give the lad a rifle charged, and set him squarely there,</p><p class="line">And bid him shoot, and shoot to kill. Haste! Make him understand</p><p class="line">The dying dog he fain would save shall perish by his hand.</p><p class="line">And all his kindred they shall see, and all shall curse his name,</p><p class="line">Who bought his life at such a cost, the price of death and shame."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They brought the boy, wild-eyed with fear; they made him understand;</p><p class="line">They stood him by the dying man, a rifle in his hand.</p><p class="line">"Make haste!" said they; "the time is short, and you must kill or die."</p><p class="line">The Major puffed his cigarette, amusement in his eye.</p><p class="line">And then the dying Zouave heard, and raised his weary head:</p><p class="line">"Shoot, son, 'twill be the best for both; shoot swift and straight," he said.</p><p class="line">"Fire first and last, and do not flinch; for lost to hope am I;</p><p class="line">And I will murmur: Vive la France! and bless you ere I die."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">Half-blind with blows the boy stood there; he seemed to swoon and sway;</p><p class="line">Then in that moment woke the soul of little Jean Desprez.</p><p class="line">He saw the woods go sheening down: the larks were singing clear;</p><p class="line">And oh! the scents and sounds of spring, how sweet they were! how dear!</p><p class="line">He felt the scent of new-mown hay, a soft breeze fanned his brow;</p><p class="line">O God! the paths of peace and toil! How precious were they now!</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">The summer days and summer ways, how bright with hope and bliss!</p><p class="line">The autumn such a dream of gold; and all must end in this:</p><p class="line">This shining rifle in his hand, that shambles all around;</p><p class="line">The Zouave there with dying glare; the blood upon the ground;</p><p class="line">The brutal faces round him ringed, the evil eyes aflame;</p><p class="line">That Prussian bully standing by as if he watched a game.</p><p class="line">"Make haste and shoot," the Major sneered; a minute more I give;</p><p class="line">A minute more to kill your friend, if you yourself would live."</p></div><div class="stanza"><p class="line">They only saw a barefoot boy, with blanched and twitching face;</p><p class="line">They did not see within his eyes the glory of his race;</p><p class="line">The glory of a million men who for fair France have died,</p><p class="line">The splendor of self-sacrifice that will not be denied.</p><p class="line">Yet he was but a peasant lad, and oh! but life was sweet.</p><p class="line">"Your minute's nearly gone, my lad," he heard a voice repeat.</p><p class="line">"Shoot! Shoot!" the dying Zouave moaned; "Shoot! Shoot!" the soldier said.</p><p class="line">Then Jean Desprez reached out and shot . . . <em>the Prussian Major dead!</em></p></div></body></html> · Great War