Celluloid : the film to-day (1931)

222 CELLULOID sible, it is inconceivable to imagine anything written with more terrific feeling, more intensity, more strength of speech than this miserable disaster. But it is done cunningly by use of light and shade, by contrast of masses, by quiet and storm, until the climax comes with the burning of Paris and you are left with it ringing in your ears. I can remember no book that has aroused stronger emotions in me than ' La Debacle.' They are brought about by a perfection of detail, by a subtle collection of small insignificant scenes, occupying possibly only the fraction of a second, but nevertheless of vital importance to the composition as a whole. The sticky tiles in the room of death in Weiss's house at Bazeilles; the broken gaspipes that jetted fire in the streets of Paris; the smashed spectacles on Weiss's nose as the little man is shot against the wall of his house. Again, the crossing of the Meuse by night, the endless file of Cuirassiers emerging from the darkness of one bank and disappearing into that of the other; the neighing horses with their manes raised and their legs stiff with fright; the men erect in their stirrups, uniformly draped in their long white cloaks, their helmets blazing with fiery reflections, looking like phantom horsemen with flaming hair. Later, when Silvine and Prosper look for the body of Honore, the corpse-strewn battlefield, the charge of the mad, riderless horses, neglected and hungry; the discovery of the laughing Zouaves, lying at ease on the sofa outside a house. Silvine mistakes them for living soldiers laughing their triumph. In reality, they are propped up on their knapsacks with death grins on their faces. And seven men kneeling