diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-04 22:36:22 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-04 22:36:22 -0800 |
| commit | 4fd1a417a8717eb6be24527ecd0c1001c5a0d225 (patch) | |
| tree | 397350519e1ba4a71fc62aa8f3a77cc08942b17d /old/50071-0.txt | |
| parent | 7eaeebe2bda52448c398bc21a9ca1b7c5cbed131 (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/50071-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50071-0.txt | 9333 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9333 deletions
diff --git a/old/50071-0.txt b/old/50071-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a762aef..0000000 --- a/old/50071-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9333 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Round about Bar-le-Duc, by Susanne R. Day - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Round about Bar-le-Duc - -Author: Susanne R. Day - -Release Date: September 28, 2015 [EBook #50071] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - ROUND ABOUT - BAR-LE-DUC - - - BY - - SUSANNE R. DAY - AUTHOR OF "THE AMAZING PHILANTHROPISTS," ETC. - - - London - SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD. - 34 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2 - PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING - - - TO - - CAROL - - FOR WHOSE EYES - THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN - - - - -PREFACE - - -TO CAROL - -Dear, you asked me to write for you the story of my work and adventures -in France, and through all the agonising hours of incubation and -parturition you have given me your unfailing sympathy, encouragement -and help. You have even chastened me (it was a devastating hour!) for -my--and, I believe, for the book's--good, and when we discovered that -the original form--that of intimate personal letters written directly -to you--did not suit the subject matter, you acquiesced generously in a -change, the need for which I, at least, shall ever deplore. - -And now that the last words have been written and Finis lies upon the -page, I know how short it all falls of my ideal and how unworthy it is -of your high hope of me. And yet I dare to offer it to you, knowing -that what is good in it is yours, deep delver that you are for the gold -that lies--somewhere--in every human heart. - -Twenty months in the war zone ought, one would imagine, to have -provided me with countless hair-breadth escapes, thrills, and perhaps -even shockers with which to regale you, but the adventures are all -those of other people, an occasional flight to a cellar in a raid being -all we could claim of danger. And so, instead of being a book about -English women in France, it is mainly a book about French women in -their own country, and therein lies its chief, if not its only claim to -merit. - -Humanness was the quality which above all others you asked for, and if -it possesses that I shall know it has not been written in vain. - - SUSANNE R. DAY. - - _London, - January 1918._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. MAINLY INTRODUCTORY 11 - - II. EN ROUTE--SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS 16 - - III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 29 - - IV. À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC 47 - - V. SETTLING IN 61 - - VI. THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES 73 - - VII. IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT 87 - - VIII. THE MODERN CALVARY 107 - - IX. IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE - BON DIEU 125 - - X. PRIESTS AND PEOPLE 136 - - XI. REPATRIÉES 160 - - XII. STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN 179 - - XIII. MORE STORM-WRACK 198 - - XIV. AIR RAIDS 207 - - XV. M. LE POILU 223 - - ENVOI 255 - - - - -ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MAINLY INTRODUCTORY - - -Relief Work in the War Zone. It did sound exciting. No wonder I -volunteered, but, oh dear! great was the plenitude of my ignorance. -I vaguely understood that we were to distribute clothes and rabbits, -kitchen utensils, guano and other delectable necessaries to a stricken -people, but not that we were to wear a uniform and that the uniform -would be made "by post." If I had there might never have been a chapter -to write nor a tale to tell. - -That uniform!--shall I ever forget it? Or the figure I cut when I -put it on? Of course, like any sensible female woman, I wanted to -have it made by my own tailor and in my own way. Strict adherence -to the general scheme, of course, with reasonable modification to -suit the individual. But Authority said NO. Only by one man and in -one place could that uniform be made. Frankly sceptical at first, I -am now a devout believer. For it was certainly unique; perhaps in -strict truth I ought to say that several specimens of it were unique. -There was one--but this is a modest tale told by a modest woman. -Stifle curiosity, and be content with knowing that the less cannot -contain the greater. And then let us go hence and ponder upon the -sweet reasonableness of man, or at least of one man who, when asked to -produce the uniform hats, replied, "But what for, Madam?" - -"Well, to try on, of course." - -"Try on? Why ever should you want to do that?" - -Perhaps you won't believe this? But it is true. - -Oh, the agonies of those last days of preparation, and the heartrending -impossibility of getting any really useful or practical information -about an outfit! - -"Wear pyjamas, a mess-tin, and a water-bottle. And of course you must -have a sleeping-bag and a bath." - -This was at least encouraging. Were we going to sleep _à la belle -étoile_, a heap of stones our pillow, our roof the sky? You can -imagine how I thrilled. But there was the bath. Even in France.... I -relinquished the stars with a sigh and realised that Authority was -talking learnedly about the uniform, talking swiftly, confidently, -assuredly, and as I listened conviction grew that once arrayed in it -every difficulty and danger would melt away, and the French nation -prostrate itself before my blushing feet in one concentrated desire to -pay homage and assist. One danger certainly melted away, but, alas! it -took Romance with it. As a moral life-belt that uniform has never been -equalled. - -And then there was the kit-bag. Ye gods, I KNOW that villainous -thing was possessed of the devil. From the day I found it, lying a -discouraged heap upon my bedroom floor, to the day when it tucked -itself on board ship in direct defiance of my orders and invited the -Germans to come and torpedo it--which they promptly did--it never -ceased to annoy. It lost its key in Paris, and on arrival at Sermaize -declined to allow itself to be opened. It was dumped in my "bedroom" -(of which more later), the lock was forced, Sermaize settled itself to -slumber. I proceeded to unpack, plunged in a hand and drew forth--a -pair of blue serge trousers. - -Wild yells for help brought Sermaize to my door. What the owner of the -trousers thought when his broken-locked bag was flung back upon him, -history does not relate. He had opened what he thought was HIS bag, so -possibly he was beyond speech. He was a shy young man and he had never -been in France before. - -If the thing--the bag, I mean, not the shy young man--had been pretty -or artistic one might have forgiven it all its sins. Iniquity should -always be beautiful. But that bag was plain, _mais d'une laideur -effroyable_. Just for all the world like a monstrous obscene sausage, -green with putrefaction and decay. What I said when I tried to pack -is not fit for a young and modest ear. I planted it on its hind legs, -seized a pair of boots, tried to immure them in its depths, slipped and -fell into it head foremost. It was then the devil chuckled. I heard -him. He had been waiting, you see--he knew. - -It is some consolation that a certain not-to-be-named friend -was not on the hotel steps as I stole forth that torrid June -morning. Every imp of the thousand that possess her would have -danced with glee. How she would have laughed: for there I was, -the not-to-be-tried-on-uniform-hat, a grotesque little inverted -pudding-bowl of a thing, perched like a fungoid growth on the top of my -head, the uniform itself hanging blanket-like about my shrinking form -(it was heavy enough for the arctic regions), a water-bottle which had -refused point-blank to go into the kit-bag hanging over one shoulder, -and a bulging brown knapsack jutting blasphemously from my back. What -a vision! Tartarin of Tarascon climbing the Alps with an ironmonger's -shop on his back fades ignominiously in comparison. But then I wasn't -just climbing commonplace tourist-haunted Alps. I was going "to the -Front." At least, so my family said when making pointed and highly -encouraging remarks about my will. That the "Front" in question was -twenty miles from a trench was a mere detail. Why go to the War Zone if -you don't swagger? I swaggered. Not much, you know--just the faintest -æsthetic suspicion of a swagger, and then.... Then Nemesis fell--fell -as I passed a mirror, and saw.... I crawled on all fours into France. - -I crawled on all fours into Paris. Think of it, PARIS! No wonder French -women murmured, "Mais, Mademoiselle, vous êtes très devouée." I am a -modest woman (I have mentioned this before, but it bears repetition), -but whenever I thought of that uniform I believed them. - -If Paris had not been at war she would probably have arrested me at the -Douane, and I should have deserved it. Fancy insulting her by wearing -such clothes, and on such a night--a clear, purple, perfect summer -night, when she lay like a fairy city caught in the silvery nets of the -moon. And yet there was a strange, ominous hush over it all. The city -lying quiet and, oh, so still! It seemed to be waiting, waiting, a cup -from which the wine had been poured upon the red floor of war. - -Wandering along the deserted quays, wondering what the morrow would -bring.... What a night that was, the sheer exquisite beauty of it! The -Conciergerie dark against the sky, the gleaming path of the river, and -then the Louvre and the Tuileries all hushed to languorous, passionate -beauty in the arms of the moon. - -Don't you love Paris, every stone of her? I do. But I was not allowed -to stay there. Inexorable Fate sent me the next morning in a taxi and -a state of excusable excitement to the Gare de l'Est, where, kit-bag, -mess-tin, water-bottle and all, I was immured in the Paris-Nancy -express and borne away through a morning of glittering sunshine to -Vitry-le-François, there to be deposited upon the platform and in the -arms of a grey-coated and becomingly-expectant young man. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -EN ROUTE--SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS - - -I - -Like Bartley Fallon of immortal memory, "if there's any ill luck at -all in the world, 'tis on meself it falls." Needless to say, I was -not allowed to remain in the arms of that nice young man; and indeed, -to give him his due, he showed no overwhelming desire to keep me -there. The embodiment of all Quakerly propriety, he conducted me with -befitting ceremony to the station just as the sun began to drop down -the long hills of the sky, and sent me forth once more, this time -with a ticket for Sermaize-les-Bains in my pocket. My proverbial luck -held good--that is to say, bad. The train was an OMNIBUS. Do you know -what that means? No? Then I shall tell you. It is the philosopher -of locomotion, the last thing in, the final triumph of, thoughtful, -leisurely progression. Its phlegm is sheerly imperturbable, its -serenity of that large-souled order which cataclysms cannot ruffle -nor revolutions disturb. A destination? It shrugs its shoulder. Yes, -somewhere, across illimitable continents, across incalculable æons of -time. The world is beautiful, haste the expression of a vulgar age. To -travel hopefully is to arrive. It hopes. Eventually, if God is good, it -arrives. - -And so did we, after long consultative visits to small wayside -stations, and after much meditative meandering through sunset-coloured -lands. Arrived--ah, can you wonder at it?--with just a little catch -in our throats and a shamed mistiness of vision, for had we not seen, -there in that little clump of undergrowth outside the wood, a lonely -cross, fenced with a rustic paling, an old red mouldering _képi_ -hanging on the point? And then in the field another ... and again -another ... mute, pitiful, inspiring witnesses of the grim tragedy of -war. - -And then came Sermaize, once a thriving little town, a thing of streets -and HOMES, of warm firelit rooms where the great game of Life was -played out day by day, where the stakes were Love and Laughter, and -Success and Failure and Death, where men and women met, it might be on -such a night as this--a night to dream in and to love, a night when the -slow pulse of the Eternal Sea beat quietly upon the ear--met to tell -the age-old story while the world itself stood still to listen, and -out of the silence enchantment grew, and old standards and old values -passed away and a new Heaven and a new Earth were born. - -Once a thing of streets and homes! Ah, there lies the real tragedy -of the ruined village. Bricks and mortar? Yes. You may tell the tale -to the last ultimate sou if you will, count it all up, mark it all -down in francs and centimes, tell me that here in one brief hour the -Germans did so much damage, destroyed so many thousand pounds worth of -property, ground such and such an ancient monument to useless powder, -but who can count the cost, or appraise the value of the things which -no money can buy, that only human lives can pay for? - -One ruined village is exactly like every other ruined village you -may say with absolute truth, and yet be wrong. A freak of successful -destruction here, a fantastic failure there, may give a touch of -individuality, even a hint of the grotesque. That tall chimney, how -oddly it leans against the sky. That archway standing when everything -about it is rubble and dust. That bit of twisted iron-work, writhing -like an uncouth monster, that stairway climbing ridiculously into -space. Yes, they are all alike, these villages, and all heartrendingly -different. For each has its hidden story of broken lives to tell, of -human hopes and human ambitions dashed remorselessly to earth, of human -friendships severed, of human loves torn and bleeding, trampled under -the red heel of war. Lying there in the moonlight, Sermaize possessed -an awful dignity. In life it may have been sordid and commonplace, in -death, wrapped in the silver shroud of the moon, it was sublime. - -As we passed through the broken piles of masonry and brick-and -iron-work every inch of the road throbbed with its history, the ruins -became infused with life and--was it phantasy? a trick of the night? of -the dream-compelling moon?--out of the dark shadows came the phantoms -of men and women and little children, their eyes wide with fear and -longing, their empty hands outstretched.... - -Home! They cried the word aloud, and the night was filled with their -crying. - -And so we passed. Looking back now, I think the dominant emotion of -the moment was one of rage, of blind, impotent, ravening fury against -the senseless cruelty that could be guilty of such a thing. For the -destruction of Sermaize-les-Bains was not a grim necessity of war. It -was a sacrifice to the pride of the All-Highest. - -In a heat that was sheerly tropical the battle had raged to and fro. -The Grande Place had been torn to atoms by the long-range German guns, -then came hand-to-hand fighting in the streets, and the Germans in -possession. The inhabitants, terrified, for the most part fled to the -woods. Some remained, but among them unfortunately not the Mayor. He -had gone away early in the morning. He was, perhaps, a simple-minded -person. He cannot have realised how inestimable a privilege it is to -receive a German Commandant in the "Town Hall" he has just blown to -infinitesimal fragments. It may even be--though it is difficult to -believe it--that, conscious of the privilege, he yet dared to despise -it. Whatever the reason the fact remains--he was not there. What an -insult to German pride, what a blow to German prestige! No wonder -the Commandant strode into the street and in a voice trembling with -righteous indignation gave the order, "Pillage and Fire." - -Oh, it was a merry game that, and played to a magnificent finish. The -houses were stripped as human ghouls stripped the dead upon Napoleonic -battlefields; glass, china, furniture, pictures, silver, heirlooms -cherished through many a generation, it was a glorious harvest, and -what was not worth the gleaning was piled into heaps and burned. - -There are certain pastilles, innocent-looking things like a man's coat -button, round and black, with a hole in the middle. They say the German -army came into France with strings of them round their necks, for in -the German army every contingency is provided for, every destructive -device supplied even to the last least ultimate detail. Its organisers -take no risks. They never throw the dice with Chance. Luck? They don't -believe in luck. They believe in efficiency and careful scientific -preparation, in clean-cut work, with no tags or loose ends of humanity -hanging from it. The human equation is merely a cog upon the machine, -and yet it is the one that is going to destroy them in the end. - -So they brought their pastilles into France just as they brought -their expert packers to ensure the safe transit into Germany of all -perishable loot. And if ever you see some of those pastilles framed at -Selfridge's and ask yourself if they could really be effective--they -are so small, so very harmless-looking--remember Sermaize and the waste -of charred rubbish lying desolate under the moon. Some one--I think -Maurice Genevoix, in _Sous Verdun_--tells how, in the early days of -war, French soldiers were sometimes horrified to see a bullet-stricken -German suddenly catch fire, become a living torch, blazing, terrible. -At first they were quite unable to account for it. You see, they didn't -know about the pastilles then. Later, when they did, they understood. -I was told in Sermaize that a German aeroplane, flying low over the -roofs, sprayed them with petrol that day. If true, it was quite an -unnecessary waste of valuable material. The pastilles were more than -equal to the occasion. But so was the French hotel-keeper who, coming -back when the Germans had commenced their long march home, and finding -his house in desiccated fragments, promptly put up a rough wooden -shelter, and hung out his sign-board, "Café des Ruines!" - - -II - -No one should go to Sermaize without paying a visit to M. le Curé. He -stayed with his people till his home was tumbling about his ears, and -even then he hung on, in the cellar. Driven out by fire, he collected -such fugitives as were at hand and helped them through the woods to a -place of safety. Of the events and incidents of that flight, of the -dramatic episodes of the bombardment and subsequent fighting--there -was a story of a French officer, for instance, who came tumbling into -the cellar demanding food and drink in the midst of all the hell, and -who devoured both, M. le Curé confessing that his own appetite at the -moment was not quite up to its usual form, howitzer shells being a poor -substitute for, shall we say, a gin-and-bitters?--it is not for me to -speak. He has told the tale himself elsewhere, and if in the telling he -has been half as witty, as epigrammatic, as vivid and as humorous as he -was when he lectured in the Common-room at Sermaize, then all I can say -is, buy the book even if you have to pawn your last pair of boots to -find the money for it. - -A rare type, M. le Curé. An intellectual, once the owner and lover -(the terms are, unhappily, not always synonymous) of a fine library, -now in ashes, a man who could be generous even to an ungenerous -foe, and remind an audience--one member, at least, of which was no -Pacifist--that according to the German code the Mayor should have -remained in the town, and that he, M. le Curé, had been able to collect -no evidence of cruelty to, or outrage upon, an individual. - -That lecture is one of the things that will live in my memory. For -the Curé was not possessed of a library of some two thousand volumes -for nothing, and whatever his Bishop's opinion may be on the subject, -I take leave to believe that Anatole France, De Maupassant, Verlaine -and Baudelaire jostled many a horrified divine upon the shelves. For -his style was what a sound knowledge of French literature had made it. -He could dare to be improper--oh, so deliciously, subtly improper! A -word, a tone, a gesture--a history. And his audience? Well, I mustn't -tell you about that, and perhaps the sense of utter incongruity was -born entirely of my own imagination. But to hear him describe how he -spent the night in a crowded railway-station waiting-room where many -things that should be decently hidden were revealed, and where he, a -respectable celibate divine, shared a pallet with dames of varying ages -and attractiveness ... and.... The veil just drawn aside fell down -again upon the scene, and English propriety came to its own with a -shudder. - -Yes, if you are wise you will visit M. le Curé. And ask him to tell -you how he disguised himself as a drover, and how, when in defiance of -all authority he came back to Sermaize, he himself swept and cleaned -out the big room which the Germans had used as a hospital, and which -they had befouled and filthied, leaving vessels full of offal and -indescribable loathlinesses, where blood was thick on walls and floor; -a room that stank, putrid, abominable. It was German filth, and German -beastliness, and French women, their hearts still hot within them, -would not touch it. - -And ask him to tell you how nearly he was killed by a shell which fell -on an outhouse in which he was taking shelter, and how he was called -up, and as a soldier of France was told to lead a horse to some -village whose name I have forgotten, and how he, who hardly knew one -end of a horse from another, led it, and on arriving at the village met -an irate officer. - -"And what are you doing here?" - -"I do not know." - -"Your regiment?" - -"I haven't one." - -"And the horse?" - -A shrug, what indeed of the horse? - -Three days later he was wearing his cassock again. - -Once, when escaping from Sermaize he was nearly shot by some French -soldiers. There were only a few of them, and their nerves had been -shattered. Nerves do give way sometimes when an avalanche sweeps over -them, and the Germans came into France like a thousand avalanches. -And so these poor wretches, separated from their regiment, fled. It -was probably the wisest thing they could do under the circumstances. -"Sauve qui peut." There are few cries more terrible than that. But a -village lay in the line of flight, and in the village there was good -red wine. It was a hot day, France was lost, Paris capitulating, and -man a thirsty animal. A corporal rescued M. le Curé when his back was -against the wall and rifles, describing wild circles, were threatening -him; finally, the nerveless ones went back to their regiment and fought -gloriously for France, and Paris did not capitulate after all. - - -III - -With a howl of bitter anguish Tante Joséphine collapsed upon the -ground, and the earth shook. For Tante Joséphine was fat, and her -bones were buried beyond all hope of recovery under great pendulous -masses of quivering, perspiring flesh. And she had walked, _mais, -pensez donc!_--walked thousands of accursed miles through the woods, -she had tripped over roots, she had been hoisted over banks, she had -crashed like an avalanche down trenches and drains. She was no longer -a woman, she was a bath--behold the perspiration!--she was an ache, -_mon Dieu!_ not one, but five million villainous aches; she was a lurid -fire of profanity. For while she, Tante Joséphine, walked and fell and -"larded the green earth," Grandmère lay in the _brouette_ and refused -to be evicted. At first Tante Joséphine tried to get in too. Surely -the war which had worked so many miracles would transform her into a -telescope, but the war was unkind, and Pierre, _pauvre petit gosse!_ -had been temporarily submerged in a sea of agitated fat from which he -had been rescued with difficulty. And Grandmère was only eighty-two, -whereas she, Tante Joséphine, was sixty. - -All day long her eyes had turned to the _brouette_, and to Grandmère -lying back like a queen. No, she could bear it no longer. If she did -not ride she would die, or be taken by the Germans, and her blood -would be on Grandmère's head, and shadowed by remorse would be all -that selfish woman's days. The wood resounded with the bellowings, and -the green earth trembled because Tante Joséphine, as she sat on it, -trembled with wrath and fatigue and desolation and woe. - -Grandmère stirred in the _brouette_. At eighty-two one is not so active -as one was at twenty, but one isn't old, _ma foi_! Père Bronchot was -old. He would be ninety-four at Toussaint, but she--oh, she could -still show that big soft thing of a Tante Joséphine what it was to be -a woman of France. She was always a weakling, was Joséphine, fit only -for pasturage. And so behold the quivering mountain ludicrously piling -itself upon the _brouette_, Pierre, a pensive look in his eye, standing -by the while. He staggered as he caught up the handles. The chariot -swayed ominously. The mountain became a volcano spurting forth fire. -The chariot steadied, and then very slowly resumed its way. Half a -kilomètre, three-quarters, a whole. Grandmère was strangely silent, for -at eighty-two one is not so young as one was at twenty, and kilomètres -grow strangely long as the years go by. - -Tante Joséphine snored. Pierre ceased to push. - -"Allons, Allons. Pierre, que veux-tu? Is it that the Germans shall -catch us and make of you a stew for their supper?" Tante Joséphine had -wakened up. - -"I am tired." - -"Ah, paresseux." The volcano became active again. - -Pierre looked at Grandmère. How old she was! And why did she look so -white as she trailed her feet bravely through the wood? - -"Grandmère is ill. She must ride!" - -What Tante Joséphine said the woods have gathered to their breast. -Pierre became pensive, then he smiled. "Eh, bien. En route." - -The kilomètre becomes very long when one is eighty-two, but Grandmère -was a daughter of France. Her head was high, her eye steadfast as she -plodded on, taking no notice of the way, never seeing the deep drain -that ran beside the path. But Pierre saw it. He must have, because he -saw everything. He was made that way. And that is why Tante Joséphine -has never been able to understand why she dreamed she was rolling down -a precipice with a railway train rolling on top of her, and wakened -to find herself deep in the soft mould at the bottom of the drain, -the _brouette_ reclining on--well, on the highest promontory of her -coast-line, while Pierre and Grandmère peered over the top with the -eyes of celestial explorers who look down suddenly into hell. - -So and in such wise was the manner of their going. Of the return -Tante Joséphine does not speak. For a time they hid in the woods, -other good Sermaizians with them. How did they live? Ah, don't ask me -that! They existed, somehow, as birds and squirrels exist, perhaps, -and then one day they said they were going home. I am not at all sure -that the authorities wanted to have them there. For only a handful -of houses remained, and though many a cellar was still intact under -the ruins, cellars, considered as human habitation, may, without -undue exaggeration, be said to lack some of the advantages of modern -civilisation. How was Tante Joséphine, how were the stained and -battered scarecrows that accompanied her to provide for themselves -during the winter? Would broken bricks make bread? Would fire-eaten -iron-work make a blanket? Authority might protest, Sermaizians did not -care. They crept into the cellars that numbed them to the very marrow -on cold days, living like badgers and foxes in their dark, comfortless -holes, enduring bitter cold and terrible privation, lacking food and -clothes and fire and light, but telling themselves that they were at -home and sucking good comfort from the telling. - -Needless to say, there weren't nearly enough cellars to go round, -and direful things might have happened but for a lucky accident. -Hidden in the woods about a mile from the town was an old Hydropathic -Establishment, known as La Source, which had escaped the general -destruction. Into it, regardless of its dirt and its bleak, excessive -discomfort swarmed some three hundred of the _sinistrés_, there to -huddle the long winter away. - -As an example of its special attractions, let me tell you of one woman -who lived with her two children in a tiny room, the walls of which -streamed with damp, which had no fireplace, no heating possibilities of -any kind, and whose sole furniture consisted of a barrow and one thin -blanket. - -From the point of view of the Relief worker an ideal case. Beautiful -misery, you know. It could hardly be surpassed. - -A Society--a very modest Society; it has repeatedly warned me that -it dislikes publicity, so I heroically refrain from mentioning its -name[1]--swept down upon the ruins early in 1915, and taking possession -of one of the buildings at La Source, made the theatre its Common-room, -the billiard-room its bedroom, and a top-loft a general dumping-ground, -whose contents included a camp bed but no sheets, a tin basin and -jug, an apologetic towel and, let me think--I can't remember a -dressing-table or a mirror. It was a very modest Society, you remember, -and the sum of its vanity----? Well, it perpetrated the uniform. Let it -rest in peace. - - [1] It has, nevertheless, done work of inestimable value in France, in - Serbia and in Russia. - -Wherefore and because of which things a grey-clad apparition, moving -through the moonlight like some hideous spectre of woe, arrived that -warm June night at La Source, and was ushered into a room where -innumerable people were drinking cocoa, rushing about, talking--ye -gods, how they talked!--smoking.... I was more frightened than I have -ever been in my life. I am not used to crowds, and to my fevered -imagination every unit was a battalion. Then because I was hotter and -thirstier than a grain of sand in a sun-scorched desert, cocoa was -thrust upon me--_cocoa_! I drank it, loathing it, and wondered why -everybody seemed to be drinking out of the same mug. - -Then a young man seized my kit-bag. "Come along." My hair began to -rise. I had been prepared for a great deal, but this.... I looked at -the young man, he looked at me. The situation, at all events, did not -lack piquancy! It was indeed a Sentimental Journey that I was making, -and Sterne.... But the inimitable episode was not to repeat itself. My -only room-mate was a bat. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS - - -I - -Sermaize, however, was not to be the scene of my future labours. The -honour was reserved for Bar-le-Duc, the captital city of the Meuse, -the seat of a Prefecture, and proud manufacturer of a very special -jam, "Confitures de Bar-le-Duc." The mouth waters at the very thought -of it, but desire develops a limp when you have seen the initial -processes of manufacture; for these consist in the removal by means of -a finely-cut quill of every pip from every currant about to be boiled -in the sacrificial pan. As you go through the streets in July you see -white and crimson patches on the ground. They look disgustingly like -something that has been chewed and spumed forth again. They are the -discarded currant pips, for only the skin and pulp are made into jam. - -This unpipping (have we any adequate translation for _épepiner_?), paid -for at the rate of about four sous a pound, is sometimes carried on -under the cleanliest of home conditions, but occasionally one sees a -group of women at work round a table that makes jam for the moment the -least appetising of comestibles. Nevertheless, if the good God ever -places a pot of Confiture de Bar-le-Duc upon your table, eat it; eat it -_à la Russe_ with a spoon--don't insult it with bread--and you will -become a god with nectar on your lips. - -There were about four thousand refugees in Bar. That is why I was there -too. And before I had been ten minutes in the town a hard-voiced woman -said, "Would you please carry those _seaux hygiéniques_ (sanitary -pails) upstairs?" So much for my anticipatory thrills. If I ever go to -heaven I shall be put in the back garden. - -_À la guerre, comme à la guerre._ I carried the pails--a work of -supererogation as it subsequently transpired, for they all had to be -brought down again promptly, so heavily were they in demand. - -For the sanitation of Bar-le-Duc has yet to be born.[2] One can't call -arrangements that date from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries -sanitation, one can only call them self-advertisement. Until I went to -Bar I never knew that the air could be solid with smell. One might as -well walk up a sewer as up the Rue de l'Horloge on a hot day. Every -man, woman and child in the town ought to have died of diphtheria, -typhoid, septic poisoning, of a dozen gruesome diseases long ago. If -smells could kill, Bar would be as depopulated as the Dead Cities of -the Zuyder Zee. But the French seem to thrive on smells, though in all -fairness I must admit that once or twice a grumble reached me. But that -was when the cesspool under the window was discharging its contents -into the yard. - - [2] It is only fair to add that the whole question was under serious - consideration when the war broke out, and made reform, for the moment, - impossible. - -The hard-voiced woman was hygienically mad. She imported a Sanitary -Inspector, an ironic anomaly, who used to blush apoplectically through -meals because she would discuss the undiscussable with him. "I hope you -are not squeamish? We don't mind these things here," she said to me. -"It is so stupid to be a prude." - -Frankly, I could have slain that woman. She wasn't fit to live. The -climax came on a broiling day when we were all exhausted and not a -little sick from heat and smell. She pleasingly entertained us at -dinner with a graphic description of a tubercular hip which she had -been dressing. There was a manure heap outside the window of the sick -child's room. It crawled with flies. So did the room. So did the hip. - -She went back to the native sphere she should never have left a -few days later, but in the meantime she had obsessed us all with a -firm belief in the value of the _seau hygiénique_. Every refugee -family should have one. Our first care must be to provide it. The -obsession drove us into strange difficulties, as, for example, once -in a neighbouring village where, trusting to my companion to keep the -kindly but inquisitive Curé who accompanied us too deeply engaged in -conversation to hear what I was saying, I asked the mother of a large -family if she would like us to give her one. - -"Qu'est que c'est? What did you say?" - -Gentle as my murmur had been, M. le Curé was down on me like a shot. -The woman who hesitates is lost. Anything is better than embarrassment. -I repeated the question. - -"Ce n'est pas nécessaire. Il y a un jardin," was his electrifying -reply, and we filed out after him, with new ideas on French social -questions simmering in our heads. - -More embarrassing still, though, was a visit to a dear old couple -living high up in a small room in a narrow fœtid street. Madame Legrand -was a dear, with a round chubby face and the brightest of blue eyes, -a complexion like a rosy apple and dimples like a girl's. She wore a -spotlessly white mob-cap with a coquettish little frill round it, and -she was just as clean and as fresh and as sonsy as if she had stepped -out of her little cottage to go to Mass. Her husband was a rather -picturesque creature, with a crimson cummerbund round his waist. He -had been a _garde-forêt_, and together they had saved and scraped, -living frugally and decently, putting money by every year until at last -they were able to buy a cottage and an acre or two of land. Then the -war came and the Germans, and the cottage was burnt, and the poor old -things fled to Bar-le-Duc, homeless and beggared, possessed of nothing -in all the world but just the clothes on their backs. - -The _garde-forêt_ was talking to my companion. I broached the -all-important subject to Madame. - -"Vous avez un seau hygiénique?" (I admit it was vilely put.) - -"Mais oui, Mademoiselle. Voulez-vous ...?" Before I could stop her she -had flourished it out upon the floor. It seems there are no limits to -French hospitality, but there are to what even a commonplace English -woman can face with stoical calm. Lest worse befall we fled. Somehow -our sanitary researches lacked enthusiasm after that. - - -II - -"Bar-le-Duc, an ancient and historical city of the Meuse, is -beautifully situated on the banks of the Ornain." - -That, of course, is how I should have commenced Chapter III, and then, -with Baedekered solemnity, have described its streets, its canals, its -railway-station--a dull affair until a bomb blew its glass roof to -fragments; when it became quaintly skeletonic--its woods and hills, its -churches and its monuments. - -Only I never do anything quite as I ought to, and my capacity for -getting into mischief is unlimited. I can't bear the level highways of -Life, cut like a Route Nationale straight from point to point, white, -steam-rollered, respectable, horrible. For me the by-ways and the -lanes, the hedges smelling of wild roses and woodbine, or a-fire with -berry and burning leaf, the cross-cuts leading you know not whither, -but delightfully sure to surprise you in the end. What if the surprise -is sometimes in a bog, in the mire, or in a thicket of furze? More -often than not it is in Fairyland. - -And so grant me your indulgence if I wander a little, loitering in the -green meadows, plunging through the dim woods of experience. Especially -as I am going to be good now and explain Bar and the refugees. - -As I told you, there were some four thousand of them, from the -Argonne, the Ardennes, Luxembourg, and many a frontier village such -as Longuyon or Longwy. And Bar received them coldly. It dubbed them, -without distinction of person, "ces sales émigrés," forgetting that -the dirt and squalor of their appearance was due to adversity and not -to any fault of their own. Forgetting, too, that it had very nearly -been _émigré_ itself. For the Germans came within five miles of it. -From the town shells could be seen bursting high up the valley; the -blaze of burning villages reddened the evening sky. Trains poured out -laden with terrified inhabitants fearing the worst, all the hospitals -were evacuated, and down the roads from the battle, from Mussey, -from Vassincourt, from Laimont and Révigny came the wounded, a long -procession of maimed and broken men. They lay in the streets, on -door-steps, in the station-yard, they fell, dying, by canal and river -bank. Kindly women, thrusting their own fear aside, ministered to them, -the cannon thundering at their very door. And with the wounded came the -refugees. What a procession that must have been. Women have told me of -it. Told me how, after days--even weeks--of semi-starvation, lying in -the open at night, exposed to rain and sun, often unable to get even a -drink of water (for to their eternal shame many a village locked its -wells, refusing to open them even for parched and wailing children), -they found themselves caught in the backwash of the battle. To all the -other horrors of flight was added this. Men, it might be their own -sons, or husbands, or brothers, blood-stained remnants of humanity -plodding wearily, desperately down the road, while in the fields and in -the ditches lay mangled, encarnadined things that the very sun itself -must have shuddered to look upon. Old feeble men and women fell out and -died by the way, a mother carried her dead baby for three nights and -three days, for there was no one to bury it, and the God of Life robed -himself in the trappings of Death as he gathered exhausted mother and -new-born babe in his arms. - -And so they came to Bar. In the big dormitories of the Caserne Oudinot -straw was laid on the floor, and there they were lodged, some after a -night's rest to set wearily forth again, others to remain in the town, -for the tide had turned and the Germans were in retreat. - -There must have been an unusually large number of houses to let in Bar -before the war; many, we know, had been condemned by the authorities, -and, truth to tell, I don't wonder at it. "House to let" did not imply, -as you might suppose, that it was untenanted, especially if the house -was in the rue des Grangettes, or rue Oudinot, rue de Véel, or rue -de l'Horloge. The tenants paid no rent. They had been in possession -for years, possibly centuries. They were as numerous as the sands of -the sea-shore, and they had all the _élan_, the _joie de vivre_, the -vivacity and the tactical genius of the French nation. They welcomed -the unhappy refugees--I was going to say vociferously, remembering the -soldier who, billeted in a Kerry village, complained that the fleas sat -up and barked at him. - -The rooms, though dirty, unsanitary and swarming with the terror that -hoppeth in the noonday (there were other and even worse plagues as -well), were a shelter. The war would be over in three months, and -one would be going home again. In the meantime one could endure the -palliasse (a great sack filled with straw and laid on the floor, and on -which four, five, seven or even more people slept at night), one could -cower under the single blanket provided by the town, not undressing, -of course; that would be to perish. One could learn to share the -narrowest of quarters with nine, eleven, even fifteen other people; -one could tighten one's belt when hunger came--and it came very often -during those first hard months--but one could not endure the hostile -looks of the tradespeople, and the _sales émigrés_ spit at one in the -streets. - -The refugees, however, had one good friend; monsieur C., an ex-mayor of -the town and a man whose "heart was open as day to melting charity," -made their cause his own. And perhaps because of him, perhaps out of -its own good heart, the town, officially considered, did its best for -them. It gave them clean straw for their palliasses; it saw that no -room was without a stove; it established a market for them when it -discovered that the shopkeepers, exploiting misery, were scandalously -overcharging for their goods; it declined to take rent from mothers -with young families; and it appointed a doctor who gave medical -attention free. - -All very good and helpful, but mere drops in the bucket of refugee -needs. You see the war had caught them unawares, and at first, no -doubt for wise military reasons, the authorities discouraged flight. -People who might have packed up necessaries and escaped in good order -found themselves driven like cattle through the country, the Germans -at their heels, the smallest of bundles clutched under their arms, and -the gendarmes shouting "Vîte, Vîte, Depêchez-vous, depêchez-vous," till -reason itself trembled in the balance. - -Some, too, had remembered the war of _Soixante-Dix_, when the -Prussians, marching to victory, treated the civilians kindly. "They -passed through our village laughing and singing songs," old women have -told me. Some atrocities there were, even then; but, compared with -those of the present war, only the spasmodic outbursts of boyhood in a -rage. - -Consequently, flight was often delayed till the last moment, delayed -till it was too late, and, caught by the tide, some found themselves -prisoners behind the lines. Those who got away saved practically -nothing. Sometimes a few family papers, sometimes the _bas de laine_, -the storehouse of their savings, sometimes a change of linen, most -often nothing at all. - -"Mais rien, Mademoiselle. Je vous assure, rien du tout, du tout, du -tout. Pas ça," and with the familiar gesture a forefinger nail would -catch behind a front tooth and then click sharply outwards. When -talking to an excited Meusienne, it is well to be wary. One must not -stand too near, for she is sure to thrust her face close to your own, -and when the finger flies out it no longer answers to the helm. It -may end its unbridled career anywhere, and commit awful havoc in the -ending, for the nail of the Meusienne is not a nail, it is a talon. - -No wonder the poor souls needed help. No wonder they besieged our door -when the news went forth that "Les Anglaises" had come to town and were -distributing clothes and utensils, chairs, _garde-mangers_ (small safes -in which to keep their food, the fly pest being sheerly horrible), -sheets, blankets--anything and everything that destitute humanity needs -and is grateful for. Their faith in us, after a few months of work, -became profound. They believed we could evolve anything, anywhere and -at a moment's notice. If stern necessity obliged us to refuse, they had -a touching way of saying, "Eh bien, ce sera pour une autre fois"[3]--a -politeness which extricated them gracefully from a difficult position, -but left us struggling in the net of circumstance and unaccountably -convinced that when they called again "our purse, our person, our -extremest means would lie all unlocked to their occasion." - - [3] "Oh, well, you will give it to me another time." - - -III - -But these little amenities of relief only thrust themselves upon me -by degrees. At first, during the torrid summer weeks, everything was -so new and so strange there were no clean-cut outlines at all. Before -one impression had focused itself upon the mind another was claiming -place. My brain--if you could have examined it--must have looked like a -photographic plate exposed some dozens of times by a careless amateur. -From the general mistiness and blur only a few things stand out. The -stifling heat, the awful smells, the unending succession of weeping and -hysterical women, and last, but not least, _les puces_. - -Did you ever hear the story of the Irish farmer who said he "did not -grudge them their bite and their sup, but what he could not stand was -the continule thramping"? Well, the thramping was maddening. I believe -I never paid a visit to a refugee in those days without becoming the -exercising ground for light cavalry. People sitting quietly in our -Common-room working at case-papers would suddenly dash away, to come -back some minutes later in rage and exasperation. The cavalry still -manœuvred. A mere patrol of two or three could be dealt with, but the -poor wretch who had a regiment nearly qualified for a lunatic asylum. - -Every visit we paid renewed our afflictions, and the houses, old -and long untenanted, being so disgustingly dirty, we endured mental -agonies--in addition to physical ones--when we thought of the filth -from which the plague had come. Oddly enough, we did not suffer so much -the next summer, and we were mercifully spared the attentions of other -less active but even more horrible forms of entomological life. - -You see, it was a rule--and as experience proved a very wise rule--of -our Society that no help should be given unless the applicant had been -visited and full particulars of his, or her, condition ascertained. -Roughly speaking, we found out where he had come from, his previous -occupation and station in life, the size of his farm if he had one and -the amount of his stock, horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, poultry, rabbits, -etc.; we made notes on his housing conditions, tabulated the members of -his family, their ages and sex, their present employment and the amount -of wages earned. All of which took time. - -Armed with a notebook and pencil, we would sally forth, to grope our -way up pitch-dark staircases, knock at innumerable doors, dash past the -murky corner where the cesspool lay--I know houses in which it is under -the stairs--and at last run the refugee to earth. - -Then followed the usual routine. A chair--generally broken or minus a -back--or a stool dragged forth with an apology for its poverty: "Quand -on est émigrée, vous savez, Madame--ou Mademoiselle, je ne sais pas?" -and then the torrent. A word sufficed to unloose it. Only a fool would -try to stem it. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, you do not know what I have suffered." - -So Madame would settle herself to the tale, and that was the moment -when ... when ... when doubt grew, then certainty, and "Half-a-league, -half-a-league, half-a-league onward" hammered an accompaniment on the -brain. - -In the evening we sorted out our notes and made up our case papers. -These latter should yield rich harvest to the future historian if -they are preserved, and if the good God has endowed him with a sense -of humour. He could make such delicious "copy" from them. For the -individuality of the worker stamped itself upon the papers even -more legibly than the biography of the case. There are lots of gems -scattered through them, but the one I like best lies in the column -headed Medical Relief, and runs as follows-- - - _Aug_. 26. Madame Guiot has pneumonia. Condition serious. - - _Aug_. 31. Madame quite comfortable. - - _Sept_. 2. Madame has died. (Nurse's initials appended.) - -In the papers you may read that such and such a house is infested -with vermin; that Mademoiselle Wurtz is said, by the neighbours, to -drink; that Madame Dablainville is filthy and lives like a pig; that -the life of Madame Hache falls regrettably below accepted standards -of morality; and that Madame Bontemps, who probably never owned three -pocket-handkerchiefs in her life, declares that she lost sixty pairs -of handspun linen sheets, four dozen chemises, and pillow and bolster -cases innumerable when the Germans burnt her home. - -You may also read how Mademoiselle Rose Perrotin was nursing a sick -father when the Boches took possession of her village; how the -Commandant ordered her to leave, and how she, with tears streaming -down her large fat face, begged to be allowed to remain. Her father -was dying. It was impossible to leave him. But German Commandants care -little for filial feelings. Mademoiselle Rose (a blossom withering -on its stem) had a figure like a monolith but a heart of gold. Even -though they shot her she would not go away. They did not shoot her. -They quietly placed her on the outskirts of the village and bade her -begone. Next day she crept back again. She prayed, she wept, she -implored, she entreated. When a monolith weeps even Emperors succumb. -So did the Commandant. A day, two days, passed, and then her father -died. They must have been very dreadful days, but worse was to follow. -No one would bury the dead Frenchman. She had to leave him lying -there--I gathered, however, that a grave was subsequently dug for him -in unconsecrated ground--and walk, and walk, and walk, mile after mile, -kilométre after kilométre, longing to weep, nay, to cascade tears; -but, "Figurez-vous, Mademoiselle. Ah, quelle misère. I had not got a -pocket-handkerchief!" - -That a father should die, that is Fate, but that one should not have -a pocket-handkerchief!... She wept afresh because she had not been -able to weep then, and I believe that I shall carry to my grave -a vision of stout, monolithic, utterly prosaic Mademoiselle Rose -toiling across half a Department of France weeping because she had no -pocket-handkerchief in which to mourn for her honoured dead. - -Or you may read of little André Moldinot, who was alone in the fields -when he saw the Germans coming, and who ran away, drifting he doesn't -know how to Bar-le-Duc, where he has remained in the care of kindly -people, hearing no news of his family, not knowing whether they are -alive or dead. Or of the old man, whose name I have forgotten--was it -Galzandat?--who fought with the English in the Crimea, and who lived -with fourteen other people (women and children) in a stifling hole in -the rue Polval. Or of that awful room in the street near the Canal -where thirty people ate and drank and slept and quarrelled a whole -winter through--a room unspeakable in its dirt and untidiness. Old rags -lay heaped on the floor, dirty crockery, potato, carrot and turnip -peelings littered the greasy table, big palliasses strewed the corners, -loathsome bedclothes crawling on them. On strings stretched from wall -to wall clothes were drying (one inmate was a washerwoman), an old -witch-like creature with matted, unkempt locks flitted about, and in -the far corner, on the day I went there, two priests were offering -ghostly counsel to a weeping woman. - -Misery makes strange bedfellows, and the cyclone of war flung together -people who, in ordinary circumstances, would have been far removed from -one another's orbit. At first the good and the bad, the clean and the -dirty, the thrifty and the drunken herded together, too wretched to -complain, too crushed and despondent to hope for better things. But -gradually temperament asserted itself, and one by one, as opportunity -arose and their circumstances improved, the respectable ceased to -rub elbows with the dissolute, and they found quarters of their own -either through their own exertions or through the help of their -friends. Monsieur C. and Madame B. (wise, witty, kindly Madame B.) were -especially energetic in this respect. - -So we soon began to feel comfortably assured that the tenants of -Maison Blanpain and of one or two other rookeries were the scum of the -refugee pool, idle, disreputable, swearing, undeserving vagabonds every -one. They took us in gloriously many a time, they fooled us to the top -of our sentimental bent--at first--but we could not have done without -them. For though Virtue may bathe the world in still, white light, it -is Vice that splashes the dancing colours over it. - - -IV - -Yes, I suppose we were taken in at times! - -On the outskirts of Bar, beyond the Faubourg Marbot, lies a wood called -the Bois de Maestricht. The way to it lies through a narrow winding -valley of great beauty, especially in the autumn when the fires of the -dying year are ablaze in wood and field. Just at the end of the road -where the woods crush down and engulf it is a long strip of meadow, a -nocturne in green and purple when the autumn crocus is in flower, and -in the woods are violets and wild strawberries, and long trails of -lesser periwinkle, ivy crimson and white, and hellebore and oxlips and -all sorts of delicious things, with, from just one point on one of the -countless uphill paths, a view of Bar, so exquisite, so ethereal it -almost seems like a glimpse of some far dream-silvered land. - -And it was here, just on the edge of the wood, in a small rough shack, -that Madame Martin and her family took up their abode. The shack -consisted of one room, not long and certainly not wide, a slice of -which, rudely partitioned off, did duty as a cow-house. Here lived -Madame Martin and her husband, her granddaughter Alice, a small boy -suffering from a malady which caused severe abdominal distention, and -one or two other children. Le Père Battin, whose relationship was -obscure but presumably deeply-rooted in the family soil, shared the -cow-end with his beloved _vache_, a noble beast and, like himself, a -refugee. - -Le Père Battin always averred that he had adopted the cow, it being -obviously an orphan, homeless and a beggar, but my own firm conviction -is that he stole it. It was a kindly cow and a generous, for it -proceeded speedily to enrich him with a calf which, unlike most refugee -babies, throve amazingly, and when I saw it took up so much space in -the narrow shed there was hardly room enough for its mother. How Le -Père Battin squeezed himself in as well is a pure wonder. But squeeze -he did, and when delicately suggesting that a gift of sheets from -"Les Anglaises" would completely assuage the miseries of his lot, he -showed me his bed. It was in the feeding-trough. One hurried glance was -enough. I no longer wondered why the first visitor to the Martin abode, -having unwisely settled down for a chat, spent the rest of the day and -the greater part of the night in fruitless chase. I did not settle -down. "It was fear, O Little Hunter, it was fear." - -Nor did I give the sheets. The cow would have eaten them. - -I remarked that the day was hot, and repaired to the garden (a -wilderness of weeds and despairing flowers), and there Madame -entertained me. - -She was an ideal "case." Just the person whose photograph should be -sent to kindly, generous souls at home. She was small, active, rather -witty, a good talker, with darting brown eyes and a bewitching grin. -She wore a befrilled cap, and oh, she could flatter with her tongue! -A nice old soul in spite of the villainy with which Père Battin -subsequently charged her. Her first visitor--she who unfortunately sat -down--fell a victim on the spot. So did we all. Heaven had made Madame -that way. It was inevitable. So all the riches of our earth were poured -forth for her, and she devoured largely of our substance. Then the girl -Alice developed throat trouble and was ministered to by our nurse, and -she, I grieve to say, coming home one day from the Bois, hinted dark -things about Alice--things which made our righteous judgment to stand -on end. We continued to pet Madame Martin; we did everything we could -for her except eat her jam. Having seen the shack, and le Père Battin -and that one overcrowded room where flies in dense black swarms settled -on everything, where dogs scratched and where age-old dirt gathered -more dirt to its arms with the dawning of every day, that jam pot -contained so many possibilities, we felt that to eat its contents would -be sheer murder. - -And so the autumn wore away and winter came, and then one day as I -was going through the valley to visit some woodcutters in the Bois, I -met le Père Battin driving home his cow. And he stopped me. Once when -speaking of the Emperor of Austria he had said, "Il est en train de -mourir? Bon. On a eu bien assez de ces lapins-là." (He is dying? Good. -We have had enough of such rabbits.) - -A man who can discuss an Emperor in such terms is not lightly to be -passed by, but I stood as far from him as possible. I did not till then -believe that anybody could be as dirty as Father Battin and live. - -But he thrust himself close, looking fearfully about him, sinking his -voice to a hoarse whisper. - -"Did I know the truth about the Martins? That Alice had gone to -Révigny? There were soldiers there." He nodded sapiently. "But Alice -was la vraie Comtesse de----" He mentioned a hyphenated name. "Yes. It -was true. She was married. A young man, a fool. Mon Dieu, but a fool. -She might live in a shack in the Bois and her grandmother might be an -old peasant woman, but she was a Comtesse, wife of the Comte de----." - -I took leave to suppose that Père Battin was mad. - -But he was circumstantial. "Yes. Her husband had left her. An affair -of a few weeks. Every gendarme in the town knew. And Madame knew. Knew -and made money out of it. Many a good franc she had put in her pocket. -But the gendarmes were watching, and one day the old woman and Alice -would...." Again he murmured unprintable things. - -"Monsieur, you are ridiculous." Alice Martin a Comtesse! No wonder I -laughed. But he insisted. He kept on repeating it. - -"La vraie Comtesse de----" But now she was.... - -The dark sayings of the district nurse came back to my mind and I -wondered. But Père Battin was offensive to ear and eye. I wished -him _bonjour_, watching him trailing down the path, his _vache_ -ruminatingly leading, and then went on my way to the wood. - -An hour later Madame Martin came running down the hill to greet me. She -had seen me go by and waited. In her hand was a bunch of flowers, the -best, least discouraged from her untended garden. - -"For Mademoiselle," she said, and as she held them out her smile -scattered gold dust upon my heart. - -Now do you think le Père Battin's story was true? - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC - - -Whether it was or not, it has come rather too soon in my narrative, I -am afraid. It has carried me far away from the days when the quaint -individual charm of Bar-le-Duc began to assert itself, little by -little, slowly, but with such cumulative effect that in the end we grew -to love it. - -Our work took us into every lane and street, but it was the Ville-Haute -that I loved best. I wish I could describe it to you as it lies on the -hill; wish I could take you up the steep narrow lane that leads to the -rue St Jean, and then into the rue de l'Armurier which bends like a -giant S and is so narrow you fancy you could touch the houses on either -side by stretching out your arms. Small boys tobogganed down it in -the great frost last year. It was rare sport for the small boys, but -disastrous to sober-minded propriety which occasionally found that it, -too, was tobogganing--but not on a tray--and with an absence of grace -and premeditation that were devastating in their results. - -Indeed, the Ville-Haute was a death-trap during those weeks. There -were slides everywhere. The Place St Pierre was scarred with them, -the wonderful Place which, pear-shaped, wide at the top, narrowing to -its lower end, lies encircled in the arms of the rue des Dues de Bar -and of the rue des Grangettes. And at the top, commandingly in the -centre stands the church of St Pierre--once St Maze--where the famous -statue, the "Squelette," is now buried so many fathoms deep in sandbags -nothing can be seen of it at all. It is said that Mr. Edmund Gosse -once came to spend a night in Bar and was so bewitched by its beauty -he remained for several weeks, writing a charming little romance about -it in which the "Squelette" plays a prominent part. And, indeed, the -only way to know Bar is to live in it. It would be quite easy to tell -you of the Tour de l'Horloge standing on guard on the hill; of the -fifteenth-and sixteenth-century houses; of the Pont Nôtre Dame; of -the Canal des Usines which always reminded me of Bruges; of the river -winding through the Lower Town, tall poplars standing sentinel along -the banks; of the great canal that cuts a fine almost parallel to that -of the river and which, if only you followed it far enough, would bring -you at last to the Rhine; of winding Polval that is so exquisite in -snow and on a moonlit night, with its houses piled one above the other -like an old Italian town; or of the fine arched gate that leads to the -Place du Château and that led there when the stately Dukes of Bar held -court in the street that bears their name, and led there, too, when -Charles Stuart lived in the High Town and dreamed perhaps of a kingdom -beyond the seas. Of all these things and of the beautiful cloistered -sixteenth-century College in the rue Gilles de Trêves one might speak, -exhausting the mines of their adjectives and similes, but would you be -any closer to the soul of the town? I doubt it, and so I refrain from -description. For Bar depends for its beauty and its distinctive charm -on something more than mere outline. Colour, atmosphere, some ghostly -raiment of the past still clinging to its limbs, and over all the views -over the valley--yes, the soul is elusive and intangible; you will find -it most surely under the white rays of the moon. - -The views are simply intoxicating, but if you want to see one of the -finest you must make the acquaintance of a certain Madame--Madame, -shall we say, Schneider? Any name will do if only it is Teutonic -enough. She loomed upon our horizon as the purveyor of corduroy -trousers. Oh, not for a profit. She, _bien entendu_, was a -philanthropist disposing of the salvage of a large shop, the owner of -which was a refugee. The trousers being much needed at the moment we -bought them, but many months afterwards she came with serge garments -that were not even remotely connected with a refugee, so I am prone to -believe that she was not quite so disinterested as she would have had -us believe. - -To visit her you must climb to the Ville-Haute, and there in a house -panelled throughout (such woodwork--old, old, old--my very eyes water -at the thought of it), you will find a long low room with a wide window -springing like a balcony over the gulf that lies under the rue Chavé. -And from the window you can look far over the town which lies beneath -you, over the silver path of river and canal to the Côte Ste Catherine, -the steep hill, once a vineyard, that rises on the other side; you -can see the aviation ground, and you can follow the white ribbon of -road that runs past Naives to St Mihiel. And you can look up and down -the valley for miles--to Fains, to Mussey and beyond, on one hand to -Longeville, and Trouville on the other. And Marbot lies all unlocked -under your eyes, and Maestricht, and the beautiful hill over which, if -you are wise, you will one day walk to Resson. - -From Place Tribel, from innumerable coigns of vantage, the view is -equally beautiful, though not, I think, quite so extensive. Which, -perhaps coupled with her aggressively Teutonic name, accounted for the -suspicious looks cast last winter upon Madame Schneider. A spy! Oh, -yes, a devout Catholic always at the Mass, but a spy. Did she not leave -Bar on the very morning of the big air raid, returning that night? And -didn't every one know that she signalled by means of lights movements -of troops and of aeroplanes to other spies hidden on the hill beyond -Naives? The preposterous story gained ground. Then one day we thrilled -to hear that Madame Schneider had been arrested. She disappeared for a -while--we never knew whether anything had been proved against her--and -then when we had forgotten all about her I met her in the Place St -Pierre. She was coming out of the church, but she bowed her head and -passed by. - -Perhaps, after all this, you won't care to visit her? But then you -will go down to your grave sorrowing, because you will never see those -Boiseries, nor that view. - -Other things beside the beauty of the town began to creep into -prominence too, of course, and among them the supreme patience and -courage of our refugee women. In circumstances that might have crushed -the strongest they fought gamely and with few exceptions conquered. I -take my hat off to the French nation. We know how its men can fight, -some day I hope the world will know how its women can endure. Remember -that they were given no separation allowances until January 1915, and -the allowance when it did come was a pittance. One franc twenty-five -centimes per day for each adult, fifty centimes a day for each child up -to the age of sixteen; or, roughly speaking, 1_s._ a day and 4½_d._ -per day. What would our English women say to that? It barely sufficed -for food. Indeed, as time went on and prices rose I dare to say it did -not even suffice for food. The refugee woman, possessed of not one -stick of furniture--except in the case of farmers who were able to -bring away some household goods in their carts--of not one cup or plate -or jug or spoon, without needles, thread, or scissors, without even a -comb, and all too often without even a change of linen, had to manage -as best she could. That she did manage is the triumph of French thrift -and cleverness in turning everything to account. We heard of them -making _duvets_ by filling sacks with dried leaves; one woman actually -collected enough thistle-down for the purpose. They clung desperately -to their standards, they would trudge miles to the woods in order to -get a faggot for their fire, they took any and every kind of work that -offered, they refused to become submerged. - -And gradually they began to assume individuality. Families and family -histories began to limn themselves on the brain as did the life of the -streets, things as well as people. - -Some of these histories I must tell you later on; to-night, for some -odd reason, little Mademoiselle Froment is in my mind. She was not a -refugee, but I owe her a debt of eternal gratitude, for when I fled -to her immediately on arrival she condoled with me in my sartorial -afflictions and promptly made me garments in which without shame I -could worship the Goddess of Reason. Later on the uniform was chopped -up and re-made, becoming wearable, but never smart. Even French magic -could not accomplish that. - -Poor little Mademoiselle Froment, so patient with all my ignorances, -my complete inability to understand the value of what she called "le -mouvement" of my gown, and my hurried dips into Bellows as she volubly -discursed of the fashions. Last summer when she was making me some more -clothes she was sad indeed. Her only and adored brother, who had passed -scatheless through the inferno at Verdun, was killed on the Somme. - -"My hurried dips into Bellows." Does that mean anything, or does it -sound like transcendental nonsense? Bellows, by the way, is not a thing -to blow the fire with, it is a dictionary--a pocket dictionary worth -its weight in good red gold. And to my copy hangs a tale. Can you -endure a little autobiography? - -During my week-end at Sermaize I heard more French than I had heard, -I suppose, in all my life before, or at least I heard new words in -such bewildering profusion that I really believe Bellows saved my -life. I carried him about, I referred to him at frequent intervals. -I flatter myself that with his aid I made myself intelligible even -when discussing the technique of agriculture and other such abstruse -subjects. - -But it is Bellows' deplorable misfortune to look rather like a Prayer -Book, or a Bible. And so it befell that when I had been some weeks -at Bar a Sermaizian Relief Worker made anxious inquiries as to my -character. "She seems such an odd sort of person because, though she -reads her Bible ostentatiously in public, she smokes, and we once heard -her say...." After all, does it really matter what they heard me say? - -After which confession of my sins I must tell you about the Temple, -the shrine of French Protestantism in Bar. There we stood up to -pray, and we sat down to sing the most lugubrious hymns it has ever -been my lot to listen to. The church is large, and the congregation -is small. On the hottest day in summer it struck chill, in winter -it was a refrigerator. The pastor, being _mobilisé_, his place was -generally taken by an earnest and I am sure devout being, who having -congratulated the present generation, the first time I went there, -upon having been chosen to defend the cause of justice and of truth, -proceeded to dwell with the most heartrending emphasis upon every -detail of the suffering and sorrow the war--the defence upon which -he congratulated us!--has caused. He spared us nothing. Not even the -shell-riven soldier with white face upturned questioningly to the -stars. Not even the fear-racked mother or wife to whom one day the -dreaded message comes. Then when he had reduced every one to abysmal -depression and many to silent pitiful tears, he cried, "Soyez des -optimistes," and seemed to think that the crying would suffice. Why? -Ah, don't ask me that! Perhaps the war is too big a thing for the -preachers to handle. The platitudes of years have been drowned by the -mutter of the guns and the long sad wail of broken, shattered humanity. - -Yes, the Temple depressed me. Writing of it even now sends me into the -profundities. It was all so cheerless, so dreary. In spite of the drop -of Huguenot blood in my veins, the Temple and I are in nothing akin. - -So let us away--away from the cold shadows and the cheerless creed, -from the joyless God and the altar where Beauty lies dead, out into -the boulevard where the trees are in leaf and the sun is shining, and -where you may see a regiment go by in its horizon blue, or a battery of -artillery with its camouflaged guns. Smoke is pouring from the chimney -of the regimental kitchen, how jolly it looks curling up against the -sky! and sitting by the driver of the third ammunition cart is a fox -terrier who knows so much about war he will be a field-marshal when he -lives again. Or we may see a team of woodcutters with the trunks of -mighty trees slung on axles with great chains and drawn tandemwise by -two or three horses, and hear the lame newsvendor at the corner near -l'église St Jean calling his "Le Gé, le Pay-Gé, et le Petit-Parisien." -Pronounce the g soft in Gé, of course, for it stands for _Le Journal_, -and Pay-Gé for _Le Petit Journal_, all of which, together with the -_Continental Daily Mail_, can be bought in Bar each day shortly after -one o'clock unless the trains happen to be running late. During the -Verdun rush they sometimes did not arrive at all. - -A more musical cry, however, is that of the rabbit-skin man, "Peau -de li-è-vre, Peau de li-è-vre," with a delicious lilting cadence on -li-è-vre. I never discovered what he gave in exchange for the skins, -but it was certainly not money. - -Or the Tambour may take up his position at the corner of the street, -the Tambour who swells with pride and civic dignity. A sharp tap-tap -on his drum, the crowd collects and then in a hoarse roar he shouts -his decree. It may concern mad dogs, or the water supply, or the day -on which the _allocation_ will be given to the _emigrés_, or it may -be instructions how to behave during an air raid. Whatever it is, -it is extremely difficult to make sense of it, as a motor-car and a -huge military lorry are sure to crash past as he roars. But nothing -disconcerts him. He shouts to his appointed end, and then with a -swaggering roll on his drum marches off to the next street-crossing. - -If luck is with us as we prowl along we may see--and, oh, it is indeed -a vision!--our butcheress Marguerite dive into a neighbouring shop. -Dive in such a connection is a poetic license, for if a description -of Marguerite must begin in military phrase it must equally surely -end in architectural. If on the front there were two strong salients, -in the rear was a flying buttress. Marguerite--delicious irony of -nomenclature--was exceedingly short, her hair was black as a raven's -wing, her eyes were brown, and her cheeks, full-blown, were red as a -ripe, ripe cherry. Over the salients she wore vast tracts of white -apron plentifully besmeared with blood. So were her hands, so was her -shop. It was the goriest butchery I have ever seen. As "Madame" (I -shall tell you about her later on) did all our shopping, it was my -fortune to visit Marguerite but once a month. Had I been obliged to -visit her twice I should now be a vegetarian living on nuts. - -Sometimes Marguerite cast aside the loathsome evidences of her trade -and donned a smart black costume and a velvet hat with feathers in -it. Then indeed she was the vision radiant, and never shall I forget -meeting her on the boulevard one day when a covey of Taubes were -bombing the town. Hearing something like a traction-engine snorting -behind me, I turned and beheld Marguerite, whose walk was a fat, -plethoric waddle, panting down the street. Every feather in her hat was -stiff with fright, her mouth was open, she was breathing like a man -under an anæsthetic, and--by the transcendental gods I swear it!--the -buttress was flying. Marguerite RAN. - -But she has a soul, though you may not believe it. She must have, for -on the reeking offal-strewn table that adorns her shop she sets almost -daily a vase of flowers. Perhaps in spite of her offensive messiness -she doesn't really enjoy being a butcher. - -During that first summer, although so near the Front, Bar was rather a -quiet place where soldiers--Territorials?--in all sorts of odd uniforms -drifted by (I once saw a man in a red cap, a khaki coat, blue trousers -and knee-high yellow boots), while civilians went placidly about -their affairs. Our flat was on the Boulevard de la Rochelle, and so -on the high road to Verdun and St Mihiel, a stroke of good luck that -sometimes interfered sadly with our work. For many a regiment went -marching by, sometimes with colours flying and bands playing, gay and -gallant, impertinent, jolly fellows with a quip for every petticoat in -the street and a lightly blown kiss for every face at a window. But -there were days when no light jest set the women giggling, days when -the marching men were beaten to the very earth with weariness, stained -with mud, bowed beneath their packs, eyes set straight in front of -them, seeing nothing but the interminable road, the road that led from -the trenches and--at last--to rest. Far away we could hear the ominous -mutter of the guns, now rising, now falling, now catching up earth and -air and sky into a wild clamour of sound. No need to ask why the men -did not look up as they went by, no need to wonder at the strained, -set faces. Perhaps in their ears as in ours there rang, high above the -dull heavy burden of the cannon-song, the thin chanting of the priests -who, so many desolate times a day, trod the road that leads to the -Garden of Sacrifice where sleep so many of the sons of France. Ah, I -can hear them now, and see the pitiful little processions winding down -from every quarter of the town, the priest mechanically chanting, a few -soldiers grouped round the coffin, a weeping woman or two following -close behind. Of late--since Verdun, I think--the tiny guard of honour -no longer treads the road, and the friendless soldier dying far from -home goes alone to his last resting-place upon the hill. - -There the open graves are always waiting. The wooden black crosses -have spread far out over the hill-side, climbing up and across till no -one dare estimate their number. Five thousand, a grave-digger told us -long, long ago. Since then Verdun has written her name in blood across -the sky, Verdun impregnable because her rampart was the heart of the -manhood of France, Verdun supreme because the flower of that manhood -laid down their lives in order to keep her so. - -Yes, the chanting of the priests brings an odd lump into one's throat, -but one day we saw a little ceremony that moved us more deeply still. - -It was early morning, a strain of martial music rose on the air. We -hurried to the windows and saw a company of soldiers coming down the -boulevard. They passed our house, marched to the far end, halted, -and then turning, ranged themselves in a great semicircle beyond the -window. To say that their movements lacked the cleanness and precision -which an English regiment would have shown is to put the matter mildly. -Their business was to form three sides of a square. They formed it, -shuffling and dodging, elbowing, scraping their feet, falling into -their places by the Grace of God while a fat fussy officer skirmished -about for all the world like an agitated curate at a Sunday School -treat. - -The fourth side of the square consisted of the pavement and a crowd of -women, children and lads, a crowd with a gap in the middle where, like -a rock rising above the waters of sympathy, stood two chairs on which -two soldiers, _mutilés de la guerre_, were sitting. Brave men both. -They had distinguished themselves in fight, and this morning France was -to do them honour. - -An officer read aloud something we could not hear, and then a general -stepped forward and pinned the Croix de Guerre upon their breasts, and -colonels and staff officers shook them by the hand, and the band broke -into the Marseillaise and the watching crowd tried to raise a cheer. -But their voice died in their throat, no sound would come, for the -Song of the Guns was in their ears and out across the hills their own -men were fighting, to come home to them, perhaps, one day as these men -had come, or it might be never to come home at all. The cheer became a -sob, the voice of a stricken nation, of suffering heart-sick womanhood -waiting ... waiting. - -So the band played a lively tune and the soldiers marched away, -the crowd melted silently about its daily work and for a time the -boulevard was deserted, deserted save for him who sat huddled into his -deep arm-chair, the Croix de Guerre upon his breast and the pitiless -sunlight streaming down upon the pavements he would never tread again. - -A few weeks later the bands march by again. It is evening, and the -shadows are lengthening. We mingle with the crowd and see a tall, stern -man with aloof, inflexible, unsmiling face pass up and down the lines -of the guard of honour drawn up to receive him. A shorter, stouter man -is at his side. - -"Vive Kitchenaire!" - -The densely packed crowds take up the cry. "Vive l'Angleterre!" Ah, it -is God Save the King that the band is playing now. "Vive Kitchenaire." -Again the shout goes up. The short, stout man greets the crowd, and -a mighty roar responds. "Vive Joffre." He smiles, but his companion -never unbends. As the glorious Marseillaise thunders on the air, with -unseeing eyes and ears that surely do not hear he turns away, and the -dark passage of the house swallows him up. - -"Vive Kitchenaire!" - -The echoes have hardly died away when a tear-choked voice greets me. -"Ah, Mademoiselle, but the news is bad to-day." Tears are rolling down -the little Frenchwoman's face. So deep is her grief I fear a personal -loss. But she shakes her head. No, it is not that. She hands me a paper -and, stunned, I read the news. As I cross the street and turn towards -home the world seems shadowed. Sorrow has drawn her veils closely about -the town--sorrow for the man whom it trusted and whose privilege it had -been to honour. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SETTLING-IN - - -Our first duty on arriving in the town was to go to the Bureau de -Police and ask for a _permis de séjour_. We understood that without it -there would be short shrift and a shorter journey into a world which -has not yet been surveyed. So we sallied forth to the Bureau at break -of day, and there we interviewed an old _grognard_--the only really -grumpy person I met in France--who scowled at us and scolded us and -called the devil to witness that these English names are barbarous, the -chatter of monkeys, unintelligible to any civilised ear. We soothed -him with shaking knees; suppose he refused us permission to reside -in the town? And presently he melted. He never really liquified, -you know, there was always a crust; but once or twice on subsequent -occasions a drop, just a teeny, weeny drop of the milk of human -kindness oozed through. He demanded our photographs, and when he saw -my "finished-while-you-wait" his belief in our Simian ancestry took -indestructible form. The number of my photographs now scattered over -France on imposing documents is incalculable, and the number of times -I have had to howl my age into unsympathetic ears so great that all my -natural modesty in dealing with so delicate a subject has wilted away. - -The _grognard_ dismissed us at length, feeling like the worm that -perisheth, and a fortnight or so later presented us with our _permis de -séjour_ (which warned us that any infringement of its regulations would -expose us to immediate arrest as spies), and with an esoteric document -called an _Extrait du Registre d'Immatriculation_ whose purpose in -history we were never able to determine. No one ever asked to see it, -no one ever asked to see our _permis de séjour_, in fact the gendarmes -of the town showed a reprehensible lack of interest in our proceedings. - -In addition to these we were provided as time went on with a _carte -d'identité_, a permission to circulate on a bicycle in districts -specified, a permission to take photographs not of military interest, -and later on with a _carnet d'étranger_ which gripped us in a tight -fist, kept us at the end of a very short chain, and made us rue the day -we were born. And of course we had our passports as well. - -Not being a cyclist, I used that particular permission when tramping -on the Sabbath beyond the confines of the town. Once a bright military -star tried to stop some one who followed my example. "It is a -permission to cycle. You are on foot," he argued. - -"But the bicycle could not get here without me," she replied, and her -merciless logic dimmed his light. - -As for me, I carried all my papers on all occasions that took me past -a sentry. It offended my freeborn British independence to be held up -by a blue-coated creature with a bayonet in his hand on a road that I -choose to grace with my presence, and so I took a mild revenge. The -stoutest sentry quailed before such evidence of rectitude, and indeed -we secretly believed that sheer curiosity prompted many a "Halte-là." - -Once as I trudged a road far from Bar two gorgeous individuals mounted -on prancing chargers swept past me. A moment later they drew rein, and -with those eyes of seventh sense that are at the back of every woman's -head I knew they were studying my retreating form. A lunatic or a spy? -Surely only one or the other would wear that grey dress. A shout, -"Holà." I marched on. If French military police wish to accost me they -must observe at least a measure of propriety. Again the "Holà." My -shoulders crinkled. Would a bullet whiz between? A thunder of galloping -hoofs, a horse racing by in a cloud of dust, a swirl and a gendarme -majestically barring the way. - -"Where are you going, Madame?" - -Stifling a desire to ask what business it was of his, I replied -suavely-- - -"To Bar-le-Duc." - -"Bar-le-Duc? But it is miles from here." - -"Eh bien? What of it? On se promene." - -"I must ask to see your papers." - -Out they all came, a goodly bunch. He took them, appalled. He fingered -them; he stared. - -"Madame is English?" - -"But certainly? What did Monsieur suppose?" - -The papers are thrust into my hand, he salutes, flicks his horse with a -spur, and I am alone on the undulating road with the woods just touched -by spring's soft wing, spreading all about me. - -But this happened when sentries and bayonets had lost their terror. -There were days when we treated them with more respect. Familiarity -breeds contempt--when one knows that the bayonet is not sharpened. - -Our papers in order, our heads no longer wobbling on our shoulders, -our next duty was to call on the _élite_ of the town. In France you -don't wait to be called upon, you call. It was nerve-racking work for -two miserable foreigners, one of whom had almost no French, while that -of the other abjectly deserted her in moments of perturbation. But we -survived it, perhaps because every one was out. Only at Madame B.'s -did we find people at home, and she--how she must have sighed when we -departed! We all laboured heavily in the vineyard, but fright, shyness, -the barrier of language prevented us--on that day at least--from -gathering much fruit. Exhausted, humbled to the dust, thinking of all -the brilliant things we might have said if only we could have taken -the invaluable Bellows with us, we crawled home to seek comfort in -a _brioche de Lorraine_ and a cup of China tea which we had to make -for ourselves, as "Madame" had not yet learned the method. In fact -there were many things she had not learned, and one of them was what -the English understand by the word rubbish. It was a subject on which -for many a day her views and ours unhappily rarely coincided. Once -we caught her in the Common-room, casting baleful eyes on cherished -treasures. - -"Do you wish that I shall throw away these _ordures_, Mademoiselle?" -she asked. - -ORDURES! Ye gods! A bucketful of gladioli and stocks and all sorts -of delicious things gathered in the curé's garden at Naives, and she -called them _ordures_. With a shriek we fell upon her and her broom. -Did she not know they were flowers? What devil of ignorance possessed -her that she should call them rubbish? - -"Flowers! _bien entendu_, but what does one want with flowers in a -sitting-room? The petals fall, they are _des ordures_." Again the -insulting word. - -"Don't you _like_ flowers, Madame?" we asked, and she turned resigned -eyes to ours. These English! Perhaps the good God who made them -understood them, but as for her, Odille Drouet ... With a shrug she -consigned us to the limbo of the inscrutable. A garden was the place -for flowers, why should we bring them into the house? - -French logic. Why, indeed? - -Madame never understood us, but I think she grew to tolerate us in the -end, and perhaps even to like us a little for our own queer sakes. -Once, when she had been with us for a few weeks, she exclaimed so -bitterly, "I wish I had never seen the English," we wondered what we -could possibly have done to offend her. Agitated inquiries relieved -our minds. We were merely a disagreeable incident of the war. If the -Germans had not pillaged France we would not have come to Bar-le-Duc. -Cause and effect linked us with the Boche in her mind, and I think she -never looked at us without seeing the Crown Prince leering over our -shoulder. - -A woman of strange passivity of temper, a fatalist--like so many of -her countrymen--she had a face that Botticelli would have worshipped. -Masses of dark hair exquisitely neat were coiled on her head (why, -oh why, do our English women wear hats? Is not half a French woman's -attraction in the simple dignity of the uncovered head? I never -realised the vulgarising properties of hat till I lived in France), her -eyes were dark, her brows delicately pencilled, her features regular. -Gentleness, resignation, patience were all we saw in her. She had one -of the saddest faces I have ever seen. - -No doubt she had good reason to be sad. Her husband, a well-to-do -farmer, died of consumption in the years before the war, and she who -now cooked and scrubbed and dusted and tidied for us once drove her own -buggy, once ruled a comfortable house and superintended the vagaries -of three servants. In her fine old cupboards were stores of handspun -linen sheets, sixty pairs at least, and ten or twelve dozen handspun, -handmade chemises. Six _lits montés_ testified to the luxury of her -home; on the walls hung rare pottery, Lunéville, Sarréguemin and the -like. - -A _lit monté_ is a definite sign of affluence, and well it may be so. -The French understand at least two things thoroughly--sauces and beds. -Incidentally I believe that the French woman does not exist who cannot -make a good omelette. I saw one made once in five minutes over a smoky -wood fire, the pan poised scientifically on two or three crosswise -sticks. An English woman cooking on such an altar would have offered -us an imitation of chamois leather, charred, toughened and impregnated -with smoke. Madame the wife of the Mayor of Vavincourt offered us--dare -I describe it? Perhaps one day I shall write a sonnet to that omelette; -it must not be dishonoured in prose. - -Yes, the French can cook, and they can make beds, and unless you have -stretched your wearied limbs in a real _lit monté_, unless you have -sunk fathoms deep in its downy nest and have felt the light, exquisite -warmth of the _duvet_ steal through your limbs, you have never known -what comfort is. - -You gaze at it with awe when you see it first, wondering how you are to -get in. I know women who had to climb upon a chair every night in order -to scale the feathery heights. For my own part, being long of limb, I -found a flying leap the most graceful means of access, but there are -connoisseurs who recommend a short ladder. - -Piled on the top of a palliasse and a mattress are a huge bed of -feathers, spotless sheets, a single blanket, a coverlet, and then the -crimson silk-covered _duvet_, over which is spread a canopy of lace. -The cost must be fabulous, though oddly enough no one ever mentioned -a probable price. But no refugee can speak of her lost _lits montés_ -without tears. - -Madame had six of them, and cattle in her byre, and horses in her -stable, and all the costly implements of a well-stocked farm. Yet for -months she lived with her little girl, her father, and her mother in a -single room in the Place de la Halle, a dark, narrow, grimy room that -no soap and water could clean. Her bed was a sack of straw laid upon -the ground, and--until the Society provided them--she had no sheets, -no pillow-cases, indeed I doubt if she even had a pillow. Her farm is -razed to the ground, and no doubt some fat unimaginative sausage-filled -Hausfrau sleeps under her sheets and cuddles contentedly under her -_duvet_ o' nights. - -The little party of four were six weeks on the road to Bar from that -farm beyond Montfaucon, and during the whole time they never ate hot -food and rarely cooked food. No wonder Madame seldom laughed--those -weeks of haunting fear and present misery were never forgotten--no -wonder it was months before we shook her out of her settled apathy and -saw some life, some animation grow again in her quiet face. - -If sometimes we felt inclined to shake her for other reasons than those -of humanity her caution was to blame. Never did she commit herself. To -every question inviting an opinion she returned the same exasperating -reply, "C'est comme vous voulez, Mademoiselle." I believe if we had -asked her to buy antelopes' tongues and kangaroos' tails for dinner she -would have replied equably, tonelessly, "C'est comme vous voulez." - -Whether the point at issue was a warm winter jacket, or a table, or a -holiday on the Sabbath, or cabbage for dinner, the answer was always -the same. Once in a moment of excitement--but this was when she had got -used to us, and found we were not so awful as we looked--she exclaimed, -"Oh, mais taisez-vous, Mademoiselle," and we felt as if an earthquake -had riven the town. - -Later she developed a quiet humour, but she always remained aloof. -Unlike Madame Philipot who succeeded her, she never showed the least -interest in the refugees who besieged our door. "C'est une dame." The -head insinuated through the door would be withdrawn and we left to -the joys of conjecture. The "lady" might be that ragged villain from -the rue Phulpin, wife of a shepherd, a drunken dissolute vagabond who -pawned her all for liquor, or it might be Madame B., while "C'est un -Monsieur" might conceal a General of Division, or the Service de Ville -claiming two francs for delivery of a parcel, in its cryptic folds. - -She had no curiosity, vulgar or intellectual, that we could discover. -She was invariably patient, sweet-tempered, gentle of voice, courteous -of phrase. She came to her work punctually at seven; going home, unless -cataclysms happened, at twelve. If the cataclysms did occur, even -through no fault of our own, we felt as guilty as if we had murdered -babies in their sleep, Madame being an orderly soul who detested -irregularity. And punctually at half-past four she would come back -again, cook the dinner, wash up _la vaisselle_ and quietly disappear at -eight. - -The manner of her going was characteristic. - -French women seem to have a horror of being out alone after dark -(perhaps they have excellent reason for it, they know their countrymen -better than I do), and Madame was no exception to the rule. Perhaps she -was merely bowing her head to national code, the rigid _comme il faut_, -perhaps it was a question of temperament. Anyway the fact emerged, -Madame would not walk home alone. Who, then, should accompany her? Her -parents were old and nearly bedridden, she had no husband, brother, or -friend. The crazy English who careered about at all hours of the day -and night? We had our work to do. - -Juliana was ordered to fetch her. This savouring of adventure and -responsibility fell in with Juliana's mood. She consented. Now she -was her mother's younger daughter and her age was twelve. Can you -understand the psychology of it? This is how I read it. A child was -safe on the soldier-frequented road, a mother with her child would not -be intercepted, but a good-looking woman alone--well, as the French -say, that was quite another _paire de bottines_. - -What would have happened had Juliana declined the honour, I simply -dare not conjecture. For that damsel did precisely as she pleased. Her -mother's passivity, fatalism, call it what you will, was the mainspring -of all her relations with her children. "Que voulez-vous? She wishes -it." Or quite simply, "Juliana does not wish it," closed the door -against all remonstrance. Madame was a strong-willed woman, she never -yielded an iota to us, but her children ruled. When the elder girl, -aged fourteen and well-placed with a good family in Paris, came to Bar -for a fortnight and then refused to go back, Madame shrugged. Some one -in Paris may have been, indeed was, seriously inconvenienced, but "Que -voulez-vous?" - -"Don't you wish her to go back, Madame?" - -"But certainly. What should she do here? It is not fit for a young -girl, but que voul----" We fled. - -Parental authority seems to be a negligible quantity in France. So far -as I could see children did very much as they liked, and were often -spoiled to the verge of objectionableness. Yet the steadfastness, -courage, thoughtfulness and whole-souled sanity of many a young -girl--or a child--would put older and wiser heads to shame. - -A puzzling people, these French, who refute to-morrow nearly every -opinion they tempt you to formulate about them to-day. - -If English women struggling with "chars" and "generals" knew the value -of a French _femme de ménage_ there would be a stampede across the -Channel in search of her. She does your marketing much more cheaply -than you could do it yourself, she keeps her accounts neatly, she is -punctual, scrupulously honest, dependable and trustworthy. She may -not be clean with British cleanness, her dusting may be superficial -(her own phrase, "passer un torchon," aptly describes it), but she -understands comfort, and in nearly twenty months' experience of her I -never knew a dinner spoiled or a dish unpalatably served. - -Of course it is arguable that Madame was not a _femme de ménage_, nor -of the servant class at all. Granted! But there were others. There was -the _bonne à tout faire_ (general servant) of the old curé at N. who -ruled him with a rod of iron and cooked him dinners fit for a king. -And there was Eugénie, the Abbé B.'s Eugénie, who, loving him with a -dog-like devotion, was his counsellor and his friend. She corrected -him for his good when she thought he needed it, but she mothered and -cared for him in his exile from his loved village--French trenches run -through it to-day--as only a single-minded woman could. - -Yes, Madame--whether ours or some one else's--is a treasure, and we -guarded ours as the apple of our eye. There were moments when we -positively cringed before her, so afraid were we that she might leave -us; for she hated cooking, hers having always been the life of the -fields, and though no self-respecting Frenchwoman regards herself as -a servant or as a menial, there must have been many hours when the -cruelty of her position bit deep. Nevertheless she bore with us for -a year, and then the air raids began. And the air raids shattered -the nerves of Juliana--a brave little soul, but delicate (we feared -tainted with her father's malady); and flight in the night to the -nearest cellar, unfortunately some distance away, brought the shadow -of Death too close to the home. So the elders counselled flight. -Juliana begged to be taken away. Madame wished to remain. The matter -hung in uncertainty for some days, then eight alarms and two raids in -twenty-four hours settled it. - -The alarms began on Friday morning; on Saturday Madame told us that -the old people would stay in Bar no longer and she had applied for the -necessary papers. They were going south to the Ain on the morrow. Not -a word of regret or apology for leaving us at a moment's notice, or -for giving us no time in which to replace her. Why apologise since she -could neither alter nor prevent? She went through no wish of her own, -went at midday, just walked out as she had done every day for a year, -but came back next morning to say good-bye and ask us to store some -odds and ends. When she had a settled address would we send them on? - -So she went away, and our memory of her is of one who never fought -circumstances, never wrestled with Fate. When the storms beat upon her, -when rude winds blew, she bowed her head and allowed them to carry her -where they listed. I think the spring of her life must have broken -on that August day when she turned her cattle out on the fields and, -closing the door behind her, walked out of her house for ever. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES - - -The long hot days of summer pursued their stifling way, yet were all -too short for the work we had in hand. There were families to be -visited, case-papers to be written up, card-indexes to be filled in, -and bales to be unpacked. There were clothes to be sorted, there were -people in their hundreds to be fitted with coats and trousers and -shirts and underlinen and skirts and blouses, and the thousand and one -things to be coped with in the Clothes-room. When Satan visits Relief -workers he always lives in the Clothes-room. And there he takes a -malicious delight in turning the contents of the shelves upside down -and in hiding from view the outfit you chose so carefully yesterday -evening for Madame Hougelot, or Madame Collignon, so that when you come -to look for it in the morning, lo! it is gone. And Madame is waiting -with her six children on the stairs, and the hall is a whirlpool of -slowly-circling humanity, who want everything under the sun and much -that is above it. - -Truly the way of the Relief worker is hard. But it has its -compensations. You live for a month, for instance, on one exquisite -episode. You are giving a party; you have invited some fifteen hundred -guests. You spread them out over several days, _bien entendu_, and -in the generosity of your heart you decide that each shall have a -present. You sit at the receipt of custom, issuing your cards with the -name of each guest written thereon, and to you comes Madame Ponnain. -(That is not her real name, but it serves.) Yes, she is a refugee and -she has two children. She would like three cards. _Bon._ You inscribe -her name, you gaze at her questioningly. - -"There is Georgette, she has two years." - -_Bon._ Georgette is inscribed. - -And then? - -Madame hesitates. There is the baby. - -_Bon._ His are? - -"Eh bien, il n'est pas encore au monde." - -You suggest that the unborn cannot ... - -"Mais mademoiselle--si il y a des étrennes (gifts)?" - -Perhaps, perhaps; one doesn't know. The Ponnains were a people of much -discrimination. He might arrive in time. _Quel dommage_, then, if he -had no ticket! - -He discriminated. - -He gets his ticket, and you register anew your homage to French -foresightfulness and thrift. - -And then you go back to the Clothes-room. You climb over mountains of -petticoats and chemises, all of the same size and all made to fit a -child of three. There are thousands of them, they obsess you. You dream -at night that you are smothering under a hill of petticoats while irate -refugees, whose children are all over five and half-naked, hurl the -chemises and--other things at you, uttering round French maledictions -in ear-splitting tones. You wade through the wretched things, you eat -them, sleep them; your brain reels, you say things about work-parties -which, if published, would cause an explosion, and the Pope would -excommunicate you and the Foreign Office hand you your passports. You -write frantic letters to headquarters, then you grow cold, waxing -sarcastic. You hint that marriage as an institution existed in France -before 1912, and that the first baby was not born in that year of -blindfold peace. And you add a rider to the effect that many, indeed -most, of your cherished _émigrées_ are not slum-dwellers fighting for -rags at a jumble sale, but respectable people who don't go about in -ragged trousers or with splashes of brown or yellow paint on a blue -serge dress. Then you are conscience-stricken, for some of the bales -have been packed by Sanity, and the contents collected by Reason. There -are many white crows in the flock. - -A ring at the door interrupts, perhaps happily, your epistolary -labours. It is the Service de Ville, a surly person but faithful. He -has six bales. They are immense. You go down, you try to roll one up -the stairs. Your comrade in labour is four feet six and weighs seven -stone. The bale weighs--or seems to weigh--a ton. Sisyphus is not -more impotent than you. Then an angel appears. It is Madame. "I heard -the efforts," she remarks, and indeed our puffings and pantings and -blowings and swearings must have been audible almost at the Front. -She puts her solid shoulder under the bale. It floats lightly up the -stairs. Then you begin to unpack. It is dirty work, and destroys the -whiteness of your hands. Never mind. Remember _les pauvres émigrées_, -and that we are _si devouée_, you know. - -Everything under heaven has, I verily believe, come at one time or -another out of our bales--except live stock and joints of beef. -Concertinas in senile decay, mandolines without keys, guitars without -strings, jam leaking over a velvet gown, tons of old newspapers -and magazines--all English, of course, and subsequently sold as -waste-paper, hats that have braved many a battle and breeze, boots -without soles, ball dresses, satin slippers (what DO people think -refugees need in the War Zone?), greasy articles of apparel, the mere -handling of which makes our fingers shine, dirty underlinen, single -socks and stockings, married socks that are like the Irishman's -shirt--made of holes, another hundred dozen of petticoats for children -aged three, and once--how we laughed over it!--a red velvet dress that -I swear had been filched from an organ-grinder's monkey, and with it a -pair of-of--well, you know. They were made of blue serge, and when held -out at width stretched all across the Common-room. The biggest Mynheer -that ever smoked a pipe by the Zuyder Zee would have been lost in them, -and as they were neither male nor female, only some sort "of giddy -harumphrodite" could have worn them. - -Sometimes we fell upon stale cough lozenges, on mouldering biscuits, -on dried fruits, on chocolate, on chewing-gum, on moth-eaten bearskin -rugs, or on a brilliant yellow satin coverlet with LOVE in large green -capitals on it. The tale is unending, but it was not all tragic. There -were many days when our hearts sang in gladness, when good, useful, -sensible things emerged from the bales and we fitted our people out in -style. - -But all the rubbish in the world must have been dumped upon France -in the last two years. Never has there been such a sweeping out of -cupboards, such a rummaging of dust-bins. The hobble skirts that -submerged us at one period nearly drove us into an early grave. Picture -us, with a skirt in hand. It is twenty-seven inches round the tail, -perhaps twenty-three round the waist. And Madame, who waits with such -touching confidence in the discrimination of Les Anglaises, tells you -that she is _forte_. As you look at her you believe it. It is half a -day's journey to walk round her. You pace the wide circle thoughtfully, -you make rapid calculations, you give it up. The thing simply cannot -be done. And you send up a wild prayer that before ever there comes -another war French women of the fields will take to artificial means -of restraining their figures. As it is, like Marguerite, many of them -occupy vast continents of space when they take their walks abroad. And -when they stand on the staircase, smiling deprecatingly at you, and you -have nothing that will fit.... - -And when it does fit it is blue, or green, and they have a passion for -black. Something discreet. Something they can go to Mass in. I often -wonder why they worship their God in such dolorous guise. Something, -too, they can mourn in. So many are _en deuil_. Once a woman who came -for clothes demanded black, refusing a good coat because it was blue. -The cousin of her husband had died five months before, and never had -she been able to mourn him. If the English would give her _un peu de -deuil_? She waited weeks. She got it and went forth smiling happily -upon an appreciative world, ready to mourn at last. - -The weather is stifling, the Clothes-room an inferno. The last visitor -for the morning has been sent contentedly away--she may come back -to-morrow, though, and tell us that the dress of Madeleine does not -fit, and may she have one the same as that which Madame Charton got? -Now the dress of Madame Charton's Marie was new and of good serge, -whereas that of Madeleine was slightly worn and of light summer -material. But then Marie had an old petticoat, whereas Madeleine had a -new one. But this concession to equality finds no favour in the eyes -of Madeleine's mother. She has looked upon the serge and lusted after -it. We suggest that a tuck, a little arrangement.... She goes away. And -in the house in rue Paradis there is lamentation, and Marie, I grieve -to say, lifts up her shrill treble and crows. It is one of the minor -tragedies of life. Alas, that there are so many! - -But as Madame the mother of Madeleine departs, we know nothing of the -reckoning that waits us on the morrow. We only know that we promised -to go and see the Basket-makers to-day, that time is flying, and haste -suicidal with the thermometer at steaming-point. - -"Madame, we are going out. We cannot see any one else." - -_Bon._ Madame is a Cerberus. She will write down the names of callers -and so ease our minds while we are away. - -We fling on our hats, we arm ourselves with pencil and notebook, and -wend our way up the Avenue du Château to the rue des Ducs de Bar. It is -well to choose this route sometimes, though it is longer than that of -the rue St. Jean, for it goes past the old gateway and shows you the -view over the rue de Véel. It is wise to look down on the rue de Véel; -it is rather foolhardy to walk in it. For motor-lorries whiz through it -at a murderous speed, garbage makes meteoric flights from windows, the -drainage screams to Heaven, every house is a tenement house, most of -them are foul and vermin-ridden, and all are packed with refugees. - -Well, perhaps not quite all. Even the rue de Véel has its bright -particular spots, one of them being the house, set a little back from -the street, in which Pétain, "On-les-aura Pétain," lived during the -battle of Verdun. The street lies in a deep hollow, with cultivated -hills rising steeply above it. Higher up there are woods on the far -side, while above the sweeping Avenue du Château the houses are piled -one above the other in tumbled, picturesque confusion. - -Once in the rue des Ducs we go straight to No. 49, through a -double-winged door into a courtyard, up a flight of worn steps into a -wee narrow lobby, rather dark and noisome, and then, if any one cries -_Entrez_! in response to our knock, into a great wide room. - -That some one would cry it is certain, for the room is a human hive. -It swarms with people. Short, thickset, sturdy, rather heavily-built -people, whose beauty is not their strong point, but whose honesty is. -And another, for they have many, is their industry; and yet another, -dear to the heart of the Relief worker, is their gratitude for any -little help or sympathy that may be given them. - -And, poor souls, they did need help. Think of it! One room the factory, -dining-room, bedroom, smoking-room, sitting-room of forty people. Some -old, some young. Women, girls and men. - -It appalled you as you went in. On one side, down all its length, and -also along the top palliasses were laid on the floor, so close they -almost touched. Piled neatly on these were scanty rugs or blankets. -No sheets or linen of any kind until our Society provided them. There -was only one bed--a gift from the Society--and in that sat a little -old woman bolt upright. Her skin was the colour of old parchment, it -was seamed and lined and criss-crossed with wrinkles, for she was over -eighty years of age. But her spirit was still young. She could enjoy a -little joke. - -"Yes, I remember the war of Soixante-dix," she said, "but it was not -like this. Ma fois, non! Les Prussiens--oh, they were good to us." Her -eyes twinkled. "They lived in our house. They were like children." - -"Madame, Madame! Confess now that 'vous avez fait la coquette' with -those Prussians." - -Whereupon she cackled a big, "Ho, ho! Écoutez ce qu'elle dit!" and a -shrivelled finger poked me facetiously in the ribs. - -But if the Basket-makers made friends with the Germans in those far-off -days, they hate them now. Hate them with bitter, deadly hatred. "Ah, -les barbares! les sauvages! les rosses!" Madame Walfard would cry, her -face inflamed with anger. Her mother, badly wounded by a shell, had -become paralysed, so there is perhaps some excuse for her venom. - -But for the most part they are too busy to waste time in revilings. The -little old woman is the only idle person in the room. Squatting on low -stools under the windows--there are four or five set in the length of -the wall--the rest work unceasingly, small basins of water, sheaves -of osier, tools, finished baskets, and piles of osier-ends strewn all -about them. Down the middle of the room runs a long table, littered -with mugs, bowls, cooking utensils, odds and ends of every description. -There is only one stove, a small one, utterly inadequate for the size -of the room. On it all their cooking has to be done. I used to wonder -if they ever quarrelled. - -As time went on and I came to know them better, Madame Malhomme -and Madame Jacquemot told me many a tale of their life in -Vaux-les-Palamies, of the opening days of war and of their subsequent -flight from their village. Madame Malhomme, daughter of the little old -lady who had once dared to flirt with a Prussian, lived in the big room -in the rue Des Ducs for nearly a year. Then Madame B. established her -and her family in a little house about half a mile from the town, where -they had nothing to trouble them save the depredations of an occasional -rat, a negligible nuisance compared with the (in more senses than one) -overcrowded condition of No. 49. For that historic mansion had gathered -innumerable inmates to its breast during the long years of emptiness -and decay. And these inmates made the Basket-makers' lives a burden to -them. - -The cold, too, was penetrating, it ate through their scanty clothes, -it bit through flesh to the very bone. The stove was an irony, a tiny -flame in a frozen desert. Every one was perished, Madame Malhomme not -least of all, for, seeing her daughter shivering, she stripped off her -only petticoat and forced her to put it on. - -At night they lay in their clothes under their miserable blankets. -(Bar-le-Duc is not a very large nor a very rich town, and in giving -what it did to such numbers of people it showed itself generous indeed. -In ordinary times its population is not more, and is probably less, -than 17,000, so an influx of 4000 destitute refugees taxed it heavily.) - -The unavoidable publicities of their existence filled the women with -shame and dismay. Sleeping "comme des bêtes sur la paille,"[4] or, more -often still, lying awake staring out into the unfriendly dark, what -dreams, what memories must have been theirs! How often they must have -seen the village, its cosy little homes, each with its garden basking -in the sun, the river flowing by, and the great osier beds that were -the pride of them all. - - [4] Like beasts, on straw. - -They seem to have lived very much to themselves, these sturdy artisans, -rarely leaving their valley, and intermarrying to an unusual extent. -You find the same names cropping up again and again: Jacquemot, Riot, -or Malhomme. Like Quakers, every one seemed to be the cousin of every -one else. And they were well-to-do. It is safe to presume that there -was no poverty in the village. Their baskets were justly famous -throughout France, and the average family wage was about £3 a week. -In addition they had the produce of their garden, the inevitable pig -being fattened for the high destiny of the _soupe au lard_, rabbits and -poultry. If Heaven denied them the gift of physical beauty it had not -been niggardly in other respects. Best of all, it gave them the gift -of labour. In the spring pruning and tending the osier, then cutting -it, and piling it into great stacks which had to be saturated with -water every day during the hot weather, planting and digging in their -gardens, looking after the rabbits and the pig, and in winter plying -their trade. Life moved serenely and contentedly in Vaux-les-Palamies -until the dark angel of destruction passed over it and brushed it with -his wings. - -The Basket-makers don't like the Boche; indeed, they entertain a -reasonable prejudice against him. He foisted himself upon them, making -their lives a burden to them; he was coarse, brutal and overbearing, -he no more considered their feelings than he would those of a rotten -cabbage-stalk thrown out upon the refuse-heap of a German town. He -stayed with them for a week. When he went away he bequeathed them a -prolific legacy. Madame Malhomme will tell you of it if you ask her--at -least she will when she knows you well. She is not proud of it. - -"Ah, qu'ils sont sales, ces Boches," she says with a shudder. She -bought insecticide, she was afraid to look her neighbours in the face. -It did not occur to her at first that her troubles were not personal -and individual. Then one day she screwed up her courage and asked the -question. The answers were all in the affirmative. No one was without. - -So when news came that the Boche was returning, Vaux-les-Palamies -girded up its loins and fled. Shells were falling on the village, so -they dared not spend time in extensive packings; in fact, they made -little if any attempt to pack at all. Madame's sister-in-law was -wounded in the shoulder, and the wound, untended for days, began to -crawl. Her description of it does not remind you of a rose-scented -garden. It was thrust on me as a privilege. So was a view of the -shoulder. The latter was no longer crawling. It was exquisitely white -and clean, but it had a hole in it into which a child might drive its -fist. - -And so after much tribulation they found themselves in Bar-le-Duc, and -theirs was the only instance that came under our notice of a village -emigrating _en masse_, and settling itself tribally into its new -quarters. Even the Mayor came with them, and it was he who eventually -succeeded in getting a supply of osier and putting them into touch with -a market again. But their activities are sadly restricted, and they -make none of their famous baskets _de fantaisie_ now, the osier being -dear and much of it bad, so their profit is very, very small. - -I was in Bar for some months before I met Madame Jacquemot. And then -it was Madame B. who introduced me to her. Her mother, an old lady -of eighty-two, had been in hospital; was now rather better, and back -again with her family in the rue Maréchale. Would the Society give her -sheets? As the dispenser of other people's bounty I graciously opined -that it would, and calling on Madame Jacquemot, told her so. Her mother -was startlingly like the old lady at No. 49, small, thin, wiry, and -bird-like in her movements. She had had shingles, poor soul, and talked -of the _ceinture de feu_ which had scorched her weary little body. -She talked of the Germans too. Ah, then you should have seen her! How -her eyes flashed! She would straighten herself and all her tiny frame -would become infused with a majesty, a dignity that transfigured her. -Once a German soldier demanded something of her, and when she told -him quite truthfully that she had not got it, he doubled his fist and -dealt her a staggering blow on the breast. And she was such a little -scrap of humanity, just an old, old woman with a brave, tender heart -and the cleanest and honestest of souls. She got her sheets and a -good warm shawl--I am afraid we took very special trouble with that -_paquet_, choosing the best of our little gifts for her--and soon -afterwards I went to see her again. As we sat in the dusky room while -Madame Jacquemot told stories, describing the method of cultivating -the osier, showing how the baskets are made, the old lady began to -cough and "hem" and make fluttering movements with her hands. Madame -Jacquemot, thickset and broad-beamed like most of her people--she had -a fleshy nose and blue eyes, I remember, hair turning grey, a pallid, -rather unhealthy complexion and a humorous mouth--got up, and going to -an inner room returned almost immediately with a quaintly-shaped basket -in her hands. The old lady took it from her and held it out to me. - -"It is for you," she said. "And when you go home to England you will -tell people that it was made for you by an old woman of eighty-two, -a refugee, who was ill and in hospital for months. I chose the osier -specially, there is not a bad bit in the basket. And it is long, long -since I have made a basket. I haven't made one since we left home. But -I wanted to make one for you because you have been kind to us." - -I have that basket now; I shall keep it always and think of the feeble -fingers that twined the osier, fingers that were never to twine it -again, for the gallant spirit that fought so gamely was growing more -and more weary. The old bear transplanting badly, they yearn for their -chimney corner and the familiar things that are all their world. The -long exile from her beloved village told upon her heart, joy fell from -her and, saddened and desolate, she slipped quietly away. - -"She just fluttered away like a little bird," her daughter said, and I -was glad to know she had not suffered at the last. - -"Ah, if only I could see the village again," she would often say. "If -only I might be buried there. To die here, among strangers.... Ah, -mademoiselle, do you think the war will soon be over? Si seulement...." -To die and be buried among her own people. To die at home. It was -all she asked for, all she had left to wish for in the world. She -would look at me with imploring, trustful eyes. Les Anglaises, they -must know. Surely I could tell her? And in the autumn one would say, -"It will be over in the spring," and in the winter cry, "Ah yes, in -the summer." But spring came and summer followed, and still the guns -reverberated across the hills, and winter came and the Harvest of Death -was still in the reaping. - -Surely God must have His own Roll of Honour for those who have fallen -in the war, and many a humble name that the world has never heard of -will be written on it in letters of gold. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT - - -I - -Without wishing in the least to malign my fellow-men, I am minded to -declare that a vast percentage of them are hypocrites. Not that they -know it or would believe you if you told them so. Your true _poseur_ -imposes acutely on himself, believing implicitly in his own deceptions; -but the discerning mind is ever swift to catch an attitude, and never -more so than when it is struck before the Mirror of Charity. - -Consequently, when people tell me they go to the War Zone in singleness -of purpose, anxious only to succour the stricken, I take leave to be -incredulous. The thing is impossible. Every one who isn't a slug likes -to go to the War Zone, every one who isn't an animated suet-pudding -wants to see a battlefield, or a devastated village, or a trench, or a -dug-out, and we all want _souvenirs de la guerre_, shell cases, bits -of bomb or shrapnel, the head of the Crown Prince on a charger, or the -helmet of a Death's Head Hussar. And do we not all love adventure, -and variety--unless fear has made imbeciles of us, and the chance -of distinguishing ourselves, of winning the Legion of Honour in a -shell-swept village, or the Croix de Guerre under the iron rain of a -Taube? - -I believe we do, though few of us confess it. We prefer to look -superior, to pretend we "care nothing for all that," and so I cry, -"Hypocrites! Search your hearts for your motives and you will find them -as complex as the machinery that keeps you alive." - -Search mine for my motive and you will find it compounded of many -simples, but of their nature and composition it is not for me to speak. -Has it not been written that I am a modest woman? - -And methinks indifferent honest. That is why I am going to tell you -about Villers-aux-Vents. You must not labour under a delusion that life -was all hard work and no play in the War Zone. - -It was no high-souled purpose that led us to Villers. It was just -curiosity, common curiosity. Later on we spent a night (Saturday night, -of course) at Greux, and visited the shrine of Jeanne D'Arc at Domremy, -but that was not out of curiosity. It was hero-worship coupled with a -passion for historical research. - -And we planned to go to Toul and Nancy. Now when people make plans they -should carry them out. The gods rarely send the dish of opportunity -round a second time, and when the _Carnet d'Étranger_ chained us body -and soul to _l'autorité compétente militaire_ there was no second time. -The dish had gone by; it would never come again. - -Wherefore I am wrath with the gods, and still more wrath with myself, -for I have not seen Nancy, and I have not seen Toul, and if the old -_grognard_ had been in good humour I might even have gone to Verdun. -Maddening, isn't it? Especially as then, when our work was only, so to -speak, getting into its stride, we might have virtuously spared the -time. Later on when it increased, and when we bowed to a _Directrice_ -who has found the secret of perpetual motion, we worked Saturday, -Sundays and all sometimes; but in 1915 we were not yet super-normal -men. We could still enjoy a holiday. And so we decided to go to -Villers-aux-Vents. To go before winter had snatched the gold mantle -from the limbs of autumn, to go while yet the sun was high and the long -day stretched before us, languorous, beautiful. - -And the manner of our going was thus, by train to Révigny at 7.20 a.m., -and then on foot over the road. - -Now it is written that if you get into a westward-bound omnibus train -at Bar-le-Duc, in fulness of time you will arrive at Révigny. The -train will be packed with soldiers, so of course you travel first-or -second-class, thereby incurring a small measure of seclusion and a -larger one of boredom. In Class Three it is never dull. You may be -offered cakes or a hunk of bread which has entered into unwilling -alliance with sausage, you may be invited to drink the health of the -Allies in rank red wine, or you may be offered a faithful heart, -lifelong adoration and an income of five sous a day. Or (but for this -you must keep your ears wide open, for the train makes _un bruit -infernale_, and speech is a rapid, vivacious, eager thing in France) -you may hear tales of the war, episodes of the trenches, comments upon -the method of the Boche, things many of them hardly fit for publication -but drawn naked and quivering from the wells of life. - -Unless he has been refreshing a vigorous thirst, the poilu is rarely -unmanageable. He is the cheekiest thing in the universe, he has a -twinkle in his eye that can set a whole street aflame, and he is filled -with an accommodating desire to go with you just as far as you please. -Nevertheless, he can take a hint quicker than any man I know, and his -genius in extricating himself from a difficult situation is that of the -inspired tactician. - -Madame B., pursuing her philanthropic way, came out of a shop one day -to find a spruce poilu comfortably ensconced in her carriage. With arms -folded and legs crossed he surveyed the world with conquering eyes. - -"I am coming for a drive with you," he remarked genially, and his smile -was the smile of a seductive angel, his assurance that of a king. - -"Au contraire," replied Madame B. (the poilu was not for her, as for -us, an undiscovered country bristling with possibilities of adventure), -and his abdication was the most graceful recorded in history. - -Now, I wouldn't advise you to accept every offer of companionship you -get from a poilu, but you may accept some. More than one tedious mile -of road is starred for me with memories of childlike, simple souls, -burning with curiosity about all things English, and above all about -the independent female bipeds who have no apparent fear of man, God -or devil, nor even--_bien entendu_--of that most captivating of all -created things, the blue-coated, trench-helmeted French soldier. - -"You march well, Mademoiselle; you would make a fine soldier." Thus a -voice behind me as I swung homewards down the hill one chilly evening. -A sense of humour disarms me on these occasions. One day, no doubt, it -will lead me into serious trouble. I didn't wither him. One soon learns -when east winds should blow, and when the sun, metaphorically speaking, -may shine. We walked amicably into Bar together, and before we parted -he told me all about the little wife who was waiting for him in Paris, -and the fat baby who was _tout-à fait le portrait de son père_. - -So ponder long and carefully before you choose your carriage, but if -your ponderings are as long as this digression you will never get to -Révigny. Even an omnibus train starts some time, and generally when you -least expect it. - -At Mussey if you crane your head out of the window you may see two -wounded German prisoners, white-faced, mud-caked wretches who provoke -no comment. At Révigny you will see soldiers (if I told you how many -pass through in a day the Censor would order me to be immersed in a vat -of official ink); and you will see ruins. The Town Hall is an eyeless -skeleton leering down the road, the Grande Place--there is no Grande -Place, there is only a scattered confusion of fire-charred stones and -desiccated brick. - -It was rather foggy that Sunday morning and the town looked used up. -Not an attractive place in its palmiest days we decided as we slung our -luncheon bags over our shoulders and set out for Villers. Away to the -left we could see Brabant-le-Roi, and it was there some weeks later -that I assisted at the incineration of a pig. He lay by the roadside -in a frame of blazing straw. Flames lapped his ponderous flanks, and -swept across his broad back, blue smoke curled around him, an odour of -roasting pig hung in the air. A crowd of women and soldiers stood like -devotees about a shrine. The flames leaped, and fell. Then came men -who lifted him up and laid him on a stretcher. In his neck there was -a gaping wound, and out of the fire that refined him he was no longer -an Olympian sacrifice, he was mouldering pig, dead pig, black pig, -nauseating, horrible. I turned to fly, but a voice detained me. - -"Madame Bontemps will be killing to-morrow. If Mademoiselle would like -to see?" - -But "to-morrow" Mademoiselle was happily far on her way to Troyes, -and the swan-song of Madame Bontemps' _gros cochon_ fell on more -appreciative ears. - -However, on that Sunday morning in September there was no pig, and our -"satiable curiosity" led us far from poor battered Brabant. Our road -was to the right and "uphill all the way." The apple trees on the Route -Nationale were crusted with ripe red fruit, but we resisted temptation, -our only loot being a shell-case which we discovered in a field, which -was exceedingly heavy and with which we weighted ourselves for the sake -of an enthusiastic youngster at home. My arm still aches when I think -of that shell-case, for by this time the sun had burst out, it was -torridly hot, the apple trees gave very little shade, and our too, too -solid flesh was busily resolving itself into a dew. - -However, we persevered, the object of our pilgrimage being a square -hole dug in a sunny orchard on the brow of the hill above Villers. -Some rude earthen steps gave access to it, the roof was supported by -two heavy beams, and the floor and sides were lined with carved panels -wrenched from priceless old _armoires_ taken from the village. It is -known as the Crown Prince's Funk Hole, and the story goes that from -its shelter he ordered, and subsequently watched, the destruction -of the village. The dug-out, a makeshift affair, the Crown Prince's -tenancy being of short duration, is well placed. The hill falls away -behind it, running at right angles to the opening there is a thick -hedge, trees shelter it, the line of a rough trench or two, now filled -in, runs protectingly on its flank. The fighting in this region was -open, a war of movement lasting only a few days, so trench lines are -not very plentiful. Just opposite the mouth of the dug-out there is a -fenced-in cross, a red _képi_ hangs on the point, a laurel wreath tied -with tri-coloured ribbon is suspended from the arms. "An unknown French -soldier." Did he fall there in the rush of battle, or did he creep up -hoping to get one clean neat shot at the Prince of Robbers and so put -him out of action for ever? - -As for Villers itself, it was wiped out of existence. One house, and -only one, remains, and even that is battered. One might speculate a -little on the psychology of houses. The pleasant fire-cracker pastilles -that wrought so much havoc elsewhere were impotent here. The Germans -flung in one after another, we were told, using every incendiary device -at their disposal, but that house refused to burn. There it stands -triumphantly in its tattered garden, not far from the church, and when -I saw it an old woman with a reaping-hook in her hand was standing by -the hedge watching me with curious eyes. We had separated, my companion -and I, farther down the long village street, she to meditate among the -ruins, I to mourn over the shattered belfry-tower, the bell hurled to -the ground, the splintered windows, the littered ruined interior. In -the cemetery were many soldiers' graves; on one inscribed, "Two unknown -German officers," some one had scribbled "À bas les Boches," the only -instance that came to my knowledge of the desecration of a German -grave. And even here contrition followed fast upon the heels of anger, -and heavy scrawlings did their best to obliterate the bitter little -phrase. The French--in the Marne at least--have been scrupulous in -their reverence for the German dead, the graves are fenced in just as -French graves are, and the name whenever possible printed on the cross. -I suppose that even the soppiest sentimentalist would not ask that they -should be decorated with flowers? - -As I left the graveyard and looked back at the desolation that once was -Villers, but where even now wooden houses were springing hopefully from -the ground, the old woman with the reaping-hook spoke to me. My dress -betrayed me; she knew without asking that I was British. And, as is the -way with these French peasants, she fell easily and naturally into her -story. I wish I could tell it to you just as she told it to me, but I -know I shall never find her simple dignity of phrase, or her native -instinct for the _mot juste_. However, such as it is you shall have it, -and if it please you not, skip. That refuge is always open to the bored -or tired reader. - - -II - -Old Madame Pierrot was disturbed in spirit. She could see the flames -leaping above burning villages across the plain, the earth shook with -the menace of the guns, the storm was rising, every moment brought the -waves of the encroaching sea nearer to her home. Yet people said that -Villers was safe. The Germans could never get so far as that, they -would be turned back long before they reached the hill. She was alone -in her comfortable two-storied house (the house she had built only a -few years before, and which had a fine yard behind it closed in by -spacious stables, cow-houses and barns), and she was sadly in need of -advice. She had no desire whatever to make the personal acquaintance -of any German invader. Even the honour of receiving the Crown Prince -made no appeal to her soul. She had heard something of his arch little -ways and his tigerish playfulness, and though she could hardly suppose -that he would favour a woman of her dried and lean years with special -attention, she reasonably feared that she might be called on to assist -at one of his festivals. And an Imperial degenerate will do that in -public which decent women are ashamed to talk about, much less to -witness. So Madame was perturbed in soul. The battle raged through the -woods and over the plain, it crept nearer ... nearer.... - -"Madame, Madame, come. Is it that you wish the Germans to get you?" A -wagon was drawn up at the door, in it were friends who lived higher up -the street. "Come with us to Laimont. You will be safer there." - -So they called to her and put an end to her doubt. Snatching up a -basket, she stuffed into it all the money she had in the house, -various family papers and documents, and then, just as she was, in her -felt-soled slippers with her white befrilled cap on her head, in her -cotton dress without even a shawl to cover her, she clambered into the -wagon and set out. Laimont was only a few miles away; indeed, I think -you can see the church spire and the roofs of the houses from the -hill. There the wagon halted. In a few hours the Germans would be gone, -and then one could go peaceably home again. But time winged away, the -battle raged more fiercely than ever, soon perhaps Laimont itself would -be involved and see hand-to-hand fighting in its streets. - -Laimont! Madame was _desolée_. _Où aller?_ Farther south, farther east? -The Germans were everywhere. And _voyager comme ça_ in her old felt -slippers, in her working clothes, without wrap or cloak to cover her? -Impossible. The wagon must wait. There was still time. _Ces salauds_ -would not reach Laimont yet. Why, look! Villers itself was free. There -was no fire, no smoke rising on the hill. Her friends would wait while -she went back _au grand galop_ to put on her boots, and her bonnet and -her Sunday clothes. "Hé, mon Dieu, it is not in the petticoat of the -fields that one runs over France." - -Away she went, her friends promising to wait for her. Laden down by -the shell, we who were lusty and strong found the road from Villers -to Laimont unendingly long, yet no grisly fears gnawed at our -heart-strings, no sobs rose chokingly to be thrust back again ... and -yet again. Nor had we the hill to climb, and no shells were bursting -just ahead. So what can it have been for Madame? But she pressed on; -old, tired and, oh, so dismayed, she panted up the steep hill that -curls into the village, and walked right into the arms of the Crown -Prince's men. In a trice she was a prisoner, one of eighty, some -of whom were soldiers, the rest civilians, who, like herself, had -committed the egregious folly of being born west of the Rhine, and were -now about to suffer for it. - -What particular crime Villers-aux-Vents had committed to merit -destruction I cannot tell. Perhaps it never committed any. The Crown -Prince was not always a minister of Justice promulgating sentence -upon crime. He was more often a Nero loving a good red blaze for its -own sake, or it may be an æsthete of emotion, a super-sensualist of -cruelty, or just a devil hot from the stones of hell. - -Whatever the reason, Villers was doomed. Out came the pastilles and -the petrol-sprayers: the most determined destruction was carried on. -Not only were the houses themselves destroyed but the outhouses, the -stables, solid brick and mortar constructions running back to a depth -of several feet. And I gathered that the usual pillage inaugurated the -reign of fire. - -Of this, however, Madame knew nothing. She and her seventy-nine -companions in misery were marched away to the north, mile after mile to -Stenay, and if you look at the map you will see that the distance is -not small, it was a march of several days. - -Madame, as I have told you, was old, and her slippers had soles of -felt, and so the time came when her feet were torn and bleeding, and -when, famished and exhausted, she could no longer keep step with her -guards. Her pace became slower and slower. Ah, God, what was that? Only -the butt-end of a rifle falling heavily across her back. She nerved -herself for another effort, staggered on to falter once more. Again the -persuasion of the rifle. Again the shrewd, cruel blow, and a bayonet -flashing under her eyes. - -A diet of black bread three times a day does not encourage one to take -violent exercise, but black bread was all that they got, and I think -the rifle-butts worked very hard during that long weary march. - -On arrival they were herded into a church and then into a prison, where -they were brutally treated at first, but subsequently, when French -people were put in charge, found life a little less intolerable. And -later on some residents still living in the town were kind to her, but -during all the months--some eight or nine--that she was imprisoned -there she had no dress but the one, nothing to change into, nothing to -keep out the sharp winter cold. - -Madame Walfard the basket-maker told me some gruesome tales about -Stenay, and what happened there, but this is not a book of atrocities. -Perhaps it ought to be, perhaps every one who is in a position to do -so should cry aloud the story in a clear clarion call to the civilised -world, but--isn't the story known? Can anything I have to say add a -fraction of a grain of weight to the evidence already collected? Is -the world even now so immature in its judgment that it supposes that -the men who sacked Louvain, the men who violated Belgium behaved -like gallant gentlemen in the sunnier land of France? Do we not know -all of us that, added to the deliberate German method, there was the -lasciviousness of drunkenness? That the Germans poured into one of the -richest wine-growing countries in the world during one of the hottest -months of the year, that their thirst at all times is a mighty one, and -when excited by the frenzy of battle it was unassuageable? They drank, -and they drank again. They rioted in cellars containing thousands of -bottles of good wine, and they emerged no longer men but demons, whose -officers laughed to see them come forth, sure now that no lingering -spark of human or divine fire would hold them back from frightfulness. - -Of course we know it was so, and therefore I am not going to dilate -upon horrors. Let the kharma of the Germans be their witness and their -judge. Only this in fairness should be told--that the behaviour of the -men varied greatly in different regiments. "It all depended upon the -Commandant," summed up one narrator, "and the first armies were the -worst." - -"And the Crown Prince's army?" I asked; "what of that?" - -He shrugged. What can be expected from the followers of such a leader? -Their exploits put mediæval mercenaries to shame. - -Stenay must find another historian; but even while I refuse to become -the chronicler of atrocities, every line I write rises up to confute -me. For was not the very invasion of France an "atrocity"? Is the word -so circumscribed in its meaning that it contains only arson, murder -and rape? Does not the refinement of suffering inflicted upon every -refugee, upon every homeless _sinistré_, upon the basket-makers of -Vaux-les-Palamies as upon Madame Lassanne, and poor old creatures -like the Leblans fall within it too, and would not the Germans stand -convicted before the Tribunal of such narratives even if the gross sins -of the uncivilised beast had never been laid at their door? - -Madame Pierrot told me nothing about Stenay--perhaps she saw nothing -but the inside of her prison walls--but she told me a great deal about -the kindness of the Swiss when she crossed the frontier one happy day, -and the joy-bells were ringing in her heart. They gave her food and -drink, they overwhelmed her with sympathy, they offered her clothes. -But Madame said no. She was a _propriétaire_, she had good land in -Villers. - -"Keep the clothes for others, they will need them more than I. In my -house at Villers-aux-Vents there are _armoires_ full of linen and -underclothing, everything that I need. I can wait." - -I often wonder whether realisation came to her at Révigny, or whether, -all ignorant of the tragedy, she walked blithely up the hill, the -joy-bells ringing their Te Deum in her heart, her thoughts flitting -happily from room to room, from _armoire_ to _armoire_, conning over -again the treasures she had been parted from so long. Did she know only -as she turned the last sharp bend in the road and saw the village dead -at her feet? Ah, whether she knew as she trudged over the much-loved -road, or whether knowledge came only with sight, what a home-coming was -that! She found the answer to the eternal question, "What shall we find -when we return?" ... How many equally poignant answers still lie hidden -in the womb of time to be brought forth in anguish when at last the day -of restoration comes? - - -III - -Even the longest story must come to an end some time, and so did Madame -Pierrot's. Conscience, tugging wildly at the strings of memory, spoke -to me of my lost comrade; the instinct of hospitality asserted itself -in Madame's soul. We were strangers, we must see the sights. Would I go -with her to her "house," and to the dug-out of the Crown Prince? Yes? -_Bon. Allons._ And away we trotted to gather up the lost one among -the ruins, to inspect the dug-out, to eat delicious little plums which -Madame gathered for us in the orchard, and finally to be seized by -the pangs of a righteous hunger which simply shrieked for food. Where -should we eat? Madame mourned over her brick and rubble. If we had come -before the war she would have given us a _déjeuner_ fit for a king. -A good soup, an omelette, _des confitures_, a cheese of the country, -coffee, but now? "Regardez, Mademoiselle. Ah que c'est triste. Il n'y -a rien du tout, du tout, du tout." And indeed there was nothing but a -mound of material that might have been mistaken for road rubbish. - -Eventually she found a stone bench in the yard, and there we munched -our sandwiches while she flitted away, to come back presently with -bunches of green grapes, sweet enough but very small. The vine had not -been tended for a year, it was running wild. They were not what _ces -dames_ should be given, but if we would accept them? We would have -taken prussic acid from her just then, I believe, but fortunately it -did not occur to her to offer it. She cut us dahlias from her ragged -garden (once loved and carefully tended), and hearing that one of us -was a connoisseur in shell-cases, bits of old iron and other gruesome -relics, rooted about until she found another shell-case, with which -upon our backs we staggered over to Laimont. - -And now let me hereby solemnly declare that if any one ever dares to -tell me that the French are inhospitable I will smite him with a great -and deadly smiting. I am not trying to suggest that they clasped us in -their arms and showered riches upon us within an hour of our meeting. -They showed a measure of sanity and caution in all their ways. They -waited to see what manner of men we were before they flung wide their -doors, but once the doors were wide the measure of their generosity was -only limited by the extent of our need. - -Was it advice, an introduction to an influential person, a string -pulled here, a barrier broken down there, Madame B. and Madame D. were -always at our service. Gifts of fruit and flowers came constantly -to our door, our _bidons_ were miraculously filled with paraffin -in a famine which we, being foolish virgins, had not foreseen, or, -foreseeing, had not guarded against, and once in the heavy frost, when -wood was unobtainable in the town and the supply ordered from Sermaize -was over-long in coming, our lives were saved by a bag of oak blocks -which scented the house, and _boulets_ that made the stove glow with -magnificent ardour. In every difficulty we turned to Madame B. She -helped us out of many an _impasse_, and whether we asked her to buy -dolls in Paris or, by persuading a General and his Staff that without -our timely aid France could never win the war, to reconcile an Army -Corps to our erratic activities in its midst, she never failed us. When -two of our party planned a week-end shopping expedition to Nancy, it -was Madame B. who discovered that the inhabitants of that much-harassed -town were leading frozen lives in their cellars, and if she was -sometimes electrifyingly candid in her criticism, she was equally -unstinted in her praise. Madame D., with her old-world courtesy, was no -less hospitable, and many a frantic S.O.S. brought her at top speed to -our door. - -From Monsieur C., who used to assure us that we dispensed our gifts -with a _délicatesse_ that was _parfait_, and Madame K. showering -baskets of luscious raspberries, to the poorest refugee who begged -us to drink a glass of wine with her, or who deeply regretted her -inability to make some little return for the help we had given her, -they outvied one another in refuting the age-old libel on the character -of the French. - -"But," cries some acidulated critic, "you would have us believe that -the poilu is a blue-winged angel, and the civilian too perfect to -live." Far from it. The poilu is only a man, the civilian only human, -and I have yet to learn that either--be he man or human--is perfect any -more than he, or his equivalent is perfect even in this perfect English -island in the sea. There are soldiers who.... There are civilians -who.... - -I guess the devil doesn't inject original sin into them with a -two-pronged hypodermic syringe any more than he injects it into us. The -good and the evil sprout up together, or are they the spiritual Siamese -twin that is born of every one of us to be a perpetual confusion to our -minds, a bewilderment to our bodies and a most difficult progeny to -rear at the best of times? For as surely as you encourage one of the -twins the other sets up a roar, sometimes they howl together, sometimes -one stuffs his fist down the other's throat. And the bad one is hard -to kill, and the good one has a tendency to rickets. No wonder it is a -funny muddle of a world. - -And the French have their twin too, only theirs say _la-la_ and ours -say damn, and if they keep an over-sharp eye on the sous, do we turn -our noses up at excess profits? - -Of course some of them are greedy, perhaps greedier on the whole -than we are. Would any English village lock its wells when thirsty -children wailed at its door? I know an Irish one would not. But the -French are thrifty, and the majority of them would live comfortably on -what a British family wastes. They work hard too. They are incredibly -industrious, perhaps because they have to be. - -France has not yet been inoculated with the virus of philanthropy, -an escape on which she may possibly be congratulated. The country -is not covered with a network of charitable societies overlapping -and criss-crossing like railway lines at a junction, nor have French -women of birth, independent means and superfluous energy our genius -for managing other people's affairs so well there is no time to look -after our own. The deserving poor run no risk of being pauperised, -the undeserving don't keep secretaries, committees and tribes of -enthusiastic females labouring heavily at their heels. The French -family in difficulties has to depend on its own resources, its own -wit, its own initiative and energy, and when I think of the way our -refugees dug themselves in in Bar-le-Duc, and scratched and scraped, -and hammered and battered at that inhospitable soil till they forced a -living from its breast, my faith in philanthropy and the helping hand -begins to wane. - -Of course there are hard cases, where a little intelligent human -sympathy would transform suffering and sorrow into contentment and joy, -cases that send me flying remorsefully back to the altar of organised -charity with an offering in outstretched hand, but above all these, -over all the agony of war the stern independence of French character -has ridden supreme. - -So let their faults speak for themselves. Who am I that I should -expose them to a pitiless world? Have I not faults of my own? See how -I have kept poor Madame Pierrot gathering dahlias in her garden, and -my comrade in adventure eating grapes upon a very stony seat. So long -that now there is no time to tell you how we walked to Laimont and -investigated more ruins there, and then how we walked to Mussey where -we comfortably missed our train, and how a Good Samaritan directed -us to a house, and how in the house we found a little old lady whose -son had been missing since August 1914, and who pathetically wondered -whether we could get news of him, and how a _sauf-conduit_ had to be -coaxed from the Mayor, and the little old lady's horse harnessed to a -car, and how two chairs were planted in the car and we superficially -planted on the chairs, and how the old lady and a brigand clambered -on to the board in front, and how we drove down to Bar as the sun was -setting. Nor can I tell you how nearly we were run into by a motor-car, -nor how the old lady explained that the brigand was _malheureusement_ -nearly blind, and that she, still more _malheureusement_, was rather -deaf, nor how we prayed as we clung desperately to the chairs which -slid and wobbled and rocked and oscillated, and rattled our bones while -all the military motor-cars in France sought our extermination. - -Nor can I tell you how at a dangerous crossing the brigand drew up -his steed, and set up a wail because he had forgotten his cigarettes, -nor how one escapading female produced State Express which made him -splutter and cough, and nearly wreck us in the ditch (though English -tobacco is not nearly so strong as French), nor how we came at last -to Bar-le-Duc, nor how the old lady demanded a ridiculously small fee -for the journey, nor how I lost a glove, and the sentries eyed us with -suspicion, and the brigand who was blind and _la patronne_ who was deaf -drove away in the fading light to Mussey, the aroma of State Express -trailing out behind them, and the old horse plodding wearily in the -dust. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE MODERN CALVARY - - -I - -One day, not long after our visit to the battlefield, our composure was -riven to its very foundations by an invitation to play croquet in the -garden of Madame G. Could we spare an hour from our so arduous toil? -For her it would be a pleasure so great, the English they love "le -sport," they play all the games, we would show her the English way. -Monsieur her husband he adored croquet, but never, never could he find -any one to play with him. Madame, a little swarthy woman who always -dressed in rusty black, clasped her shiny kid gloves together and gazed -at us beseechingly. The Arbiter of our destinies decided that we must -go. There is always _l'Entente_, you know, it should be encouraged at -all hazards, a sentiment which meets with my fullest approval when the -hazard does not happen to be mine. - -Madame yearned that we should throw ourselves into "le sport" at four, -but the devil of malice, who sits so persistently on my shoulder, -arranged that I should be the only one free at that hour. The others -promised to come at half-past four. - -"But, my dear women," I cried, "I haven't played croquet for ages." - -"Never mind. Hit something, do anything. But go." - -I went. I was ushered into a tiny and stuffy parlour, and there for -twenty interminable, brain-racking minutes I confronted Madame G. Then -an old lady in a bath-robe sidled into the room, and we all confronted -one another for ten minutes more. Madame G. may be a devil of a fellow -with a croquet-mallet in her hand, but small talk is not her strong -point. Neither is it mine, for the matter of that, when I am slowly -suffocating in a foreign land. However, we finally adjourned to the -garden. Where, oh where was the croquet ground? Where, oh where were my -faithless companions? Where, oh where was tea? A quarter to five rang -out from the tower of Nôtre Dame, and here was I marooned on a French -grass plot adorned with trees, real trees, apple trees, plum trees, an -enterprising pergola, several flower-beds and, Heaven help me! croquet -hoops--hoops that had just happened, all anyhow, no two looking in the -same direction. In direct line of fire rose a tall birch tree. I gazed -at it in despair. A niblick, or a lofter, or a crane might get a ball -over it, but a croquet mallet?... Circumvention was impossible. There -were three bunkers. - -"It is like your English croquet grounds?" Madame asked. "We play all -the Sundays----" - -"Ah, yes, through the Looking-glass," I murmured, and she responded-- - -"Plaît-il?" - -I hastily congratulated her on the condition of her fruit trees. - -Five o'clock. What I thought of the faithless was by now so sulphuric, -blue flames must have been leaping out of me. Five-fifteen. A Sail! -The Arbiter, full of apologies, which did nothing to soften the steely -reproval in my eye. Then Madame disappeared. At five-thirty she came -back again accompanied by delinquent number two. She held a hurried -consultation with the bath-robe, then melted again into the void. - -"Can I go?" I signalled to the Arbiter. She shook a vigorous head. The -rattle of tea-cups was coming from afar. At a quarter to six Madame -announced tea. It was served in the dining-room. We all sat round a -square table very solemnly--it was evidently the moment of Madame's -life; there was no milk, we were expected to use rum--or was it -gin?--instead. Anyway I know it was white, and one of us tried it, and -I know ... well, politeness conquered, but she has been a confirmed -teetotaller ever since. - -At six-five Madame was weeping as she recounted a tale she had read in -the paper a day or so before, and six-twenty-five we came away. - -"And we never played croquet after all. But you will come again when -Monsieur mon mari is here, for Les Anglaises they love 'le sport.'" - -But we never went back. Perhaps the tree-tops frightened us, or perhaps -we were becoming too much engrossed in sport of another kind. You see, -M. le Curé of N. came to visit us the next day, and soon after that -Madame Lassanne inscribed her name on our books. Which shall I tell -you about first? Madame Lassanne, who was a friend of Madame Drouet, -and actually succeeded in making her talk for quite a long time on the -stairs one day? I think so. - -Perhaps to-morrow I shall tell you of M. Le Curé. - -You see, it was really Madame Lassanne who first brought home to me -what war means to the civil population in an invaded district. One -guessed it all in a dim way before, of course, every imaginative person -does, but not in the way in which pain, desolation of spirit, agony of -soul, poignant anxiety drive their roots deep down into Life; nor does -one realise how small a thing is human life, how negligible man when -compared with the great god of War. - -A French medical officer once said to me, "Mademoiselle, in war les -civiles n'ont pas le droit d'être malade," and I dared to reply, -"Monsieur, ils n'ont guère le droit de vivre." And he assented, for he -knew, knew that to a great extent it was true, only too pitiably true. -For the great military machine which exists in order that an unshakable -bulwark may be set up between the invader and the civilians whom he -would crush is, in its turn, and in order to keep that bulwark firm, -obliged to crush them himself. In the War Zone (it is not too much to -say it) the civilian is an incubus, an impediment, a most infernal -nuisance. He gets so confoundedly in the way. And he is swept out of -it as ruthlessly as a hospital matron sweeps dust out of her wards. -That he is confused and bewildered, thoroughly _désorienté_, that he -may be sick or feeble, that his wife may be about to give birth to a -child, that his house is in ashes and that he, once prosperous, is now -a destitute pauper, that his children trail pitifully in the dust, -footsore, frightened, terror-haunted to the very verge of insanity, -all these things from the military point of view matter nothing. And -it must be so. They dare not matter. If they did, energies devoted to -keeping that human bulwark in the trenches fit and sound might be -diverted into other channels, and the effort to ameliorate and save -become the hand of destruction, ruining all in order to save a little. - -Think of one village. There are thousands, and any one will do. Anxiety -and apprehension have lain over it for days, but the inhabitants go -about their work, eat, sleep, "carry on" much as usual. Night comes. It -is pitch dark. The world is swathed in a murky shroud. At two o'clock -loud hammering is heard, the gendarmes are going from house to house -beating upon the doors. "Get up, get up; in half an hour you must be -gone." Dazed with sleep, riven with fear, grief slowly closing her icy -fingers upon their hearts, they stumble from their beds and throw on a -few clothes. They look round the rooms filled with things nearly every -one of which has a history, things of no intrinsic value, but endeared -to them by long association, and it may be by memory of days when Love -and Youth went hand in hand to the Gates of Romance and they opened -wide at their touch. Things, too, that no money can buy: old _armoires_ -wonderfully carved, old china, old pottery, handed down from father to -son, from mother to child for generations. - -What would one choose in such a moment as that? - -"You can take nothing but what you can carry." Nothing. The children -clutch at hand and skirt. How can Marie and Germaine and Jean and -Robert walk fifteen or twenty kilomètres to safety? - -The prudent snatch at their family papers, thrust a little food into a -bag and go out into the night. Others gather up useless rubbish because -it lies under their hand. The gendarmes are growing impatient. They -round up their human flock as a dog rounds up his sheep. Shells are -beginning to fall here and there. Some one has been killed--a child. -Then a woman. There are cries, a long moan of pain. But the refugees -must hurry on. - -"Vîte, vîte, depêchez-vous." They stumble down the roads, going they -know not whither, following the lanes, the woods, even the fields, for -the main road must be kept clear for the army. Hunger, thirst, the -torment of an August day must be endured, exhaustion must be combated. -Death hovers over them. He stoops and touches now one, now another -with his wings, and quietly they slip down upon the parched and baking -earth, for they are old and weary, and rest is sweet after the long -burden of the day. - -But even this is not all. One may believe that at first, engulfed by -the instinct of self-preservation, tossed by the whirlwind from one -emotion to another and into the lowest pit of physical pain, the mind -is too confused, too stunned to realise the full significance of all -that is happening. - -But once in their new quarters, with the long days stretching out ahead -and the dark night behind, in wretchedness, in bitter poverty, ah! then -Thoughts, Memories, Regrets and Infinite Lonelinesses throng upon them, -and little by little realisation comes and at last they KNOW. - -Know that the broken threads of life can never be taken up again in the -old good way. "On était si heureux là-bas."[5] How often I have heard -that said! "On vivait tout doucement. On n'était pas riche, ma fois, -but _we had enough_!" Poignant words those, in Refugee-land. - - [5] We were so happy! - -Added to the haunting dread of the future there is always the -ghost-filled dream of the past. Women who have spoken with steady -composure of the loss of thousands of francs, of the ruin of -businesses built up through years of patient industry and hard work, -of farms--rich, productive, well-stocked--- laid waste and bare, -have broken down and sobbed pitifully when speaking of some trivial -intrinsically-valueless possession. How our hearts twine themselves -round these ridiculous little things, what colour, what meaning they -lend to life! - -To lose them, ah, yes! that is bad enough; but to know that hands -stained with blood will snatch at them and turn them over, and that -eyes still bestial with lust will appraise their value.... That is -where the sharpest sting lies. The man or woman whose house is effaced -by a shell is happy indeed compared with those who have seen the -Germans come, who have watched the pillage and the looting and the -sacrilege of all they hold most dear. - -But the _émigré's_ cup must hold even greater sorrows and anxieties -than these. "C'est un vrai Calvaire que nous souffrons, Mademoiselle." -So they will tell you, and it is heartbreakingly true. Crucified upon -the iron cross of German ambition, they pray daily that the cup may be -taken from them, but the mocking god of War still holds it to their -lips. They must drink it even to the very dregs. - -For not always could all the members of a family get away together. -It has been the fate of many to remain behind, to become prisoners in -the shadowed land behind the trenches, at the mercy of a merciless -foe. Between them and their relatives in uninvaded France no direct -communication can be established. An impenetrable shutter is drawn -down between. Only at rare intervals news can come, and that is when -a soldier son or father or other near relative becomes a prisoner of -war in Germany. A French woman in the _pays envahi_ may write to a -prisoner in Germany, and he to her. He may also write to his friends in -the free world beyond. And so it sometimes happens that news trickles -through, but very rarely. The risk is tremendous, detection heavily -punished. Only oblique reference can be indulged in, and when one has -heard nothing for months, perhaps years, how meagre and unsatisfying -that must be. Do we in England realise what it means? I know I did not -before I met Madame Lassanne, and only very inadequately as I sat in -the kitchen of the Ferme du Popey and listened to her story. - - -II - -She was the daughter of one farmer, the wife of another and successful -one, the richest in their district, so people said. When the war broke -out her husband was mobilised, she with her three children, a girl of -four, a boy of two and a month-old baby, remaining at the farm with -her father and mother. A few days, perhaps a week or two passed, then -danger threatened. Harnessing their horses to the big farm wagons, she -and the old man packed them with _literie_, _duvets_, furniture, food, -clothes, everything they could find room for, and prepared to leave the -village. But the gendarmes forbade it. I suppose the road was needed -for military purposes: heavy farm wagons might delay the passage of the -troops. Throughout the whole of one day they waited. Still the barrier -was not withdrawn. Shells began to rain on the village; first one -house, then another caught fire. - -"You may go." The order came at last. The children, with their -grandmother and an aunt of the Lassannes, were placed in the wagons and -the little procession set out; but they were not destined to go far -that day. At the next village the barrier fell again. Believing that -the Germans were following close behind, they held hasty consultation, -as the result of which the old women decided to walk on with the -children, leaving M. Breda and Madame to follow as soon as the way was -clear. - -So the horses and wagons were put into a stable, and Madame and her -father sat down to wait. The slow hours ticked away, a shell screamed -overhead, another, then another. Soon they were falling in torrents -on the little street. Houses began to crash down, the stable caught -fire, the four horses and the wagons were burned to a cinder. Then the -house in which the refugees had sheltered was struck. They escaped by a -miracle, crawling on hands and knees. So terrific was the bombardment -they dared not go down the road. A barrage of shell-fire played over -it. With some dozens of others as miserable as themselves they lay all -night in a furrow in a beet-field, Madame trembling in her father's -arms, for shells were falling incessantly on the field and all around -them. At dawn the hurricane ceased, and they crept away. The road was -open now, they were on foot. They walked fast, then faster, hoping -every minute to overtake the children. The old women surely could not -have gone very far. But mile after mile was conquered and no news -of them could be found. No sentries had seen them, no gendarme had -watched them go by. They asked every one they met on the road, at first -hopefully, then, as fear grew, with clutching hands and fevered eyes. -But the answer was always the same. They had not passed that way. -Chance, Fate, call it what you will, brought Madame and the old man -to Bar-le-Duc, and there, soon after her arrival, she heard that her -husband had been wounded in the earliest of the fighting and was now -a prisoner in Germany. A prisoner and ill. Day after day dragged by. -She found employment on the farm near the town, she made inquiries, -exhausted every channel of information, but no trace of the children -could be found. - -And her husband, writing from Germany, demanded news of them! He did -not know that the farm was demolished, and that she was beggared. He -asked for parcels, for comforts. She sent them to him, by what supreme -effort of self-denial only she and the God she prayed to know. And she -wrote him little notes, gay, brave little notes. She told him all about -the children--how fat and how strong they were.... And Marie--ah, Marie -was growing tall--so tall.... And Roger was able to talk now.... - -God only knows what it cost her to write those letters; God only knows -with what agony she forced her tears back to their source lest one, -falling on the paper, betray her. She went about her work white-faced -and worn, hungering for the news that never came, and autumn faded -into winter and spring was born and blossomed into summer, and then, -and then only, did the shutter lift and a tiny ray of light come -through. - -Confused and frightened, the old women, burdened with the children, had -lost their way in the darkness and wandered back into the German lines. -They were now prisoners in Carignan (near the frontier); they managed -to smuggle a letter through. The baby was dead. There was no milk to be -had, so it died of starvation. Madame Breda had been offered freedom. -If she wished she would be sent back into France through Switzerland. -But the children's names were not on the list of those selected for -repatriation. - -"Could they go with her?" - -"No." - -"Eh bien, j'y reste." - -The shutter snapped down again, the veil enclosed them, and Madame -resigned herself to the long, weary waiting. - -Was it any wonder that such stories as this--and there were all too -many of them--filled us with hatred of everything German? In those -first months of personal contact with war we were always at white heat, -consumed with rage and indignation, and for my own part, at least, -desirous of nothing less than the extermination of kultur and every -exponent of it. As I walked home through the quiet afternoon, dark -thoughts filled my mind. What a monster one can be! What longing for -vengeance even the mildest of us can cherish! I thought of another -village not far from that of Madame Lassanne's home, from which three -hundred people had been driven into virtual slavery. Nearly all were -old--over sixty, some few were boys and girls of fourteen, sixteen, -eighteen, and of the old, eighty died in the first six months. - -It was a long time now since any news had come through, and those who -waited had almost given up hope of seeing their loved ones again. - -And we were impotent. With an effort I shook off despondency. I would -go and see Madame Leblan and rest a while in her garden. She was lonely -and loved a little visit. It would amuse her to hear about the Curé and -our visit to N.; any gossip would serve to drive away her memories. "Ça -change les idées," she would say. "It is not well to sit and brood." - -Neither is it well to walk and brood; yet here was I, foolish virgin -that I was, brooding like a moulting hen. Taking myself firmly in hand, -I turned down the rue de L'Étoile and opened the garden gate. - - -III - -Madame was only a poor peasant woman, but she had once been very -beautiful, and the old face was handsome still. The aquiline features -are well-modelled, the large blue eyes clear and steady, flashing now -with a fine pride, now with delicious humour; the head is well poised, -she is essentially dignified; there are times when she has the air of a -queen. - -Her husband is tall and thin, with a drooping moustache, and in -accordance with prevailing custom he keeps his hat on in the house, and -he is seventy-two and she is seventy, and when I saw her first she was -in her quaint little garden sitting under the shade of a mirabelle tree -with an ancient dame to whom only Rembrandt could have done justice. -Like Madame, she was short and broad, and without being handsome, she -was just bonny. She had jolly little eyes and a chubby, dimpled face, -and wore a spotlessly white and befrilled cap with strings that tied -under her chin and made you rather want to kiss her. She was just a -little _coquette_ in her appearance, and she must have been born in -prehistoric times, for she was "la tante de Madame Leblan." She didn't -live in the little cottage, she had a room just across the way, and -there I would see her sitting in the sun on a fine day as I turned in -at the garden gate. - -Of course we went down before her, and gave her of our best, for -she was an irresistible old thing, who could coax you into cyclonic -generosity. She would come trotting over to see us with a small basket -on her arm, and having waited till the crowd that besieged our morning -hours had melted away, would come upstairs looking so innocent and -so picturesque our hearts were as water before her. And then out of -the basket would come apples, or pears, or walnuts, with a honeyed -phrase, the little vivid eyes searching our own. Refusal was out of the -question, we were in the toils, knowing that for Madame we were the sun -in the heavens, the down on the wings of the Angel of Life; knowing, -too, that surely as she turned away would come the tactful hint, the -murmured need. And though periodically we swore that she should have no -more, she rarely went empty away. - -At last, because of the equality of things, we hardened our hearts. -She returned with walnuts. Our thanks being meticulously verbal, she -retreated thoughtfully, to reappear a few days later with three pears -and a remote _malaise_ that successfully defied diagnosis. We knew she -had her eyes on medical comforts, eggs, _bons_ for meat, etc., so the -_malaise_ deceived no one, while a cold gift of aspirin tabloids nearly -destroyed her faith in humanity. - -And all the time she was "rich"! No wonder she was _coquette_, she -could afford to be, for she had small _rentes_, and money laid by, and -had saved all her papers and her bank-book. So Madame Leblan, who had -left home with exactly twenty-seven francs in her pocket, told me, but -not, loyally enough, until she was sure that our gifts to La Tante had -ceased. - -She herself never asked for anything, save once, and that was for a -_paletot_ for Monsieur. In spite of his three-score-years-and-twelve, -in spite of the severe attack of internal hæmorrhage from which he was -recovering, he went to work every morning at six, returning at six -at night. Hard manual toil it was, too, much too hard for a man of -his years. How Madame fretted over him! How she scraped and saved to -buy him little comforts. And he did need that coat badly. I think I -shall never forget her face when she saw the warm Cardigan jacket the -Society provided for him. Her eyes filled with tears, she flushed like -a girl, she looked radiantly beautiful and then, with the most gracious -diffidence in the world, "You will permit me?" she said, and drew my -face down to hers. - -There was something about that old creature that made me feel ashamed. -What one did was so pitifully little, but she made it seem like a gift -of star-flowers bathed in the dews of heaven. It was her unconquerable -sense of humour that attracted me to her, I suppose. French wit playing -over the fields of life with an indomitable spirit that would not be -broken. - -When she was a girl her father used to say to her, "You sing too much, -some day you will cry," but though the tears did come she never lost -her gaiety of heart. When she married she was very poor; Monsieur's -father had been foolish, loving wine, and they had to make their own -way in the world, but she held her head high and did her best for her -boys. It should never be said of them that they were educated at the -cow's tail (à la queue des bêtes). Her pride came to her aid, and -perhaps much of her instinctive good breeding too. _Le fils_ in the -Garde Republicaine in Paris has much of his mother's manner. - -Leaving the cottage was a terrible wrench. They packed a few -odds-and-ends into a bundle, and she tidied everything, saying farewell -to the little treasures they had collected in forty-odd years. Silently -they locked the doors behind them, her eyes dry, the catastrophe too -big for tears. But in the garden Monsieur paused. "Les bêtes," he said; -"we mustn't leave them to starve. Open the cow-house door and let them -go free." As she turned to obey him her feet faltered, the world swam -in a mist of tears. She thrust the key blindly into his hands and -stumbled like a drunken woman down the road. - -Then for six weeks they trudged together. They slept in fields, in the -woods, under carts, in barns, they were drenched with rain and with -dew, they were often hungry and thirsty and cold. But they struggled -on until they came to Vavincourt, and there the owner of the little -house in Bar met them, and seeing what manner of people they were, lent -it to them rent free on condition that they looked after the garden. -How grateful Madame was, but how intensely she longed for home! How -wistfully she turned her eyes northward across the hills! How often the -question, When? trembled half spoken on her lips! What mattered it that -home was a ruin and she penniless? Just to be in the valley again, to -see the sun gleaming on the river. - -To help the time to pass less sluggishly by we had invented a little -tale, a tale of which I was the unworthy heroine, and the hero an -unknown millionaire. The millionaire with gold _jusqu'au plafond_, who -was obligingly waiting for me beyond the sea, and who would come some -day and lay his heart, his hand, and his gold-mine at my feet. And -then a _petit palais_ would spring miraculously from that much-loved -rubbish-heap at Véry, and one day as Madame and _le patron_ stood by -the door, they would see a great aeroplane skimming through the sky, it -would swoop and settle, and from it would leap the millionaire and his -blushing bride. And Madame would lead them in and give them wine and -coffee and a salad and _saucissons de Lorraine_, which are better and -more delicious than any other _saucissons_ in all the wide world. - -Only a foolish little story, but when one is old and one's heart is -weary it is good to be foolish at times, good to spin the sun-kissed -webs, good to leave the dark chamber of despair and stray with timid -feet over the gleaming meadows of hope. - -Her greeting rarely varied. "Je vous croyais morte," a reproach for the -supposed infrequency of my visits. She cried it now, though scarcely a -week had sped since I saw her last, and then with mysterious winks and -nods she hobbled into the house, to return a few minutes later with two -or three bunches of grapes and some fine pears. "Pendant la guerre -tous les scellés sont levés,"[6] she laughed, but I knew she had not -robbed her benefactor. The fruit she kept _en cachette_ for us, she and -M. Leblan deprived themselves of, nor could any remonstrance on our -part stay her. - - [6] During the war all seals are broken. - -"Where is your basket?" She had ordered me to bring one on my next -visit, yet here was I, most perplexingly without. But the fruit must be -carried home. She had no basket, no paper. _Méchante_ that I was, to -come without that basket. Had not she, Madame, commanded it? In vain I -refused the gift. She was inexorable. - -"Ah, I have it." She seized me with delighted hands, and it was then -that the uniform earned my bitterest reproach, for into its pockets, -whose size suggested that they were originally intended to hold the -guano and rabbits of agricultural relief, went the pears. One might as -well argue with a megatherium as with Madame when her mind was made -up. So I had to stand in the kitchen growing bulkier and bulkier, with -knobs and hillocks and boulders and tussocks sprouting all over me, -feeling like a fatted calf, and longing for kindly darkness to swallow -me up. Subsequently I slunk home by unfrequented ways, every yard of -which seemed to be adorned with a gendarme taking notes. I am convinced -that I escaped arrest and decapitation only by a miracle, and that -every dog in the town bayed at my heels. - -My agonies, needless to say, met with scant sympathy from my -companions. They accused me of flirting with M. Leblan, even while they -dug greedy teeth into the pears, an accusation it was difficult to -refute when he called at the house one evening and, hearing that I was -out, refused to leave a message, but turned up later and demanded an -interview with such an air of mystery Madame came to call me fluttering -so we thought the President of the Republic must be at the door. - -Still more difficult was it to refute when Monsieur had gone away, -leaving me transfixed on the stairs with two huge bottles of mirabelle -plums in my hands. I never dared to tell the three villains who made -life such a happy thing on the Boulevard de la Rochelle that Monsieur -was wont to say that if only he were twenty years younger he ... he.... -Can you guess what he?... - -Madame did. She knew, and used to tease me about it. She is one of the -few people in the world who know that I still can blush! Do you? No? -Ah, but then you have never seen Monsieur! You have never heard him say -what he ... what he ... well, you know what he.... - -There were no dark thoughts in my mind as I sped circuitously -homewards, skimming down a by-street every time a gendarme loomed in -view; I was thinking of Madame and of the twinkle in her eyes when she -talked of _le patron_, and of the long day spent at N., the story of -which had helped to drive away for the moment the most persistent of -her _idées noires_. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE BON DIEU - - -Now the coming of M. le Curé was in this wise. - -We were making up _paquets_ in the Clothes-room, we were grimy, -dishevelled and hot, we were in no mood for visitors, we were pining -for tea, and yet Madame insinuated her head round the door and -announced, "M. le Curé de N." She would have announced the Czar of -Russia, or President Wilson, or General Joffre, or the dustman in -exactly the same emotionless tones, and with as little consideration -for our feelings. - -"You go." - -"No. You." - -The tug of war ended, as such tugs generally do, in our going together, -smoothing hair that flew on end, flinging overalls into a corner -and praying hastily that the Curé might be an unobservant man. He -was. There was only one vision in the world for him; the air, the -atmosphere, life itself were but mirrors reflecting it; but conceding -that it was a large one, we found some excuse for his egoism. Large? -Massive. He was some inches over six feet in height and his soutane -described a wide arc in advance. His hands were thick and cushiony, you -felt yours sink into their pneumatic fastnesses as you greeted him; he -had a huge head, very little hair, a long heavy jowl, small eyes, and -he breathed fatly, thickly. His voice was slightly smothered. Many -years ago he had retired from his ministry, living at N. because he -owned property there, but the war, which called all priests of military -age and fitness to the colours, drew him from his life of ease and put -the two villages, N. and R., under his spiritual charge. His gestures -were large and commanding, he exuded benevolence--the benevolence of a -despot. There would be no divided authority in the Curé's kingdom. It -was not a matter for surprise to hear that he was not on speaking terms -with his mayor, it would have been a matter for surprise if, had he -been Pope, he had ever relinquished his temporal power. - -He wasted little time on the usual preliminaries, plunging directly -into his subject. At N. and R. there were refugees, _pauvres victimes -de la guerre dans la grande misère_, sleeping on straw _comme des -bêtes_, cold, half-clothed, in need of every necessary. He had heard -of us, of our generosity (he called us "mes bonnes dames," with just a -hint of condescension in his manner), he wished us to visit his people. -Wished? He commanded. He implied, by an art I had not thought him -capable of, that we were yearning to visit them, that our days would be -storm-tossed, our nights sleepless unless we brought them relief. From -mendicant, he transformed himself into benefactor, bestowing on us an -opportunity which--it is due to our reputation to suggest--we craved. - -It was well that our inclination jumped with his desire, for he was -quite capable of picking us up, one under each arm, and marching off -with us to N., had we refused. But how refuse in face of such splendid -faith in our goodwill, and under a shower of compliments that set us -blushing to the tips of our toes? We punctuated the flood or shower -with murmurs of, "C'est un plaisir," or, "On ne demande pas mieux." We -felt like lumbering elephants as we tried to turn aside his flattery, -but he merely waved a benediction and swept on. We would go to N. next -Wednesday; he, Monsieur, would meet us, and conduct us personally over -the village. He would tell us who were the good Catholics--not that he -wished to deprive the careless or sinful of our help; still, it would -be as well for us to know. We read "preferential treatment" on this -sign-post, and carefully reserved our opinion. When the visits were -over, we would go to his house and eat an _œuf à la coque_ with him, -and some _confitures_. His modest establishment ... a gesture indicated -an ascetic régime, the bare necessities of life, but if we would -accept?... - -"With pleasure, if Monsieur was sure it would not inconvenience him." - -"Mes bonnes dames," he replied grandly, "rien ne me dérange dans le -service du bon Dieu."[7] - - [7] Nothing inconveniences me when it is in the service of God. - -Of course it rained on Wednesday--rained quietly, hopelessly, -despairingly, but persistently. Nevertheless we set out, chiefly--so -great was Monsieur's faith in us--because it did not seem possible -to remain at home. We put on the oilskins which, with the uniform, -we had been led to understand would save our lives in France, but -the sou'westers we did not wear. There are limits. And when later -on we saw a worker clad in both, we did not know which to admire -most, the courage which enabled her to wear them, or the utter lack -of imagination which prevented her from realising their devastating -effect. - -So we left the sou'westers on the pegs from which they were never -taken, and arrived at N. in black shiny oilskins that stood out stiffly -like boards from our figures, and were almost as comfortable to wear. -We were splashed with mud, and we dripped audibly on the Curé's -beautiful parquet floor. - -We wished to begin at once? _Bon. Allons._ He, the Curé, had prepared -a list, the name of every refugee was inscribed on it. Oh, yes, he -understood _parfaitement_, that to make _paquets_ we must know the age -and sex of every individual. All was prepared. We would see how perfect -the arrangements were. - -No doubt from his point of view they were perfect, but from ours -chaotic. We climbed the village street, he like a frigate in full sail, -his wide cloak gathered about him, leading the way, we like two rather -disreputable punts towing along behind. You know what happened at the -first house--that illuminating episode of the _seau hygiénique_? Worse, -oh, much worse was to befall us later! He discussed the possibilities -of family crockery with a bluntness that was conducive to apoplexy, he -left nothing to the imagination; perhaps he thought the Britishers had -no imagination. - -In fact, his methods were sheerly cyclonic. Never had we visited in -such a whirl. Carried along in his wake, we were tossed like small -boats upon a wind-tormented sea; we had no time to make notes, we had -no time to ask questions, and when we had finished we had scarcely one -clear idea in our minds as to the state, social position, profession, -income, or need of those we had visited. Not a personal note (we who -made copious personal notes), not a detail (we who had a passion -for detail), only a blurred memory of general misery, or rooms -behind cow-houses and stables, through the filthy, manure-soddened -straw of which we had to pick our way, or rooms without glass in the -window-frames, of dark, noisome holes where human beings herded, of -sacks of straw laid on the floor, of rags for bedding, of human misery -in its acutest, most wretched form. The Curé talked of evil landlords -who exploited these unfortunate people, "Mais Dieu les punira," he -added unctuously. We wondered if the prophecy brought consolation to -the refugees. And above all the welter of swiftly-changing impressions, -I can see even now, in a dark room lighted only by or through the -chimney-shaft, a room filled with smoke that choked and blinded us, -a small child, perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty-four months old, who -doubled her fists into her eyes and laid her head on her grandmother's -shoulder, refusing to look up. - -"She has been like that since the bombardment," her mother explained. - -When the priest raised the little head the child wailed, a long, thin, -almost inhuman wail; when her grandmother put her down she lay on the -floor, her eyes crushed against her fists. - -"She will not look at the light, nor open her eyes." - -"How long has she been like this, Madame?" - -"Since we left home. The village was shelled; it frightened her." - -"We will ask our _infirmière_ to look after her," we promised, knowing -that the nurse in question had successfully treated a boy in Sermaize -who had been unable to open his eyes since the bombardment of the town. -And some weeks later we heard that the baby was better. - -Into every house the Curé made his way, much as Justice Shallow might -have done. In every house he reeled off a set piece about the good -English who had come to succour France in her distress, about our -devotion, our courage, our wealth, our generosity. He asked every woman -what she needed. "Trois couvertures? Bon. Mettons trois. Un seau? Bon, -mettons un seau. Sheets? Put down two pairs." - -We put down everything except what we most desired to know, the names -and ages of the half-clothed children--that he gave us no opportunity -of doing, was there not always the list?--we saw the Society being -steered rapidly towards bankruptcy, but, mesmerised by his twinkling -eyes, we promised all he required. Then he, who had been sitting on the -only chair, would rise up, and having told the pleased but bewildered -lady of the house that we were emissaries of Le bon Dieu, would stalk -out, leaving us to wonder, as we followed him, whether Madame ever -asked why the good God chose such strange-looking messengers. The -oilskins were possessed of no celestial grace--I subsequently gave mine -to a refugee. - -Luncheon! The good Curé stopped dead in his tracks. The _œuf à la -coque_ was calling. Back we trailed, still dripping, still muddy, even -more earthly and less celestial than before, back to the house that had -such a delicious old garden, and where fat rabbits grew daily fatter -in their cages. The table was spread in a panelled room hung with -exquisite old potteries. Seated solemnly, the Curé trying to conceal -himself behind a vast napkin, the end of which he tucked under his -collar, to us entered the _bonne_ carrying six boiled eggs in a bowl. -Being sufficiently hungry, we each ate two; they were more or less -liquid, so Monsieur tilted up the egg-shell and drank his down with -gulping noises, while we laboured unsatisfyingly with a spoon. Then -came the _bonne_ with a dish of grilled rabbit (it was delicious); we -ate rabbit. Then came a large dish of beans; we ate beans. We were -sending out wireless messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on -the horizon. The priest groaned over the smallness of our appetites, -and shovelling large masses of beans into his mouth, explained that -it is sinful to drink too much because the effects are demoralising, -depraving, bringing ruin on others, but one may eat as much or more -than one wants or likes, as a superfluity of food does no harm. A -little physical discomfort, perhaps, but that passes. Injury to the -spirit? None. - -Then he commented on the strides Roman Catholicism was making in -England, the most influential people were being converted--we thought -he must be apologising to himself for his country's alliance with a -people of heretical creed, but later on I realised that this idea is -very prevalent among the priests of the district. An old man at Behonne -congratulated me on the same good tendency. It had not occurred to -him that I was of another faith, so there was an awkward moment when -I--as in honour bound--admitted the error, but he glided over it with -characteristic politeness, and our interview ended as amicably as it -began. - -At N. we volunteered the information that I was Irish, which shed balm -on the Curé's perturbed soul. Though not of the right way of thinking, -one of us came of a nation that was. That, at least, was something, and -a compliment to the evangelising Irish saints of mediæval times--had -not one of them settled in the district, teaching the people and -bringing the Gospel-light into paths shadowed by infidelity?--steered -us round what might have been an awkward corner. - -The beans finished, there came a cheese of the country, rich and creamy -and good. We ate cheese, but we no longer looked at each other. The -cheese finished, in came a massive cherry tart; we ate tart, then we -drank coffee, and then Monsieur, rising from the table, opened the -door, stood in the hall and said ---- No. I think I had better not tell -you what he said, nor where he waved us to. If ever you go to N. and -have a meal with him you will find out for yourself. During lunch one -of us admired his really very beautiful plates. "You shall have one," -he said, and taking two from the wall, offered us our choice. Of course -we refused, and the relief we read in his eye as he hung them up again -in no way diminished our appreciation of his action. - -Then we paid more visits, and yet more, and more, and finally, the rain -having cleared, we walked home again in a balmy evening down the wide -road under the communal fruit trees, where the woods which clothed the -hill-side were to look like wonderful tapestry later on, when autumn -had woven her mantle of russet and red, and dull dark crimson, and -sober green, and browns of rich, light-haunted shades and flung it over -the trees. Walked home soberly, as befitted those who had dined with a -gourmand; walked home expectantly, for was not the list, the careful, -exhaustive, all-comprehensive list of the Curé to follow on the morrow? - -It was and it did, and with it came the following letter which we -perused with infinite delight. How, oh, how could he say that the miry, -inarticulate bipeds who trotted dog-like at his heels did their work -_avec élicatesse_? How, oh, how aver that we did it under his "modest" -guidance? - -Yet he said it. Read and believe. - - "Mesdames, et excellentes dames, - - "J'ai l'honneur de vous offrir l'hommage de mes sentiments les plus - reconnaissantes et les plus devoués pour tout le bien que vous faites - autour de vous avec tant de délicatesse et de générosité. Je prie Dieu - de vous benir, vous et tous les membres de vos chères families, de - donner la victoire aux vaillantes armées de l'Angleterre, de Russie, - et de France et n'y avons nous pas le droit car vous et nous nous - representons bien la civilisation, l'honneur et la vraie religion. Je - vous envoie ci-joint la liste (bien mal faite) des pauvres émigrés - que vous avez visités sous ma modeste direction. Il en est qui manque - de linge et pour les vieux qui out besoin de vêtements on pourra leur - donner l'étoffe, ils se changeraient de la confection ce qui je crois - serait meilleur. - - "Veuillez me croire votre tout devoué." - -The list was by no means all comprehensive, it was not careful, it was -indeed _bien mal faite_, and it exhausted nothing but our patience. Our -own demented notes were the best we had to work upon, and so it befell -that one day some soldiers drove a vast wagon to our door and in it -we piled, not the neat _paquets_ of our dreams, but blankets, sheets, -men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, _seaux_ and other -needful things and sent them off to N., where they were dumped in a -room, and where an hour or two later, under conditions that would have -appalled the stoutest, we fitted garments on some three hundred people, -while M. le Curé smiled wide approval and presented every _émigré_ -child in the village with a cap, a bonnet or a hat filched from our -scanty store. - -And then because the sun was shining and several batteries of -_soixante-quinze_ were _en repos_ in the village, we went off to -inspect them. The guns were well hidden from questing Taubes under -orchard trees, the men were washing at the fountain, or eating a -savoury stew round the camp kitchen, or flirting desperately with the -women. They showed us how to load and how to train a gun, and then the -priest, whom they evidently liked, for he had a kindly "Hé, mon brave, -ça va bien?" or an affectionate fat-finger-tap on the shoulder for -them all, bore us off to visit an artillery officer who had been doing -wonderful things with a _crapouillot_. We found him in a beautiful -garden in which, on a small patch of grass, squatted the _crapouillot_, -a torpedo fired from a frame fixed in the ground. Alluding to some -special bomb under discussion, the lieutenant said, "It isn't much, but -this--oh, this has killed a lot of Boches." - -He helped to perfect it, so he knew. We left him gazing affectionately -at it, a fine specimen of French manhood, tall and slender, but -strongly made, with clear humorous eyes, and breeding in every line of -him. - -I often wonder whether he and his _crapouillot_ are still killing "lots -of Boches," and whether he ever exclaims as did a woman who saw them -breaking over the frontier in 1914, "What a people! They are like ants: -the more of them you kill, the more there are." - -We would have liked to linger in the sunny flower-encrusted garden, but -R. awaited us. There with consummate skill we evaded M. le Curé, and -did our visiting under no guidance but our own. A quaint little village -is R., deep enbosomed in swelling uplands, with woods all about it, -but, like N., stricken by neglect and poverty. The inhabitants of both -seemed rough and somewhat degraded, a much lower type than the majority -of our refugees, but perhaps they were only poor and discouraged. The -war has set so many strange seals upon us, we may no longer judge by -the old standards, no longer draw conclusions with the light, careless -assumption of infallibility of old. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -PRIESTS AND PEOPLE - - -I - -Having tasted the delights of a mild vagabondage, we now turned our -thoughts to other villages, modestly supposing that by degrees we could -"do" the Meuse. (Had we but known it the whole of France lay before us, -refugees everywhere, and every refugee in need). Having requisitioned a -motor-car we planned tours, but first we investigated Behonne on foot. -It lies on the hill above the aviation ground, so let no man ask why it -came first in our affections. - -I suppose it would be impolitic to say how many sheds there were, or -how many aeroplanes we used to see squatting like great winged beetles -on the ground, and then rising so lightly, so delicately, spiralling -higher and higher, and then darting away with swift wing far into the -shimmering blue. - -Although Behonne is at the top of a hill, it has managed to tuck -itself into a hollow--so many French villages have this burrowing -tendency--and all you can see of it as you approach is the top of the -church spire rising like a funny candle-extinguisher above the ridge -of the hill. The village itself is dull and uninteresting, but the -surrounding country beautiful beyond measure, especially when the corn -is ripening in the sun; the refugees for the most part not necessitous, -having driven from home in their farm carts, magnificently throned on -feather beds and _duvets_, with other household goods. - -Two houses, however, made a lasting impression. In one, in a room in -the centre of which was a well (boarded over of course), lived a woman, -her two children, and an old man in no way related to them. The walls -were rotting, in many places straw had been stuffed in to fill fissures -and holes, the ceiling was broken, enterprising chunks of it making -occasional excursions to the floor below, and one window was "glazed" -with paper. The doors, through which rats gnawed an occasional way, -were ill-fitting; in bad weather the place was a funnel through which -the wind whistled and tore. The woman had one blanket and some old -clothes with which to cover herself and her children at night, the old -man had a strip of carpet given him by the Curé, a kindly old man of -peasant stock and very narrow means. The room was exceedingly dirty, -the children looked neglected, the woman was ill. - -In the other house was a cheery individual whose husband had been -a cripple since childhood. She told us she had four children, the -youngest being three years old. He came running in from the street, -a great fat lusty thing, demanding to be fed, and we learned to our -astonishment that he was not yet weaned. Eugenically interesting, this -habit of nursing children up to the age of two or even three years of -age is not uncommon, and it throws a strong light upon the psychology -of French Motherhood. - -A few miles beyond Behonne lies Vavincourt, sacred to the omelette of -immortal memory--but oh, what a day it was that saw us there! A fierce -wind that seemed to tear all the clothes from our bodies blew from the -north, there were some inches of snow on the ground, light powdery -snow fell incessantly. We were frozen as we drove out, we froze still -harder as we made our way from house to house, slipping and sliding on -the treacherous snow, absorbing moisture through our boots, staggering -like wooden-legged icicles into rooms whose temperature sensibly -declined with our advent. A day of supreme physical discomfort; a day -that would surely have been our last had not the Mayor's wife overtaken -us in the street and swept us into her kitchen, there to revive like -flies in sunshine, under the mellifluous influence of hot coffee and -omelette, _confitures_ and cheese. - -It was in Vavincourt that we first saw women embroidering silk gowns -for the Paris shops. The panels in pale pink were stretched on a frame -(_métier_), at which they worked one on either side; a common method, -as we discovered during the winter. In Bar-le-Duc we had come upon a -few women who worked without a _métier_, but as time went on more and -more _brodeuses_ of every description came upon our books, and so an -industry was started which lived at first more or less by taking in its -own washing, but later blossomed out into more ambitious ways. Orders -came to us from England, and a consignment of dainty things was sent to -America, but with what result I cannot say, as I left Bar before its -fate was decided. - -The Verdun and Nancy districts appear to be the chief centres of the -_broderie_ industry, the latter being so famous that girls are sent -there to be apprenticed to the trade, which, however, is wretchedly -paid, the rate being four sous, or rather less than twopence, an -hour, the women finding their own cotton. We gave six sous and cotton -free--gilded luxury in the workers' eyes, though sweating in ours, and -trusted to their honesty in the matter of time, a trust which was -amply repaid, as with one or two exceptions they were scrupulous to -a degree. The most amusing delinquent was a voluble lady from Resson -who glibly replied, "Oh, at least sixty hours, Mademoiselle," to every -question. - -"What, sixty hours to do THAT?" we would remonstrate, looking at a -small tray-cloth with a _motif_ in each corner. - -"Well, à peu près, one does not count exactly; but it was long, long, -vous savez." A steely eye searched ours, read incredulity, wavered; -"Six francs fifty? Eh, mon Dieu, on acceptera bien cela." And off she -would go, to come back in faith with the same outrageous story on the -next market day. Perhaps there is excuse for a debt of six francs -swelling to eighteen when one walks ten miles to collect it. - -Quite a hundred women inscribed their names on our _broderie_ -wages-sheet, the war having dislocated their connection with their -old markets. The trade itself was languishing, the workers scattered -and unable to get into touch with former employers, for Paris shops -do not deal direct as a rule, they work through _entrepreneuses_, or -middlewomen, who now being themselves refugees were unable to carry on -their old trade. It was almost pitiable to see how the women snatched -at an opportunity of working, only a very few, and these chiefly -_métier_ workers, being still in receipt of orders from Paris. Some -whom we found difficulty in employing were only _festonneuses_, earning -at the best miserable pay and doing coarse, rough work, quite unfit for -our purpose--buttonholing round the necks and arms of cheap chemises, -for instance. Others were _belles brodeuses_, turning out the most -exquisitely dainty things, fairy garments or house-linen of the most -beautiful kind. - -Of all ways of helping the refugees there was none better than this. -How they longed for work! The old people would come begging for -knitting or sewing. "Ça change les idées," they would say. Anything -rather than sit day after day brooding, thinking, going back over the -tragic past, looking out upon the uncertain future. Every franc earned -was a franc in the stocking, the _bas de laine_ whose contents were to -help to make a home for them once more when the war was over. And what -could be better than working at one's own trade, at the thing which -one loved and which lay in one's fingers? When the needle was busy -the mind was at rest, and despair, that devourer of endurance, slunk -abashed out of sight. For they find the time of waiting long, these -refugees. Can you wonder? Wherever we went we heard the same story; in -village or town we were asked the same question. Each stroke of good -fortune, every "push," every fresh batch of prisoners brought the sun -through the low-hanging clouds; every reverse, the forced inactivity -of winter, drew darkness once more across the sky. In the villages -the people who owned horses were fairly well off, they could earn -their four francs a day, but the others found little comfort. Work was -scarce, their neighbours often as poor as themselves. There are few, if -any, big country houses ruled by wealthy, kind-hearted despots in these -districts of France. In all our wanderings we found only one village -basking in manorial smiles, and enjoying the generosity of a "lady of -the house." The needy had to fend for themselves, and work out their -own salvation as best they might. The reception given to the Belgians -in England read to them like a fairy tale, and fostered wild ideas of -England's wealth in their minds. "All the English are rich," they would -cry; "have we not heard of les milords anglais?" They received accounts -of the poverty in our big cities with polite incredulity; if our own -people were starving or naked, why succour foreigners? - -Sometimes they smiled a little pityingly. "The English gaspillent -tout." Spendthrifts. And they would nod sapient heads, murmuring things -it is not expedient to set down. It may even be indiscretion to add -that between the French and the Belgians no love is set, some racial -hatred having thrust its roots in deep. - -It is in the winter that vitality and resistance-power run lowest, -especially in the villages, for though work may be found in the fields -during the summer, the long dark winter months drag heavily by. -_Brodeuses_ would walk eight miles in and eight out again in the most -inclement weather to ask for work, others would come as many weary -miles to get a hank or two of wool with which to knit socks and shawls. -Sometimes one woman would take back work for half a dozen, and always -our field of operations spread as village after village was visited and -the Society became known. - -They came in their tens, they came in their hundreds, I am tempted to -swear that they came in their thousands. Madame soon ceased to announce -them, they lined the hall, they blocked the staircase, they swirled -in the Common-room. There were days when all the resources of the -establishment failed, when _broderie_ ran short and wool ran short, -when there were no more chemises or matinées waiting to be made up, and -when our hair, metaphorically speaking, lay in tufts over the house, -plucked from our heads by our distracted fingers. They came for work, -they came for clothes, they came for medicine and medical attendance, -they came for food--only the very poorest these--they came for -condensed milk for their babies, or for _farine lactée_, or for orders -for admission to the Society's hospitals at Châlons and Sermaize, or to -ask us to send their children to the _Colonies des Vacances_, or for -paper and packing to make up parcels for husbands at the Front. They -came to buy beds and pillows and bolsters at reduced prices and on the -instalment plan, paying so much per month according to their means; -they came for chairs and cupboards, or for the "trousseau," a gift--it -may be reckoned as such, as they only contributed one franc fifty -towards the entire cost--of three sheets, four pillow-cases and six -towels, each of which had to be hand-stitched or hemmed, and marked or -embroidered with the owner's name. They came to ask for white dresses -and veils--which they did not get--for candidates for confirmation, -they came for sabots and boots, and sometimes they came for the whole -lot. - -"Well, Madame, ça va bien?" Thus we greeted a hardy old campaigner in -the street one day. - -"Eh bien, ça va tout doucement." Then with an engaging smile, "I am -coming to see you to-morrow." - -"Indeed? And what do you want now?" This looks crude, but we laboured -under no delusions where Madame Morge was concerned. It was not for the -sake of our _beaux yeux_ that she visited us. - -"Eh, ma fois, un peu de tout," she replied audaciously, and we shot -at her a mendacious, "Don't you know that distributions have ceased?" -which left her calling heaven and her gods to witness that the earth -was crumbling. - -Villagers who lived too far away for personal visits wrote, or their -Mayor or their priest wrote for them. We had by this time organised our -system, and knew that the person who could supply us with a complete -and detailed list was the Mayor, or his secretary the schoolmaster. - -Sometimes these worthies were hard of heart, assuring us that no one -in the commune was necessitous, but we knew from experience that the -official mind is sometimes a superficial mind, judging by externals -only, so we persisted in our demand, and were invariably satisfied in -the end. Others, and they were in a large majority, met us with open -arms, cheerfully placed their time and their knowledge at our disposal, -were hospitable, helpful and kind, and careful to draw our attention to -specially deserving cases. Once when on a tour of inquiry we stumbled -into a village during the luncheon hour. A regiment was resting there, -and, as the first English who presumably had set foot in it, we -were immediately surrounded by an admiring and critical crowd, some -imaginative members of which murmured the ominous word Spy. The Mayor's -house indicated, we rapped at the door, and in response to a gruff -_Entrez_ found ourselves in a small and very crowded kitchen, where -a good _pot-au-feu_ was being discussed at a large round table. The -situation was sufficiently embarrassing, especially as the Mayor, being -deaf, heard only a few words of our introductory speech, and promptly -wished all refugees at the devil. A list? He was weary of lists. Every -one wanted lists, the Préfet wanted lists, the Ministre de l'Intérieur -wanted lists. And now we came and demanded them. Who the--well, who -were we that he should set his quill a-driving on our behalf? - -"Shout 'Anglaises' at him." It was a ticklish moment. He was on the -point of throwing us out neck and crop. The advice was taken, the roar -might have been heard in Bar. - -"English? You are English?" - -Have you ever seen a raging lion suddenly transform itself into a nice -brown-eyed dog? We have, in that little kitchen in a remote village of -the Meuse. Our hands were grasped, the Mayor was beaming. A list? He -would give us twenty lists. English? Our hands were shaken till our -fingers nearly dropped off, and if we had eaten up all the _pot-au-feu_ -Monsieur would have deemed it an honour. However, we didn't eat it. -Monsieur's family was gazing at it with hungry eyes, and even the best -of Ententes may be strained too far. - -When we reached the street again the crowd had fraternised with our -chauffeur, and we drove away under a pyrotechnical display of smiles. - -Another day a soldier suddenly sprang off the pavement, jumped on the -step of the motor-car, thrust some freshly-roasted chestnuts into my -hand and was gone before I could cry, "Thank you." - -We met many priests in these peripatetic adventures, the stout, -practical and pompous, the autocratic, the negligent (there was one who -regretted he could tell us nothing: "I have only been fifteen months -here, so I don't yet know the people"), the old--I remember a visit -to a presbytery in the Aube, and finding there a charming, gentle, -diffident creature, a lover of books, poor, spiritual, half-detached -from this world, very close to the next. He had a fine church, pure -Gothic, a joy to the eye of the connoisseur, but no congregation. Only -a wee handful of people who met each Sunday in a side chapel, the great -unfilled vault of the church telling its own tale of changed thought -and agnostic days. - -But most intimately of all we came to know the Abbé B. who lived in our -own town of Bar, because, greatly daring, we rang one evening at his -door and asked him to teach us French. - -We had heard of him from Eugénie, and knew that he taught at the École -St Louis, that he was a refugee--he escaped from M. on his bicycle a -few minutes before the Germans entered it--and that his church and his -village were in ruins. But we had never seen him, and when, having rung -his bell, escape was no longer possible, an awful thought shattered us. -Suppose he were fat and greasy and dull? Could any ingenuity extract -us from the situation into which we had thrust ourselves? We felt sure -it could not, so we followed Eugénie with quaking hearts, followed her -to the garden where we found a short, dark man with a humorous mouth -and an ugly, attractive face, busily planting peas. We nodded our -satisfaction to one another, and before we left the arrangement was -made. - -Our first lesson was devastating. The Abbé credited us with the -intelligence of children, telling us how to make a plural, and how -by adding "e" a masculine word can be changed into a feminine; fort, -forte; grand, grande; and so on. Then he gave us a _devoir_ (home -work), and we came away feeling like naughty children who have been put -into the corner. His parlour was stifling, and how we rejoiced when the -weather was fine, and we could hold our class in the garden. I can see -him now standing by the low wall under the arbour, his gaze turned far -away out across the hills. "It is there," he pointed, "the village. Out -there near St Mihiel." - -For twenty-seven years he had ministered there, he had seen the -children he baptised grow to manhood and womanhood, and had gathered -their children, too, into the fold of Christ. He had beautified and -adorned the church--how he loved it!--year after year with tireless -energy and care, making it more and more perfect, more and more fit -for the service of the God he worshipped. And now it is a ruin blown -to fragments by the guns of friend and foe alike, and his people are -scattered, many of them dead. He came to Bar penniless, owning just the -clothes he stood up in, and he told me once that his income, including -his salary at the school and a grant from some special fund, was just -one hundred francs a month. Scarcely a pound a week. - -Once hearing me say that I was not rich, he asked me the amount of my -income, adding naïvely, "I do not ask out of curiosity," and I felt -mean as I dodged the question, for an income that is "not riches" in -England looks wonderfully like wealth in a refugee's parlour in Bar. - -All his dream, all his desire is to go back to M. and build his -church again. The church the central, the focussing point, then the -schoolhouse, then homes for the people, that is his plan; but he has -no money, his congregation is destitute--or nearly so--he cannot look -to the Government. Whence, then, will help come? So he would question, -filling us with intense desire to rush back to England and plead for -him and his cause in every market square in the land. He would go back -to M. now if they would allow him to, he will go back with or without -permission when the slaughter ends. - -"The valley is so fertile," he would say; "watered by the Meuse, it is -one of the richest in France. Such grass, such a _prairie_. And after -the war we must cultivate, cultivate quickly; they cannot allow land -like ours to be idle, and so we shall go back at once." - -"But," we said, "will you be able to cultivate? Surely heavy and -constant shell-fire makes the land unfit for the plough?" - -We knew what the ground is like all along the blood-stained Front, -hundreds of miles of it fought over for four interminable years, its -soil enriched by the hallowed dead, torn and lacerated by shells, -incalculable tons of iron piercing its breast, and knew, too, that -Death lurks cunningly in many an unexploded bomb or mortar or shell, -and that prolonged and costly sanitation will be necessary before man -dare live on it again. Yes, the Abbé knew it too, but knew that a strip -of his richest land lay between two hills, the French on one, the -Germans on the other, and not a trench dug in all the length between. -No wonder hope rode gallantly in his breast, no wonder he saw his -people going quietly to their labour, and heard his church bell ringing -again its call to peaceful prayer. And then he would revert again to -the ever-present problem, the problem of ways and means. - -Ah, we in England do not know how that question tortures the heart -of stricken France. Shall I tell you of it, leaving the Abbé for the -moment to look out across the hills, the reverberant thunder in his ear -and infinite longing in his loyal heart? - - -II - -A little poem of Padraic Colum's springs to my mind as I ask myself how -to make you realise, how bring the truth home to those who have never -seen the eternal question shadow the eyes of homeless men. One verse -of it runs-- - - "I am praying to God on high, - I am praying Him night and day, - For a little home, a home of my own, - Out of the wind and the rain's way." - -and it just sums up the refugee desire. - -You--if you are a refugee--had a home once, you earned a livelihood; -but the home is laid waste and bare, your livelihood has vanished, and -in all probability your savings with it. - -You buried what money you had in the cellar before you left, because -you thought you were only going away for a few weeks, and now the -Germans have found it. You know that they pour water over cellar -floors, watching carefully to see whether any percolates through. If it -does it is clear that the earth has recently been disturbed, so away -they go for shovels and dig; if it doesn't they try elsewhere. There -is the well, for instance. A carefully-made-up packet might lie safely -at the bottom for years, so what more suitable as a hiding-place? -What, indeed, says the wily Hun as he is cautiously lowered into the -darkness, there to probe and pry and fish, and if he is lucky to drag -treasure from the deeps. Or you may have hidden your all under that -white rock at the end of the garden. The rock is overturned to-day, and -a hole shows where the robber has found your gold. - -A gnarled tree-trunk, a post, a cross-road, anything that might serve -as a mark lures him as sugar lures the ant; he has dug and delved, and -searched the surface of France as an intensive culturist digs over -his patch of ground. He has cut down the communal forests, the famous -cherry and walnut trees of Les Éparges have all been levelled and the -timber sent into Germany; he has ripped up floors, torn out window -frames; he falls on copper and steel and iron with shrieks of joy; he -is the locust of war, with the digestion of an ostrich; he literally -"licks the platter clean," and what he cannot gorge he destroys. - -So if you are a refugee you ask yourself daily, "What shall we find -when we go back? How shall we start life afresh? Who will rebuild our -houses, restock our farms and our shops, and indemnify us for all we -have lost? France? She will have no money after the war, and Germany -will be bankrupt." - -What can we, sheltered and safe in England, know of such sorrow as -this? To say we have never known invasion is to say we have never known -the real meaning of war. It may and does press hardly on us, but it -does not grind us under foot. It does not set its iron heel upon our -hearts and laugh when the red blood spurts upon the ground; it does -not take our chastity in its filthy hands and batten upon it in the -market-place; it doesn't rob us of liberty, nor of honour, nor does -it break our altars, spuming its bestialities over the sacred flame. -Our inner sanctuaries are still holy and undefiled. Those whom we have -given have gone clear-eyed and pure-hearted to the White Temple of -Sacrifice, there to lay their gift upon the outstretched hand of God: -not one has died in shame. - -Whatever the war may have in store for us--and that it has much -of suffering, of hardship, of privation and bitter sorrow who can -doubt?--if it spares us the violation of our homes and of our -sanctuaries, if it leaves our frontiers unbroken, if it leaves us FREE, -then, indeed, we shall have incurred a debt which it will be difficult -to pay. A debt of gratitude which must become a debt of honour to be -paid in full measure, pressed down, and running over to those, less -fortunate than ourselves, who will turn to us in their need. - -And in the longed-for days to come France will need us as she needs -us now. She will need our sympathy, our money, our very selves. She -will no longer call on us to destroy in order to save, she will call -on us to regenerate, redeem, to roll away the Stone from her House of -Death, and touching the crucified with our hand, bid them come forth, -revivified, strong and free. - -Yes, there will be fine work to do in France when the war is over! -Constructive work, the building up of all that has been broken down; -work much of which she will be too exhausted to undertake herself, work -of such magnitude that generations yet unborn may not see it completed. - -A new world to make! What possibilities that suggests. Rolling away -the Stone, watching the dead limbs stir, the flush of health coming -back into the grey, shrivelled faces, and light springing again into -the eyes. Seeing Joy light her lamps, and Hope break into blossom, -seeing human hearts and human souls cast off the cerecloths and come -forth into the fruitful garden. Surely we can await the end with such a -Vision Beautiful as that before us, and--who knows?--it may be that in -healing the wounds of others we shall find balm for our own. - -The Return. If the French visualise it at all, do they see it as a -concrete thing, a long procession of worn, exhausted, but eager men -and women winding its way from every quarter of France, from the far -Pyrenees, from the Midi, from the snow-clad Alps, from the fertile -plains, winding, with many a pitiful gap in its ranks, back over -the thorn-strewn road? Is that their dream? Yet it may be that the -reality is only the beginning of another exile, as long, as patient, as -difficult to endure. - -Hard-headed, practical, unimaginative reformers of the world's woes -sometimes blame the refugees who have remained so near the Front. - -In Bar house-rent is high, living exceedingly dear. Legends such as -"_Le sucre manque_: _Pas de tabac_: no matches; no paraffin," are -constantly displayed in the shop windows, wood has more than doubled -in price, coal is simply _hors de prix_. Milk, butter and eggs are -frequently unobtainable, and generally bad; gas is an uncertain -quantity as coal is scarce, and has a diabolic knack of going out just -when you need it most. All of which things do not lend to the gaiety -of nations, still less to that of the _allocation_-supported refugee. -If troops are being moved from one part of the Front to another, the -_Petite Vitesse_ ceases from its labours and supplies are cut off from -the town. Farther south these lamentable things do not happen, but -farther south is farther from home. And there's the rub! For home is a -magnet and would draw the refugee to the actual Front itself, there to -cower in any rude shelter did common sense and _l'autorité compétente -militaire_ not intervene. - -So as many as possible have stayed as near the barrier as possible. -And--this is a secret, you mustn't divulge it--these wicked, wily, -homeless ones are plotting. They are afraid that after the war the -Government will bar the road now swept by German guns; that orders -will go forth forbidding return; that railway station _guichets_ will -be barred and roads watched by lynx-eyed policemen whom no bribe can -corrupt--they will be very special policemen, you know--no tears -cajole. - -And so they plan to slip back unobserved. If one is at the very door, -not more than the proverbial hop, skip and jump away--well, the magnet -is very powerful, and even Jove and Governments nod sometimes. And -just as the head drops forward and the eyes close, _hey presto_! they -will be over the border, and when the barrier closes down they will be -inside, and all the gendarmes in France will not be able to put them -out again. If they can't GO home, they will SNEAK home. They will get -there if they have to invent an entirely new mode of locomotion, even -if they have to live in cellars or shell-holes and eat grass--but there -may not be any grass. Didn't Sermaize live in cellars and exist on -nothing at all?--live in cellars and grow fond of them? There is one -old lady in a jolly little wooden house to-day, who suffers from so -acute a nostalgia for her cellar she is afraid to walk past the ruins -that cover it. If she did, she declares, the beautiful little wooden -house would know her no more. The cellar was as dark and as damp as the -inside of a whale, and it gave her a rheumatism of the devil in all -her bones, but she lived in it for three years, and in three years one -attaches oneself, _ma foi_, one forms _des liaisons_. So she sits and -sighs while the house-builders meditate on the eternal irony of things, -and their pride is as a worm that daws have pecked. - -So be sure the refugees will go back just as soon as ever they can go, -as the Abbé plans to go, caring little if it is unwise, perhaps not -realising that even if Peace were declared to-morrow, many years must -pass before the earth can become fruitful again, many years must set -behind the hills of Time before new villages, new towns, new cities can -spring from the graves of the old. - -Personally, I hope that some of these graves will be left just as -Germany has made them, that a few villages, an historic town or two -will be carefully guarded and preserved, partly because ruin-loving -America will pay vast sums to see them, and so help to rebuild others, -and partly because--am I a vindictive beast?--I want them to remain, -silent, inexorable witnesses of the true inwardness of the German -method and the German soul, if anything so degraded as she is can be -said to have a soul. "Lest we forget," these ghosts of towns should -haunt us for ever, stirring the memory and quickening the imagination, -a reproach to conscience, an incorruptible judge of blood-guiltiness, -which we should neither pardon nor forget till the fullest reparation -has been made, the utmost contrition has been shown. And it must be no -lip-service either. By its deeds we must know it. I want to see Germany -humbled to the very dust; I want to see Germany in sackcloth and ashes -rebuilding what she has destroyed, sending new legions into France, but -armed this time with shovel and with pick, with brick and with mortar; -I want to see those legions labouring to efface the imprints of the -old; I want to see Germany feeding them and paying them--they must -not cost France one sou; I want to see her in the white shroud of the -penitent, candle in hand, barefoot and bareheaded before the Tribunal -of the World, confessing her sins, and expiating them every one in an -agony not one whit less poignant than that which she has inflicted upon -others. Yes, let the destroyer turn builder. And until she does so let -us ostracise her, cut her out of our Book of Life. Who are we that we -should associate with the Judas who has betrayed civilisation? - -A refugee rarely spoke of the Germans without prefixing the adjective -dirty--_ces sales Boches_--and the Abbé was no exception to the -rule; indeed, he was plain-spoken to bluntness on most occasions. His -criticisms of our French compositions would have withered the vanity of -a Narcissus, and proved altogether too much for one timid soul, who, -having endured a martyrdom through two lessons, stubbornly refused to -go back any more. Which was regrettable, as on closer acquaintance he -proved to be rather a lovable person, with a simplicity of soul that -was as rare as it was childlike. - -Like the Curé of N., he presumed us Roman Catholic, asked us if -England were not rapidly coming into the light, and commented upon -the "conversion" of Queen Victoria shortly before her death. Though -it shook him, I think he never quite believed our denial of this -remarkable story, and have sometimes reproached myself for having -deprived him of the obvious comfort it brought him; but he took it all -in good part, and subsequently showed us that he could be broad-minded, -and tolerant as well. - -"Charity knows no creed," he cried, and it was impossible to avoid -contrasting his implicit faith in our honesty, his steady confidence -that we would never use our exceptional opportunities for winning the -confidence and even the affection of the people for any illegitimate -purpose, with the deep distrust of the average Irish priest. The -hag-ridden fear of Proselytism which clouds every Irish sky dares not -show its evil face in France, nor did we ever find even a breath of -intolerance tainting our relations with priests or with people. - -But then perhaps they, like the Abbé, realise that our error of faith -is a misfortune rather than a fault. Having been born that way, we were -not wholly responsible. Indeed the Abbé went so far as to assure me -that I was not responsible at all. - -"Then who is, M. l'Abbé?" I questioned, reading condemnation of some -one in his eye. - -"Henry the Eighth," he replied, with exquisite conviction, and I -gasped. Henry the Eighth! - -"Assurement." Had he not a quarrel with his Holiness the Pope, and -being greedy for temporal power renounced Catholicism in a fit of rage, -and so flung the English people into the profundities of spiritual -darkness? We--we other Protestants--are his victims; our error of faith -is one for which we shall neither be judged nor punished, but he ... I -realised that Henry deserved all my sympathy; he is not having too good -a time of it _là bas_. Of course it was comforting to know that we were -blameless, but privately I thought it was rather unfair to poor old -Hal, who surely has enough sins of his own to expiate without having -those of an obscure bog-trotting Irishwoman foisted upon him as well. - -"Yours," went on the Abbé, "is natural religion, the heritage of your -parents; ours is revealed. Some day I will explain it to you, not--this -very naïvely--with any desire to convert you, but in order to help you -to understand why truth is to be found only in the arms of the Roman -Church." - -It puzzled him a little that we should be Protestant, it was so -austere, so comfortless, so cold. "La scène-froide" was the expression -he used in describing our services, "les mystères" when talking of his -own. He denounced as the grossest superstition the pathetic belief of -many an Irish peasant in the infallibility, the almost-divine power of -the priesthood, and, unlike his colleagues in that tormented land, he -is an advocate of education even on the broadest basis. "Let people -think for themselves; if you keep too tight a rein they will only -revolt." - -That he detests the present form of Government goes without saying, -his condemnation being so sweeping the big pine tree in the garden -positively trembled before the winds of his rage. "Anything but this," -he cried, "even a monarchy, même un Protestant, même le Roi Albert. -Atheists, self-seekers all, they are ruining France," and then he -repeated the oft-heard conviction that the war has been sent as a -punishment for agnosticism and unbelief. - -For Prefêts and Sous-Prefêts he entertains the profoundest contempt, -even going as far as to designate one of the former, whom I heroically -refuse to name, a _gros, gras paresseux_,[8] and the Sous-Prefêts the -_âmes damnées_ of the Minister of the Interieur. How he hates the whole -breed of them! And how joyfully he would depose them every one! The -feud between Church and State has ploughed deep furrows in his soul, -and I gather that brotherly love did not continue long--supposing that -it ever existed--in M. when its waves swept the village into rival -factions. The Mayor, needless to say, was agnostic, and loyal to his -Government; the Abbé furious, but trying hard to be impartial, to -eschew politics, and serve his God. He might have succeeded had not the -spirit of mischief that lurks in his eye betrayed him and dragged him -from his precarious fence. He plunged into the controversy, but--oh, M. -l'Abbé! M. l'Abbé!--in patois and in the columns of the local Press. -Now his knowledge of patois, gathered as a boy, had been carefully -hidden under a bushel, and so the authorship of the fierce, sarcastic, -ironical letters was never known, nor did M. le Maire ever guess why -the priest's eyes twinkled so wickedly when he passed him in the street. - - [8] A big, fat, lazy thing. - -They twinkled as he told the story, thoroughly enjoying his little -ruse, but grew fierce again when he talked of Freemasons. To say -that he thinks Freemasonry an incarnation of the devil is to put his -feelings mildly. They are, he declares, the enemy of all virtue, -purity and truth; criminal atheists, hotbeds of everything evil, their -"tendency" resolutely set against good. They are insidious, corrupt; -defilers of public morals and public taste. - -"But, M. l'Abbé," I cried, "that is not so. In England----" I gave him -a few facts. It shook him somewhat to hear that the late King Edward, -whom he profoundly admires, was a Mason, but he recovered himself -quickly. - -"Perhaps in England they may seem good, there may even be good people -among them, poor dupes who do not see below the surface. THERE all is -corruption, the goodness is only a mask worn to deceive the ignorant -and the credulous. Ah, the evil they have wrought in the world! It was -they who brought about the war (its Divine origin was for the moment -forgotten), they were undermining Europe, they would drag her down into -the pit, to filth and decay." - -It was odd to hear such words from the lips of so kindly, so wise a -man, and one with so profound a knowledge of human nature. He told me -that in all his years of ministry at M. there was only one illegitimate -birth in the village--a statement which students of De Maupassant will -find it difficult to believe. - -We were talking of certain moral problems intensified by the war, the -perpetually recurring "sex-question," not any more insistent perhaps -in France than elsewhere, but obtruding itself less ashamedly upon -the notice. It was the acceptance, the toleration of certain things -that puzzled me, an acceptance which I am sometimes tempted to believe -is due to some deep, wise understanding of human frailty, of the -fierceness of human passions, the weakness of human will when Love has -taken over the citadel of the heart. Or is it due to fatalism, the -conviction that it is useless to strive against what cannot be altered, -absurd to fight Nature in her unbridled moods? - -The priest, needless to say, neither accepted nor condoned. He blamed -public opinion, above all he blamed the unbelief of the people, and -then he told me of M. and the purity of the life there. Only one girl -in all those years, and she, after her baby was born, led so exemplary, -so modest a life that its father subsequently married her, and together -they built up one of the happiest homes in the village. (You will -gather that the Abbé was not above entertaining at least one popular -superstition in that he insinuated that all the blame rested on the -shoulders of the woman.) - -One other story he told me which flashed a white light upon his soul. -A certain atheist, one of his bitterest enemies, came to him one day -in deep distress of mind. His wife, an unbeliever like himself, was -dying, and, dying, was afraid. The man was rich, and thought he could -buy his way and hers into the Kingdom of Heaven. But the Abbé refused -his gold. "You cannot buy salvation nor ease of conscience," he said -sternly. "Keep your money; God wants your heart, and not your purse." -He attended the woman, gave her Christian burial, and asked exactly -the legal fee. Not one penny more would he take, nor could all the -atheist's prayers move him. - -He told me that he would not bury a man or a woman living in what he -called _le concubinage civile_, people married by the State only and -not by Church and State. For these, he said, there could only be the -burial of a dog, for they lived in sin, knowing their error as do the -contractors of mixed marriages if they do not ask for and receive a -dispensation. The rules governing these latter appear to be much the -same as those which hold good in Ireland. No service in a Protestant -church is permitted, and the Protestant must promise that all children -born of the union shall be baptised and brought up in the Catholic -faith. There is no written contract, and the promise may, of course, be -broken, but if the Catholic is a party to it he is guilty of mortal sin. - -You will see that as our classes ran their course--and circumstances -decreed that I should take the final lessons alone--we got very far -away from "s" for plural and "e" for feminine. Exercises corrected, -many an interesting half-hour we passed in the little parlour, and -many a tale of the trenches the Abbé gathered up for us, and many a -"well-founded, authentic" prophecy of the speedy termination of the -war. Ah, he was so sure he would be in his beloved M. this winter. -Did not his friend the Editor of--he mentioned a leading Paris -journal--tell him so? - -But this is the war of the unforeseen. Perhaps that is why some of us -dare to believe that when the end comes it will come suddenly, swiftly, -like thunder pealing through the heavy stillness of a breathless, -sullen night. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -REPATRIÉES - - -I - -"Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, the children are coming!" - -Christmas had come and gone in a convulsion of parties, January -had dripped monotonously into the abyss of time. The day was dank -and cheerless, rain--the imperturbable rain of France--was falling -placidly, persistently, yet through the unfathomable seas of mud that -engulf Bar-le-Duc in winter I saw Madame Lassanne running towards me. I -was miry, wet and exceedingly cross; Madame was several times mirier, -her clothes were a sodden sop, but her eyes were like a breeze-ruffled -pool that the sun has been kissing. She clutched a telegram in one -shaking hand, she waved it under my eyes, she cried out something quite -unintelligible, for a laugh and a sob caught it and smothered it as she -fled. I watched her splash through the grey liquid sea--she was running -but she did not know it. The train was not due for an hour yet. - -Some days later I swam out to the farm (you don't walk in Bar in -winter unless you have webbed feet, and then you fly), and there I -found Madame Breda and the aunt whose name I have most reprehensibly -forgotten, and Roger and Marie, and yet another old lady, and Madame, -and they were all living in one small room and they all talked -together, and Roger--discerning infant--howled at my uniform, and -Marie stared at me out of great round eyes, and gradually little by -little I pieced together the story. - -When shells were falling on the village Madame Breda, as you know, -set off with the children, but turning north instead of south, walked -right into the line of battle. A handful of French (it was in August -1914) were flying before vastly superior German forces. They rode down -the road at breakneck speed. "Sauve qui peut!" The cry shattered the -air. One man's horse was shot under him. He scrambled to his feet, -terror in his eyes, for the Germans were close behind. A comrade reined -up, in a moment he had swung himself behind him and the mad race for -life swept on, the men shouting to Madame Breda to fly. "Sauvez-vous, -sauvez-vous." What she read in their eyes she never forgot. But flight -for her and the children was out of the question, they were literally -too frightened to move. A few minutes later they were toiling back -along the road to a little village called, I think, Canel, with German -soldiers mounting guard over them. There they were kept for six days, -during three of which no bread was obtainable, and they nearly died of -hunger. Then they were taken to Nantillois, their old home, where they -remained for two months. Food was scarce, the soldiers brutal. "There -are no potatoes," they cried to the Commandant; "what shall we eat?" -"Il y a des betteraves,"[9] he replied coarsely as he turned away. - - [9] Literally, "There is beet," but the peasants sometimes used the - word indifferently for any kind of root-vegetable such as turnips, etc. - -These French peasants must come of a sturdy stock, they are so -difficult to kill. They existed somehow--only the baby died. - -And then they were marched off again, this time to Carignan, once a -town of perhaps 2,500 inhabitants, of whom some 1,100 remained. Here -they were not treated badly, the garrison consisting of oldish men, -reservists, with little stomach for the atrocities that followed in the -wake of the first army. At Nantillois some ugly things appear to have -happened, but at Carignan the Mayor managed to _tenir tête_, behaving -like a hero at first and later like a shrewd and far-seeing man. - -Some day, I hope a volume will be written in honour of these French -mayors. Sermaize, left defenceless, was an exception. For the most -part they stuck to their posts, shielding and protecting them in -every way, raising indemnities from the very stones, placating irate -commandants, encouraging the stricken, and all too often dying like -gallant gentlemen when the interests of Kultur demanded that the blood -of innocent victims should smoke upon its altars. - -Madame Breda told me that the Mayor of Nantillois bought up all the -flour he could find in the mills and shops during the first week of -war, hiding it so successfully the Germans never found it. I confess I -received this information with frank incredulity, for knowing something -of the ways of the gentle Hun, I am profoundly convinced that if you -set him in the middle of the Desert of Sahara, telling him that a grain -of gold had been hidden there, he would nose round till he found it. -And it wouldn't take him long, for his scent is keen. But Madame was -positive. French wit was more than a match for German cunning, and the -flour was distributed by a man whose life would not have been worth -five minutes' purchase if his "crime" had been found out. - -In spite of the flour, however, and in spite of the washing that -brought Madame in a small weekly wage, "ce n'était pas gai, vous -savez." One doesn't feel hilarious on a ration of half-a-pound of -meat per week, half-a-pound of black bread per day, and potatoes and -vegetables doled out by an irascible Commandant. - -I wonder what we would feel like if we were obliged to go to a German -officer and beg from him our food? We would starve first? But what -if two small hungry children clutched at our skirts and wailed for -bread? When the American Relief came in and the people were able to buy -various necessaries, including bacon at one franc sixty a pound, things -were a little better. To those who were too poor to buy, that gem of a -Mayor gave _bons_ (free orders). - -And so the months went by. Then one day soldiers tramped about -selecting two people from one family, three from another, separating -mother from daughter, sister from sister, but happily this time -including the whole Breda family on their list. - -"You are to go away." - -"Away? Ah, God, where?" - -"Oh, to Germany, and then to Morocco." - -The poor wretches, believing them, were filled with infinite grief and -dismay. They were crowded into wagons and driven to Longuyon, herded -there like cattle for sixteen days, and finally taken through Germany -into Switzerland and thence into France. In Germany women wearing Red -Cross badges gave them food, treating them well; at the Swiss frontier -they were rigorously searched, a man who had one hundred and fifty -francs in German gold being given paper money instead, and losing, if -Madame Breda was correctly informed, thirty-six francs on the exchange. - -At Annemasse there is a _Bureau des Réfugiés_ so splendidly organised -that _repatriés_ can be put into immediate touch with their relatives, -no mean feat when you think of the dismemberment of Northern France. - -So behold Madame Breda joyfully telegraphing to Madame Lassanne, and -the latter waiting at the station with tears raining down her face, and -limbs trembling so much they refused to support her! - -Poor soul! The end of her calvary was not yet. Roger did not know -her. And his nerves had been so much affected by what he, baby though -he was, had gone through that for weeks he hid his face in his -grandmother's arms and screamed when his mother tried to kiss him. -Screamed, too, at sudden noises, at the approach of any stranger, or at -sight of a brightly-lighted room. No wonder he howled at the uniform. - -And old Madame Breda, staunch, loyal thing that she was, had been too -sorely tried. The long strain, the months of haunting anxiety and dread -had eaten away her strength, and soon after coming to Bar she sank -quietly to rest. - -She talked to me of Carignan once or twice, saying it was a vast -training-camp for German recruits, mere boys (_des vrais gosses_), few -over seventeen years of age. - -Once a French aviator, hovering over the town, was obliged to descend -owing to some engine trouble. He was caught, tried as a spy and -condemned to death. Asking for a French priest to hear his last -confession, he was told it could not be permitted. A German ministered -to him instead (what a refinement of cruelty!), and remaining with -him to the end, declared afterwards that he died "comme un héros, un -Chrétien, et un brave." - -Another aviator, similarly caught, was also shot, though both, by every -rule of the game, should have been treated as prisoners of war. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai calvaire qu'on souffre là bas," cried -Madame Breda, tears standing thick in her eyes; and thinking of other -_repatriées_ whom I had met and whose stories burned in the memory -I knew that she spoke only the truth. For _là-bas_ is prison. It is -home robbed of all its sacredness, its beauty, its joy, its privacy; -it is life without freedom, and under the shadow of a great fear. -Shall I tell you of those other _repatriées_? I promised to spare you -atrocities, but there is a martyrdom which should call forth all our -sympathy and all our indignation, and they, poor souls, have endured it. - - -II - -Madame Ballay is a young, slight, dark-eyed woman, wife of a railway -employee, into whose room I stumbled accidentally one day when looking -for some one else, an "accident" which happened so frequently in Bar -we took it as a matter of course. No matter how unceremonious our -entry, our reception was invariably the same, and almost invariably -had the same ending--that of a new name inscribed upon our books, a -fresh recipient gratefully acknowledging much-needed help. Almost -invariably, but not quite. Once at least the ending was not routine. A -dark landing, several doors. I knock tentatively at one, a voice shouts -_Entrez_, and I fling open the door to see--well, to see a blue uniform -lying on the floor and a large individual rubbing himself vigorously -with a towel. "Pardon, Madame!" he exclaimed, pausing in his towelling. -He was not in the least nonplussed, but for my part, not having come -to France to study the nude, I fled--fled precipitately and nearly -fatally, for the stairs were as dark as the landing, and my eyes were -still filled with the wonder of the vision. And though many months have -gone by, I am still at a loss to know why he told me to come in! - -But nothing will ever teach me discretion, and so I still knock at -wrong doors, though not always with such disastrous results, and often -with excellent ones, as it has enabled us to help people who would -have been too shy or too proud to knock at _our_ door and ask to be -inscribed upon our books. - -When the war broke out the Ballays, whose home was down Belmont way, -were living in Longuyon, where Monsieur had been sent some two years -before. They had very few friends, so when the mobilisation order -came, when from every church steeple rang out the clear, vibrant, -emotion-laden call to arms, Madame was left alone and unprotected -with her baby girl. There was no time to get away. The Germans surged -over the frontier with incredible swiftness, and almost before -the inhabitants knew that war had begun were in the streets. Then -realisation came with awful rapidity, for Hell broke loose in the town. -Shots rang out, wild screams of terror, oaths, shoutings, the rush of -frightened feet, of heavy, brutal pursuit. Women's sobs throbbed upon -the air, the wailing of children rose shrill and high; drunken ribald -song, hammering upon doors, orders sharply given! Madame cowering in -her kitchen saw ... heard.... She gathered her child into her arms. -Where could they fly for safety? The door was broken open, a German, -drunk, maddened, rushed in and seized her. Struggling, she screamed -for help, and her screams attracted the attention of some men in a -room below. They dashed up, and the soldier, alarmed, perhaps ashamed, -slunk away. Snatching up the child, the unfortunate mother fled to -the woods. There, with many other women and children, she wandered -for two days and two nights. They had no food, nothing but one tin -of condensed milk, which they managed to open and with which they -coloured the water they gave the children. Starving, exhausted, unable -to make her way down through France, she was compelled to return to -the town, three-quarters of which, including the richer residential -portions, had been wantonly fired. The few people she had known were -gone, her own house destroyed. She wandered about the streets for five -days and nights, penniless and starving, existing on scraps picked up -in the gutter, sleeping in doorways, on the steps of the church. Then -she stumbled upon a Belmont woman living in a street that had escaped -destruction. The woman was kind to her, taking her in and giving her -lodging, but unable to give her food, as she had not enough for herself. - -Madame was nearly desperate when some German soldiers asked her to do -their washing, paying her a few sous, with which she was able to buy -food for herself and the child. But she was often hungry, there was -never enough for two. The men were reservists, oldish and quiet, doing -no harm and living decently. It was the first armies that were guilty -of atrocities, and in Longuyon their score runs high. They behaved -like madmen. Ninety civilians were wantonly shot in the streets, among -them being some women and children. A woman, Madame said, took refuge -in a cellar with several children--five, I think, in all; a soldier -rushed in with levelled rifle. She flung herself in front of the little -ones, but with an oath he fired, flung her body on one side and then -killed the children. Soldiers leaning from a window shot a man as he -walked down the street. They caught some civilians, told one he was -innocent, another that he had fired on them, shot some, allowed others -to go free; they quarrelled among themselves, they shot one another. -Women, as a rule, they did not shoot. But the women paid--paid the -heaviest price that can be demanded of them; nor did the presence of -her children save one mother from shame. I have heard of these soldiers -clambering to the roofs and crawling like evil beasts from skylight to -skylight, peering down into dark attics and roof-rooms, searching for -the shuddering victims who found no way of escape. And then, their rage -and fury spent, they swept on, crying, "Paris kaput, À Paris, Calais, -Londres. London kaput. In a fortnight" ... and the reservists marching -in took their places. - -For seven months Madame Ballay was unable to leave the town. She knew -nothing of what was happening in France, heard no news of her husband, -did not know whether he was dead or alive. - -"But I was well off," she said, "because of the washing. There were -women--oh, rich women, Mademoiselle, bien élevées--who slowly starved -in the streets, homeless, houseless, living on scraps, on offal and -refuse. Sometimes we spared them a little, but we had never enough for -ourselves." - -Seven months jealously guarding the two-year old baby from harm and -then repatriation, a long, weary journey into Germany, a night in a -fortress, then by slow stages into Switzerland and over the frontier to -France. - -What a home-coming it might have been! But the baby had sickened; -underfed and improperly nourished, it grew rapidly worse, it had -no strength with which to fight, and M. Ballay, hurrying down from -Bar-le-Duc in response to his wife's telegram (she discovered his -whereabouts through the _Bureau des Réfugiés_), arrived just two hours -after the last sod had been laid upon its tiny grave. - -"She was my only comfort during all those months," the poor creature -said, tears raining down her face, "and now I have lost her." When she -had recovered her self-control I told her I knew of people who refused -to believe stories of atrocities, and would certainly refuse to believe -hers. - -"It is quite true," she said simply, "I SAW it," and then she added -that the reservists sometimes gave food to the starving women who were -reduced to beg for bread. "When they had it they would give soup to -the children, but often they had none to spare, and the women suffered -terribly." - -Think of it, in all the rigour of a northern winter. Think of this for -delicately nurtured women. Madame shivered as she spoke of it, and it -was easy to tell what had painted the dark shadows under her eyes and -the weary lines--lines that should not have been there for many a long -year yet--round her mouth. - - -III - -For us the whole system--if, indeed, there is any system--of -repatriation was involved in mystery. Convoys were sent back at erratic -intervals, chosen at haphazard, young and old, strong and weak, just -anyhow as if in blind obedience to a whim. No method appeared to govern -procedure, convoys being sometimes sent off just before an offensive, -sometimes during weeks of comparative calm. - -Probably the key to the mystery lay in the military situation; we -noticed, for instance, that many were sent back just before the -offensive at Verdun. Food problems, too, may have exerted an influence, -as every _repatriée_ assured us that Germany was starving. In the -winter of 1915-1916 so many of these unfortunate people crossed the -frontier, the Society decided to equip a Sanatorium for them in the -Haute-Savoie, near Annemasse. Many were tubercular, others threatened -with consumption, but no sooner was the Sanatorium ready than the -Germans, as might be expected, stopped the exodus, and it was not until -the following winter or autumn that they began to come in numbers -again. Of these, a doctor who worked among them for many weeks gave -me a pathetic account. Their plight, she said, was pitiable. They -wept unrestrainedly at finding themselves on French soil again; -even the strongest had lost her nerve. Shaken, trembling in every -limb, starting at every sound, they had all the appearance of people -suffering from severe mental shock; many were so confused as to be -almost unintelligible, others had lost power of decision, clearness of -thought, directness of action. The old were like children. There were -women who sat day after day, plunged in profound silence from which -nothing could rouse them. Others chattered, chattered unceasingly -all day long, babbling to any one who would listen, utterly unable -to control themselves. Some were thin to emaciation, others, on the -contrary, were rosy and plump. Of food they never had enough. That -was the complaint of them all. The American supplies kept them from -starvation. "One would have died of hunger only for that," they said, -but the Germans would not allow free distribution. What they got they -had to pay for, but in some Communes the Mayors were able to arrange -that penniless folk should pay after the war, _i. e._ the Commune lent -the money or paid on condition that it would be refunded later. - -Coffee made chiefly from acorns, black bread, half-a-pound of meat per -week (a supply which sometimes failed), these Germany provided--that is -to say, allowed to be sold, and it is but just to add that though every -woman declared that the Boches themselves went hungry, those I spoke to -added that they never tampered with the American supplies, though one -or two mentioned that inferior black flour was sometimes substituted -for white of a better quality. Paraffin was rarely obtainable, and fuel -scarce. - -Martial law, of course, prevails. House doors must never be locked, -windows must be left unbarred, there are fixed hours for going to -the fields, fixed hours after which one must be indoors at night. Any -soldier or officer may walk into any house at any hour he chooses. "You -never know when the butt-end of a rifle will burst your door open and -a soldier walk in." A man passing down the street and looking in at -a window sees a woman with her children sitting down to their midday -meal. It is frugal enough, but it smells good. - -He realises that he is hungry, he stalks in and helps himself to what -he wants. If they go without, what matter? Falsehoods of every kind are -freely circulated. France has been defeated; England has betrayed her; -the English have seized Calais; the English have been driven into the -sea; London has fallen. With the utmost duplicity every effort is made -to undermine faith in the Alliance, to persuade people that England is -a traitor to their cause, hoodwinking them in order to gain her own -ends. - -A peasant told one of our workers that she, too, had been a prisoner, -and though hungry, was not otherwise ill-treated. One day when she and -the other women went to get their soup the Germans, as they ladled -it out, said, "There is dessert for you to-day" (the dessert being -repatriation). "Yes, you are going back to France; but there is no -bread there, so we don't know how you will live. You must go through -Switzerland, where there is no food either. The best thing for you to -do is to throw yourselves into Lake Constance." - -It is by such apish tricks as these that the lot of the unhappy people -is made almost intolerable. - -No letters, no newspapers, no news, only a few guarded lines at rare -intervals from a prisoner in Germany--is it any wonder that the -strongest nerves give way, and that hysterical women creep over the -frontier to France? They are alone, they are cold and hungry, and oh, -how desperately they are afraid! They dare not chat together in the -street, a soldier soon stops all THAT, and at any moment some pitiful -unintentional offence may send them under escort into Germany. - -A woman owns a foal, chance offers her an opportunity of selling it; -she does so, and is sentenced to imprisonment in Germany for a year. -She has sinned against an unknown or imperfectly understood law. She -has no counsel to defend her; her trial, if she is honoured with one, -is the hollowest mockery. - -There is living in the rue St Mihiel in Bar-le-Duc, or there was in the -spring of 1917, a woman who spent six months in a German prison. Her -offence? A very natural one. She had heard nothing of her husband for -two years; then one day a neighbour told her she had reason to believe -that he was a prisoner in Germany. A hint to that effect had come in a -letter. If Madame wrote to a soldier in such and such a prison he might -be able to give her news of him. - -The letter was written, despatched, and opened by the German censor. -Now it is a crime to try and elicit information about a prisoner even -if he happens to be your husband, and even if you have heard nothing -of him for two long years. Madame was separated from her children and -speedily found herself in a German prison--one, too, which was not -reserved for French or Belgian women, but was the common prison of a -large town. Here she was classed with the "drunks and disorderlies," -the riff-raff, women of no character, and classed, too, with Belgian -nuns and gentlewomen, many of them of the highest rank, whose offence -was not that of writing letters, but of shielding, or being accused of -shielding, Belgian soldiers from the Germans who were hunting them down -like rats. - -Compelled to wear prison clothes, to eat the miserable prison fare, -work and associate with women of the worst character, many of them -had been there for years, and some were serving life-sentences. -Representations had been made on their behalf, but for a long time in -vain. Then as a great concession they were given permission to wear -their own clothes and exercise in a yard apart, but the concession was -a grudging one, and when one of the nuns dared to ask for more food she -was promptly transferred back again to the main building. - -When the release of prisoners is being discussed round the Peace Table, -it is to be hoped that the needs of these women will not be forgotten. - - -IV - -It happened to be my fortune to visit within a fortnight two women, -natives of Conflans-Jarny, both _repatriées_ and neither aware that -the other was in the town. Indeed, I think they were unacquainted. -Yet each told me identically the same story. One was the wife of a -railway employee, the other of rather better position and a woman of -much refinement of mind. Both came to Bar early in 1917, and both were -profoundly moved as they told their tale. - -"We did not know the Germans were coming," they said. "People thought -they would pass over on the other side of the hill." And so, in spite -of heavy anxiety, Conflans went about its usual affairs one brilliant -August day. There were only a few troops in the town--even the military -authorities do not seem to have suspected danger; but the sun had not -travelled far across the cloudless sky when down from the hill a woman, -half distraught, half dead with fear came flying. - -"The Germans!" she gasped, and looking up Conflans saw a wide tongue -of flame leaping upwards--the woman's farmhouse burning--and wave upon -wave of grey-coated men surging like a wind-driven sea down every road, -down the hill-side. The soldiers seized their rifles, their hasty -preparations were soon made, they poured volley after volley into the -oncoming mass, they fought till every cartridge was expended and their -comrades lay thick on the ground. Then the Germans, who outnumbered -them ten, twenty, fifty to one, clubbed their rifles and the massacre -began. There was no quarter given that day. "They beat them to death, -Mademoiselle, and we--ah, God! we their wives, their sisters, their -mothers looked on and saw it done." Conflans lay defenceless under the -pitiless sun. Some twenty-seven civilians, including the priest, were -promptly butchered in the streets, and one young mother, whose baby, -torn from her arms, was tossed upon a bayonet, was compelled to dig a -hole in her garden, compelled to put the little lacerated body in a -box, compelled to bury it and fill in the grave. Other things happened, -too, of which neither woman cared to speak. - -And so Conflans-Jarny passed into German hands. - -As time wore on Russian prisoners were encamped there. They worked in -the fields, in the mines and in the hospitals. - -"Ah, les pauvres gens! Figurez-vous, Mademoiselle, in the winter when -snow was on the ground, when there was a wind--oh, but a wind of ice! -they used to march past our street clad only in their cotton suits. -Some had not even a shirt. They were dying of cold, but they were so -strong they could not die. They were blue and pinched. They shook as if -they had an ague. Sometimes, but not often, we were able to give them -a little hot coffee; they were so grateful, they tried to thank us.... -(Tears were pouring down Madame Cholley's face as she spoke.) I worked -in the hospital because I had no money with which to buy food--they -gave me two sous an hour--and I used to see _les pauvres Russes_ -grubbing in the dust-bins and manure heaps looking for scraps; they -would gnaw filth, rotten vegetable stumps, offal, tearing it with their -teeth like dogs. Once as they marched I saw one step into a field to -pick up a carrot that lay on the ground. The guard shot him dead. And -those that worked in the mines--ah, God only knows what they suffered. -They lived underground, one did not know, but strange stories reached -us. So many disappeared, they say they were killed down there and -buried in the mine." - -Then silence fell on the little room, silence broken only by the sound -of Madame's quiet weeping. - -Presently she told me that the allowance of food was one pound of -coffee a month, coffee made chiefly from acorns, four tins of condensed -milk at nineteen sous a tin, for three people, and one pound of fat per -head per month. Haricot beans were not rationed, and bread she must -have had, too, but I omitted to make a note of the amount. There was no -paraffin, so in the winter she tried to make candles out of thread and -oil, but the latter was dear and scarce. Meat "had not been seen in the -commune for a year." - -"Oh yes, the Germans are starving." - -This was the text from which every _repatrié_ tried to draw comfort, -and it may be inferred that there was shortage in the villages. Once -I even heard of shortage in a hospital, my informant being a young -man, manager of a big branch store in the Northern Meuse, who had been -married just three months before war was declared. He was wounded in -August 1914 and taken to Germany, where one leg was amputated, the -other, also badly injured, being operated on at least twice. Yet in -December 1916 it was not healed. He was well treated on the whole, he -told me, but his food was wretched. Coffee and bread in the morning, -thin soup and vegetables at midday, coffee and bread at night. - -"When we complained the orderlies said we got exactly the same food as -they did," and he, too, added the unfailing, "Germany is starving." - -A pathetic little picture he and his wife made in their shabby room, -she a young, pretty, capable thing who nursed him assiduously, he -helpless on his _chaise-longue_ with yet another operation hanging -over him. The wound was suppurating, it was feared some shrapnel still -remained in the leg. Pension? He had none, not even the _allocation_. -He had applied, of course, but was told he must wait till after the -war. He had not even got the _Medaille Militaire_ or the _Croix de -Guerre_, though he said it was customary in France to give either one -or the other to mutilated and blinded men. - -There must be many sad home-comings for these _repatriés_. So many get -back to find that those they loved have been killed or have died while -they were away, so many return to find Death wrapping his wings closely -about the makeshift home that awaits them. - -"They sent me to Troyes because my husband was working on the railway -there, but for a whole day I could get no news of him. Then they said -he was at Châlons in the hospital. I hurried there--he died two hours -after my arrival in my arms." - -How often one hears such stories. And yet one day the world may hear a -still more tragic one, the day when the curtain of silence and darkness -that has fallen over the kidnapped thousands of Lille and Belgium is -lifted, and we know the truth of them at last. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN - - -I - -"The French are evacuating some villages near Verdun, and I hear there -are a number of refugees at the Marché Couvert to-night," one of the -coterie remarked as she came in one evening from her rounds. It seemed -a little odd that villages should be evacuated by the _French_ just -then, but we had long since ceased to be surprised at anything. In the -War Zone everything is possible and the unexpected is the probable, so -we piled on waterproofs and goloshes and woollies, for it was a cold, -wet night, and set forth in all our panoply of ugliness for the Covered -Market. - -The streets were as dark as the pit, only a pale cold gleam showing -where the river lay. The sky was heavily overcast, a keen wind cut -down from the north. The pavement on the quay was broken and rough, -we splashed into pools, we jolted into crevasses, we bent our heads -to the whistling storm, we reached the market at last. The wide gates -were open, and the vast floor, with its rows of empty stalls, loomed -like a vault before us. The heavy, sickly odour of stale vegetables, -of sausage and of meat, of unaired space where humanity throngs on -several days a week clutched at us as we went in. We were to become -very familiar with it in the weeks that followed--weeks during which -it daily grew heavier, sicklier, more nauseating, more horrible. - -On the left of the market as you enter from the quay there is a broad -wooden staircase which leads to a still broader wooden gallery that -runs right round the building. At the top we turned to the right. The -gallery was dimly lighted, dark figures huddled on it here and there; -we crossed the lower end and found ourselves in a wide space, really a -large unenclosed room which had been hastily improvised as a kitchen. A -short counter divided it into two very unequal portions, in the smaller -being some old _armoires_, two large steamers or boilers, a table piled -with plates, dishes and small and handleless bowls, used instead of -cups. Another littered with glasses, and in the corner a big barrel of -wine. - -Two or three women were probing the contents of the boilers; men -rushed excitedly about, one was chopping bread, another filling jugs -with wine, a _garde-champêtre_ with a hoarse voice was shouting -unintelligible orders, a gendarme or two hung about getting in -everybody's way, and in the outer space seethed a mob of men, women -and children in every condition of dishevelment, mud, misery and -distress. Five or six long tables with benches of the light garden-seat -variety crossed this space. Seated as tightly as they could be squeezed -together were more refugees devouring a steaming soup. Everything wore -an air of confusion; the light was bad, one paraffin lamp swaying -dimly over the scene. We saw a door, guarded by two officials, -_garde-champêtres_, or something of the kind; we passed through, and -there we saw a sight which I am convinced no one of us will ever -forget. - -Picture an enormous room, like a barrack dormitory. There are -windows--some five or six--on each side. Half-way down and opposite -one another there are two stoves in which good fires are burning. The -glow from the open doors falls on the gloom and throws into relief the -stooped figures, broken with fatigue, that cluster dejectedly round -them. A lamp throws fitful shadows. The air is brown. Perhaps you think -this an absurd thing to say, but it was so. It hung like a pale brown -veil over the room, and as weeks went by the colour deepened, and in -breathing it one had the sensation of drawing something solid into -one's lungs. It smelt, too, with an indescribable smell that became -intensified every day, until at last a time came when it required a -definite effort to penetrate it. It seemed to hurl you back from the -doorway; you began to think it must be sentient. It was certainly -stifling, poisonous, fœtid, and as I write I seem to feel it in my -nostrils again, seem to feel the same nausea that seized us when we -breathed it then. Over all the floor-space there is straw, thick, -tossed-up straw, through which, running past the stoves, are two narrow -lanes, one down either side. And on the straw lie human beings, not -many as yet, only those who have supped, or who, waiting for the meal, -have thrown themselves down in the last stages of physical and mental -exhaustion. Babies wail, women are sobbing, the _gardes-champêtres_ -shout in rough voices. Bales, bundles, hand-grips, baskets lie on the -straw; there an old woman is lying wretchedly, her head on a canvas -bag; here two boys are sprawling across one another in heavy, uncouth, -abandoned attitudes. - -We go about among the people talking to them, but they are dazed -and weary. Did we learn that night that the great attack upon Verdun -had begun, or did we only know of it some days later? So packed with -incident were those first days I cannot remember, but it seems to -me now that knowledge came later, and that we came home that night -wondering, questioning, our hearts filled with pity for those we had -left homeless upon that awful straw. - -We came again into the outer room. More refugees were arriving, little -groups of bewildered creatures, muddy, travel-stained, dog-weary, yet -wonderfully patient and resigned. There are no sanitary arrangements of -any kind in the building, there is not a basin, nor a towel, nor a cake -of soap of which the refugees can make use. - -The next evening we go again, supposing that the evacuation must be -complete, that this river of human misery will cease to flow through -the town, but little by little we realise that it is only beginning. - -Days lengthen into weeks, and still the refugees come through. We know -now that Verdun is in danger, that the Germans have advanced twelve -kilomètres; we watch breathlessly for news, the town is listening, -intent, anxious, and every day the crowds at the market grow denser. -We spend much of our time there now, we have brought over basins, and -soap and towels; we have put a table in the inner room, so that those -who will may refresh themselves and wash. The rooms are packed. There -must be at least three hundred or four hundred people, and still more -drift in. Some have been in open cattle trucks for thirty-six hours -under rain and snow, for the north wind has become keener and the rain -has hardened into fine sleety snow; it is bitterly cold, the roads and -streets are awash with mud, women's skirts are soddened to the knee, -men are splashed shoulder high. A number of people have fallen ill -_en route_, others, seriously ill, have been compelled to leave their -beds and struggle as best they might with the healthy in their rush -to safety. We hear that the civil hospital is full, that babies have -been born on the journey down--been born and have died and were buried -by the way. Despair rides on many a shoulder, fear still darkens many -eyes. Some have escaped from a storm of shell-fire, many have had to -walk long distances, for the railway lines have been cut. Verdun is -isolated--Nixieville is the nearest point to which a train may go--and -all have left their homes unguarded, some being already blown to atoms, -others momently threatened with a like fate. - -In spite of all our anxiety as we made our way to the market that -second night, laden with basins and jugs, _seaux hygiéniques_, and -various other comforts, we could not help laughing. We must have -cut funny figures staggering along in the darkness with our uncouth -burdens. Happily it WAS dark, and then not happily, as some one trips -over an unseen obstacle and is only saved from an ignominious sprawl in -the mire by wild evolutions shattering to the nerve. At the market we -cast what might be called our "natural feelings" on one side and bored -our way into the throng, our strange utensils and luggage desperately -exposed to view. _Que voulez-vous? C'est la guerre!_ The phrase covers -many vicissitudes, but it did not cover the shyest of our coterie -when, having deposited her burden on the gallery for a moment in order -to help a poor woman, she heard a crash and a round French oath, -and turning, beheld a certain official doing a weird cake-walk over -things that were never intended to be trodden upon by man. It was the -same shy member whose indignation at the lack of proper accommodation -bore all her native timidity away and enabled her to persuade the -same official to curtain off a small corner at the far end of the -gallery and furnish it as a toilet-room for the women, a corner which -to our eternal amusement was ever afterwards known as "le petit coin -des dames anglaises." However, the _petit coin_ was not in existence -for two or three days, and while it was in process of manufacture we -were more than once moved to violence of language, though we realised -that physical fatigue may reach a point at which, if conditions be -unfavourable, no veneer of civilisation can save some individuals from -a lapse into primitive ways. - -In the inner room the crowd was dense as we struggled in with our -apparatus for washing. There was something essentially sordid in the -scene. The straw looked dirty, the people were muddier, more wretched. -Many were weeping, and very many lying in unrestful contorted attitudes -upon the ground. In such a crowd no one dare leave her luggage -unguarded, and so it was either gripped tightly to the body, even in -sleep, or else was utilised as a pillow. And no one of those who came -in by train or _camion_ was allowed to bring more than he or she could -carry. - -All the misery, all the suffering, all the heart-break of war seemed -concentrated there, and then quite suddenly out of ugliness and squalor -came beauty. A tall woman with resigned, beautiful face detached -herself from the throng, a naked baby wrapped in a towel in her arms. -As unconcernedly, as unselfconsciously as if she were at home in her -own kitchen she came to the table, filled a basin with warm water, and -sitting down, bathed the lusty crowing thing that kicked, and chewed -its fists, gurgling with delight. - -It was the second time she had been evacuated, she told us. She had -seven children, her husband was a farmer and well-to-do. Their home -destroyed, they had escaped in August 1914, taking refuge in Verdun, -where they had remained, gathering a little furniture together again, -trying to make a home once more. She neither wept nor complained. I -think she was long past both. Fate had taken its will of her, she could -but bow her head, impotent in the storm. Her children, in spite of -their experiences, looked neat and clean, they were nicely spoken and -refined in manner. Soon the dusky shadows of the room swallowed her up -and the human whirlpool swirled round us once more, from it emerging -Monsieur B., the "certain official," and his wife who merely came to -look round, who made no offer to help, and who must not be confounded -with THE Madame B. who was the special providence of our lives. - -What Monsieur B. thought when he found us more or less in possession -I cannot say, but this I know--that he, in common with every one -with whom our work brought us into official contact, showed himself -sympathetic, helpful, forbearing and kind. He fell in with suggestions -that must have seemed to him quixotic to a degree; he never insinuated, -as he might have done, that our activities bordered upon interference, -nor did he ask us how English officials would have received French -women if the situation had been reversed! At first, thinking, no doubt, -that the evacuation was only an affair of two or three days, none of -the charitable women of the town thought it necessary to visit the -Market, so all the care of the unfortunates was left in the hands of -some half-dozen men; but later on, as the stream continued to pour -through, and the congestion became more and more acute, many women, -some after a hard day's work, came in the evenings and helped to serve -the meals. Of course, as soon as they took things in hand we slid into -the background, though we found our work just as engrossing and as -imperative as ever, but how Madame B. could have walked through those -rooms that evening and have gone away without making the smallest -effort to ameliorate the conditions baffled our comprehension. However, -she added to the gaiety of nations by one remark, so we forgave her. -Seeing some respectably-dressed women who had obviously neither washed -nor combed for days, we indicated the "washing-stand." - -"We are too tired to-night," they said. "In the morning...." - -"One would have thought they would have found it refreshing," we -murmured to Madame B., who was essaying small talk under large -difficulties. - -"Ah, yes, I cannot understand it. For me, I wash myself every night, -even if I am tired." The exquisiteness of that "_même_ si je suis -fatiguée" carried us through many a hectic hour. - -And hours at the market were apt to be hectic. The serving of meals -was a delirium. In vain we begged the guards to keep the door of -communication closed, and allow only as many as there was room for -at the tables to come to the "dining-room" at a time. They admitted -the soundness of the scheme, but they made no attempt to carry it out. -Consequently, no sooner was a meal ready than ravenous people poured -out in swarms, snatched places at the tables and filled up every inch -of space between, ready to fall into a chair the moment it was vacated. -We had to elbow, push, worm or drive a way from table to table, from -individual to individual; we grew hoarse from shouting "_Attention!_" -We lost time, patience, breath and energy, and meals that might have -been served with despatch were a kind of wild scrimmage, through which -we "dribbled" with cauldrons of boiling soup or vast platters of meat, -with plates piled like the leaning Tower of Pisa--be it written in gold -upon our tombstones that the towers never fell--or with telescopic -armsful of glasses and bowls. And against us rose not only the solid -wall of expectant and famished humanity, but the incoming tide of new -arrivals, all of whom had to pass between the tables and the serving -counters in order to reach the inner room. Sometimes six hundred had to -be fed, sometimes as many as twelve hundred passed through in a day, -and--triumph of French organisation--very rarely did supplies run out, -very rarely were the big tins of "singe"[10] (which the shy member -really supposed was monkey!) brought into play. The meals themselves -were excellent. Hot soup from a good _pot-au-feu_ made from beef with -quantities of vegetables, then the beef served with its carrots and -turnips, leeks, etc., that cooked with it, then cheese or jam, and -wine. Coffee and bread in the morning, a three-course meal at midday, -another at six--no wonder Bar-le-Duc was eulogised. Never had such a -reception been dreamed of. "The food was delicious, excellent.... We -shall have grateful memories of Bar." - - [10] Singe (monkey), the soldier-slang for bully-beef. - -But the awful sleeping accommodation weighed heavily on our -consciences--the brown pall of atmosphere, the fœtid SOLID smell, the -murky lamp, the fitful glow of the fires, and on the floor on the dirty -inadequate straw a dense mass of human beings. Lying in their clothes -just as they came from the station, or as they left the big _camions_ -in which many were driven down, not daring even to unlace their boots, -they were wedged so tightly we thought not even a child could have -found space. Some, tossing in their sleep, had flung themselves across -neighbours too exhausted to protest; acute discomfort was suggested -in every pose; many were sitting up, propped against their bundles; -children lay anyhow, a heterogenous mass of arms and legs, or pillowed -their heads against their mothers. - -"Surely," it was said as we came away, "surely the cup of human misery -has never been so full." - -Yet we were told the next day that during the night a fresh convoy -had come in, and that the _garde-champêtre_, tramping up and down the -narrow lane in the straw, shouted, "Serrez-vous, serrez-vous," forcing -the wretched creatures to be in still closer proximity, to sleep in -even greater discomfort. - - -II - -Soon the numbers grew too large for the space, and the long gallery -running down from the "dining-room" was converted into a sleeping -apartment, a screen of white calico or linen serving as an outer wall. -The upper end through which we passed in order to gain access to -the original rooms was utilised for meals, a number of tables being -brought in and ranged as closely as possible together. Even then the -congestion and confusion continued; they were, indeed, an integral part -of all Marché Couvert activities, but to our great relief the sleeping -quarters were improved. A number of palliasse cases, the gift of a -rich woman of the town, were filled with straw, and over most we were -able to pin detachable slips made from wheat bags, an immense number -of which--made from strong, but soft linen thread--had been offered -to us at a moderate price by the Chamber of Commerce acting through -the Mayor. Three of these, or four, according to the size required, -sewn cannily together made excellent sheets--greatly sought after by -the refugees--indeed, we turned them to all kinds of use as time went -on. The slips were invaluable now, as, needless to say, the palliasse -covers would have been in a disgusting condition in a week, but it -was not until the Society presented the new dormitory with twelve -iron bedsteads and some camp beds that we felt that Civilisation was -lifting up her head again. The beds were placed together at the far end -of the dormitory and were primarily intended for sick people or for -better-class women who, unable to find a lodging in the town, had to -accept the doubtful hospitality of the market. Unhappily there were -many of these, and it was heartrending to see women sitting up in the -comfortless chairs all night in the cold eating-place rather than face -the horror of the straw and the crowded common-room. - -Once the beds were installed that contingency no longer arose, though -Heaven knows the new apartment was squalid and miserable enough; the -beds ranged at the lower end, the palliasses running in close-packed -rows by each wall, space enough in the middle to walk between, but no -more. - -One day we found one of our camp beds at the upper end with a -fox-terrier sitting on it, and on inquiry were told that a _garde_ -had taken it, evicting two poor old women as he did so. Now we had -never intended those beds for lusty officials, so we very naturally -protested, but a more than tactful hint reduced us to silence. The -_gardes_ had it in their power to make things very unpleasant for us -if they felt so inclined; it would be politic to say nothing. Having -no official standing, we said nothing. What we thought is immaterial. -Later the gendarme was the Don Juan of an incident to which only a Guy -de Maupassant could do justice. There, in all that misery, in that -makeshift apartment packed with suffering humanity, with children and -young girls, with modest and disgusted women looking on, human passions -broke through every code of decency and restraint. The scandal lasted -for three days, then the woman was sent away. - -Meanwhile the news from Verdun was becoming graver. The roads were cut -to pieces, motor-cars, gun-carriages, _camions_ were burying themselves -axle-deep in the mire; one road impassable, another was made, but by -the time the first was repaired the second was a slough. The weather, -always in league with the Germans, showed no sign of taking up, wet -snow was falling heavily.... "Three more days of this and Verdun must -fall." - -Soldiers subsequently told us that it was the _camion_ drivers who -saved the situation, for they stuck to their wagons day and night, -one snatching rest and sleep while another drove. They poured through -Bar-le-Duc in hundreds, the roar of traffic thundering down the -Boulevard all day long. In the night we would lie awake listening. It -sounded like a rough sea dragging back from a stone-strewn shore. Once, -if soldier tales be true, "the Boches could have walked into Verdun -with their rifles over their shoulders. Four days and four nights we -lay in the open, Mademoiselle. Our trenches were blown to pieces, we -were cut off by the barrage, we had no food but our emergency rations, -no ammunition could reach us. Then our guns became silent. The Boches, -thinking it was a ruse, a trap, were afraid to come on. They thought we -were reserving fire to mow them down at close quarters, so they waited -twelve hours, and during that time our _camions_ brought the ammunition -up, and when they did come on we were ready for them." - -One lad of twenty, who told me the same tale, was home on leave when I -chanced to visit his mother and found the family at lunch. To celebrate -his return they were having a little feast--the feast consisting of -a tin of sardines and a bottle of red wine, in addition to the usual -soup and bread. The boy was a handsome creature, full of life and high -spirits, and in no way daunted by experiences that would have tried -the nerve of many an older man. He had been buried alive three times, -twice by the collapse of a trench, once by that of a dug-out into which -he and four others crawled under a storm of shells. "Fortunately I was -the first to go in, for a shell burst just outside, _ploomb_! killed -three and wounded one of my companions. The wounded man and I dug and -scratched our way out at the back." - -He, too, he said, had been without food for four days. - -"Weren't you hungry?" his mother asked, but he shook his head. - -"One isn't hungry when the _copain_ (pal) on the right is blown to -atoms, and the _copain_ on the left is bleeding to death." Then -followed casualty details that filled us with horror. - -"I saw men go mad up there. They dashed their brains out against walls, -they shot themselves. Oh, it was just hell! The shells fell so thick -you could hardly put a franc between them--thousands in an hour. The -French lost heavily, but the Germans.... I tell you, Mademoiselle, I -have seen them climbing over a wall of their own dead that high"--he -touched his breast--"to get at us. They came on in close formation, -drunk with ether. Oh, yes, it is quite true, we could smell the ether -in the French trenches. I have seen the first lines throw away their -rifles and link arms as they staggered to attack. Oh, we _fauché'd_ -them! But for me, I like the bayonet, you drive it in, you twist it -round"--he made an expressive noise impossible to reproduce--"they are -afraid of the bayonet, the Boches. Ah, it is fine...." - -He is the only man I have ever spoken to who told me he wanted to go -back. - -Day after day we watched breathlessly for the _communiqués_; evening -after evening we went to the market hoping for better news, but there -was no lifting as yet in the storm-cloud that hung above the horizon. -And still the refugees poured through. We spent the greater part of -each day at the market now, snatching meals at odd hours, and turning -our hands to anything. We swept floors, we stuffed palliasses with -straw--but we don't recommend this as a parlour game--we helped to -serve meals, we washed never-diminishing piles of plates and bowls, -forks and knives, we put old ladies to bed, we made cups of chocolate -for them when they were unable to tackle the _pot-au-feu_, we chopped -mountains of bread and cheese (our hands were like charwomen's), we -distributed chocolate and "scarlet stew"--both gifts from the American -Relief Committee--we sorted the sheep from the goats at night and--the -_garde_ apart--kept the new dormitory select. We became expert in -cutting up enormous joints of meat, our implements a short-handled -knife invariably coated with grease, a fork when we could get one, and -a small wooden board. So expert, indeed, that one day a woman hovered -round as we sliced and cut and hacked, watching us intently for some -minutes. Then, "Are you a butcher?" she asked. It was an equivocal -compliment, but well meant. You see, she was a butcher herself, and I -suppose it would have comforted her to talk to one of the fraternity. - -And as we slice the turmoil rises round us. A woman sits down to table -and bursts into violent uncontrolled weeping; a poor old creature -wanders forlornly about, finally making her way past the counter to -the boiler where the soup is bubbling. What does she want? "To put -some wood on the fire. She is cold, and where is her chair? Some one -has taken it away." Her brain has given way under the strain of the -last five days and she thinks she is at home. Snatches of conversation -float above the din. "It is three days since I have touched hot food." -"We slept in the fields last night." "Mais abandonner tout." Tears -follow this pathetic little phrase. A man and woman together, both over -eighty, white-haired and palsied, stray up to the counter. They cannot -eat, they want so very little, just some wine. The woman's skirts -drip as she waits; she has fallen into a stream as she fled from the -bombardment. They are established in a corner where they mutter and -nod, gibberish mostly, for the old man's wits are wandering. - -Suddenly the table begins to rock, one end rises convulsively from the -ground, plates and dishes begin to slide ominously. An earthquake? -Only a great brindled hound that some one tied to the table leg when -we were not watching. He lay down, slept happily, smelled dinner, has -risen to his majestic height and a wreck is upon us. The table sways -more ominously, then Fate, in the shape of the pretty Pre-Raphaelitish -_femme-de-ménage_ of the market, swoops down upon him and sends him -yowling into the crowd, through which he cuts a cataclysmal way. Dogs -materialise out of space, we are sometimes tempted to believe. They -live desperate lives, are under everybody's feet, appear, and disappear -meteor-wise, leaving trails of oaths behind them. A small child plants -himself on the floor, and seizing one of these itinerant quadrupeds, -tries to make it eat its own tail. The dog prefers to eat the child; -a wild skirmish ensues, there are shrieks and yowls that rend the -heavens, then a covey of women kick the dog into space, and snatching -up the child, carry him to the inner room, where they hold a parliament -over him amid a babel of tongues that puts biblical history to shame. - -A soldier, mud-stained, down from the trenches, comes to look for -his wife; a tall girl in a black straw cart-wheel hat, plentifully -adorned with enormous white daisies, flits here and there; a coarse, -burly man who has looked on the wine when it is red and who is wearing -a _peau-de-bicque_ (goat-skin coat), which I regard with every -suspicion, tries to thrust half-a-franc into my hand. Then comes an -alarm. The refugees are not told of it, but thirty Taubes are said to -be approaching the town. The meal goes on a little more breathlessly, -and we carry soup and meat wondering what will happen if the sickening -crash comes. But the French _avions_ chase the Germans away.... Late -that night I saw the half-witted old woman asleep on the floor, sitting -up, her back propped against a child's body, her knees drawn up to her -mouth. - - -III - -"There are refugees at the Ferme du Popey too." - -Surely there are refugees everywhere! The quarters at the market -have long since proved grotesquely inadequate, for not even the -"Serrez-vous, serrez-vous" of the _garde_ could pack three people -upon floor space for one, so schoolrooms and barrack-rooms were -requisitioned elsewhere, and now even the resources of the farm are -being drawn upon. The procession of broken, despairing people seemed -never-ending. We met them in every street, trailing pitifully through -the mire, or leading farm wagons piled high with household goods. Those -at the farm had all come down in carts, it was said, many being days -on the road, so, thinking we might be of use, we waded out to find the -extensive _basse-cour_ a scene of strange confusion. - -Soldiers in horizon-blue were cooking food in their regimental kitchens -for famished women and children, others were watering horses at the -pond; through the archway at the end we could see yet others hanging -socks and underlinen upon the fence; beyond ran the canal guarded by -its sentinel trees. Wagons filled the yard, men were shouting and -talking, officials moved busily here and there. We climbed a glorified -ladder to a long, low, straw-strewn loft which was murkily dark, the -windows unglazed, being covered by coarse matting which flapped in the -wind. Here a number of women were lying or talking in subdued groups -while children scrambled restlessly about, the squalor and misery being -heartrending. They were leaving immediately, there was nothing to be -done, so, having chatted with a few, we went away, telling a harassed -official that we were at his service if he had need of us. - -A day or two later this offer had strange fruit, for a horde of -excited people descended upon the Boulevard, rang at our door, swarmed -into the hall and demanded sabots. Now it happened that a short time -before a case of sabots had been sent to us by the American Relief -Committee (always generous supporters, supplying many a need)--a -case so vast that both wings of our front door had to be opened to -admit it--so we were able to invite the horde to satisfy its needs. -Instantly the hall became a pandemonium. They flung themselves upon -the box, they snatched, they grabbed, they chattered in high, shrill -voices--Meusienne women of the working-classes generally talk in a -strident scream--they tried on sabots, they flung sabots back into the -box; in short, they behaved very much as people do behave when their -cupidity is aroused and their nervous systems exhausted by an almost -unendurable strain. - -The commotion, rising in a steady crescendo, had risen _forte_, -_fortissimo_, when bo-o-om! thud! bo-o-om! bombs began to fall on the -town. The clamour in the hall died away, sabots dropped from nerveless -fingers. Bo-o-om! The cellar? _Où est-ce?_ Some one leads the way, and -then, while clamour of another kind seizes the skies, in the icy cellar -the mob of half-distraught creatures fall on their knees and chant the -Rosary. - -As a mist is wiped from a mirror by the passage over it of a cloth, -angers, passions, greeds were wiped from their eyes, their voices sank -to a quiet murmur. Like children they prayed, and the Holy Spirit -brooded for one brief moment over hearts that yearned to God. - -Then the raid ended, silence fell on the town, but round the sabot-box, -like gulls that scream above a shoal of fish, rapacity swooped and -dived, and its voice, sea-gull shrill, bit through the air. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MORE STORM-WRACK - - -A small volume might be written about those days at the Marché Couvert, -about the war gossip that circulated, the adventures that were related. - -In spite of the terrific shelling of Verdun only one civilian -was reported to have been killed during that first week, and she -imprudently left her cellar. The bombardment was methodical. Three -minutes storm, then three minutes calm, then three minutes storm again. -Then the pulse-beat lengthened: fifteen minutes storm, fifteen minutes -calm. A priest told Madame B. that, stop-watch in hand, he was able to -visit his people during the whole of the time, diving in and out of -cellars with a regularity equalled only by that of the Germans. Two -women, on the other hand, ran about their village _comme des fous_ -for eight days, shells dropping four to the minute, but no one was -hurt, because the inhabitants had all gone to their cellars. How they -themselves escaped they did not know. They had no cellar, that was why -they ran. - -Another woman was in her kitchen when a shell struck the house. Seeing -that her sister was badly hurt she ran out, ran all the way down the -village street, scoured the vicinity looking for a doctor, found -one, brought him back, and as she was about to help him to dress her -sister's wound, realised that her foot was wet, and looking down saw -that her boot was full of blood. Not only had the shell, or a fragment -of shell, torn her thigh badly, but it had shattered her hand as well. -Only the thumb and index finger can be moved a little now, the other -fingers are bent and twisted, without any power, the arm is shrivelled -and cannot be raised above her head. - -This woman was one of several who were turned out of the Civil Hospital -one bitter afternoon when the wind cut into our flesh and sharp hail -stung our faces. No doubt the hospital was full, no doubt a large -number of bed or stretcher cases had come in, but somehow we could find -no excuse for the thoughtlessness which turned that pitiful band of -ailing, crippled, or blinded women into the dark streets to stumble and -fumble their way through a strange town and then face the horror of the -market. Some were frankly idiotic from fright, strain and age-weakened -intellect; all were terrified, cold and suffering. One, very old, sat -on the ground talking rapidly to herself. "She is détraquée," they -whispered, so she was tucked up on a palliasse, covered with rugs and -left to her mumbling, her monotonous, wearying babble. Next morning our -nurse, going her rounds, found that the unfortunate creature was not -_détraquée_ but delirious, that her temperature was high and both lungs -congested. It was just a question whether she would survive the journey -to Fains, where, in the Departmental Lunatic Asylum, some wards had -been set aside for the overflow from the hospital. - -One of our coterie, burning with what we admitted was justifiable -wrath, gave a hard-hearted official from the Prefecture a Briton's -opinion of the matter. - -"It was inhuman to treat these women so. Some of them were wandering -in the streets for hours. Why didn't you send them direct to Fains?" - -"There was no conveyance, the hospital was full ..." so he excused -himself. - -"But they cannot stay here," she thundered. "It is utterly unfit. They -need nursing, comfort, special care." - -"Oh, well, there is always the Ornain," he replied, with a gesture -towards the river, and the Briton, unable to determine whether a snub, -a sarcasm, or an inhumanity was intended, for the only time in our -knowledge of her was obliged to leave the field to France. - -But she was restored to her wonted good-humour later on by an old lady -who undressed placidly in the new dormitory, peeling off one garment -after another because she "had not taken her clothes off for three days -and three nights," who then knelt placidly by her bedside and said her -prayers, asking, as she tucked the blankets round her, at what time she -would be called in the morning. - -CALLED! In that Bedlam! - -Most of them were "called" by the big steam whistle at the factory long -before the cocks began to crow. Zeppelins, tired of inactivity, began -to prowl at night. One, as everybody knows, was brought down in flames -near Révigny--a shred of its envelope lies in my writing-case, my only -_souvenir de la guerre_, unless a leaflet dropped by a Taube counts -as such--causing great excitement among the boys in the hospital at -Sermaize. No sooner did they hear the guns and the throb of its engines -than with one accord they scrambled from their beds and rushed to the -verandah, where a wise matron rolled them in blankets and allowed -them to remain to "see the fun," a breach of discipline for which -she was amply rewarded when, seeing the flames shoot up through the -skies, the boys rose to their feet and shrilled the "Marseillaise" to -the night in their clear, sweet trebles. A dramatic moment that! The -long, low wooden hospital a blur against the moonlit field, behind and -all around the woods, silent, dark, clustering closely, purple in the -half-light of the moon, the boys' white faces, their shrill cheer, and -through the sky the wide fire of Death falling, to lie a mammoth dragon -on the whitened fields. It is said that there was a woman in that -Zeppelin--some fragments of clothing, a slipper were found.... - -Another, more fortunate, dropped bombs at Révigny and Contrisson, -where by bad luck an ammunition wagon was hit. One at least of the -wagons caught fire, but was quickly uncoupled by heroic souls who -were subsequently decorated. The first explosion shook our windows -in Bar-le-Duc, and then for two or more hours we heard report after -report as shell after shell exploded. In the morning wild tales were -abroad. The main line to Paris had been cut, Trèmont (miles in the -other direction) had been bombed, numbers of civilians had been killed -and injured; Révigny was in even smaller shreds than before; in short, -Rumour, that busy jade, was having a well-occupied morning. But that -is not unusual in the War Zone. She is rarely idle there. The number -of times we were told a bombardment by long-range guns was signalled -for Bar is incalculable. The town passed from one _crise de nerfs_ to -another, some one was always in a panic over a coming event which did -not honour us even by casting its shadow before. - -The Zeppelins, to be quite frank, were a nuisance. They never -reached the town, which has reason to be grateful for the narrowness -of its valley and the protecting height of its hills, but they made -praiseworthy attempts at all sorts of odd hours, and generally the -most inconvenient that could well be chosen. The doings at Révigny and -Contrisson warned us that a visit might be fraught with disagreeable -results, for Bar is a concentrated place, it does not straggle, and -when raids occur practically every street is peppered. - -So though we did not go to the cellars, we felt it incumbent upon us -to be ready to do so should necessity arise, which probably explains -why the syren invariably blew when one or two shivering wretches were -sitting tailor-wise in rubber or canvas basins, fondly persuading -themselves that they were having a bath. - -When there are twenty degrees of frost, when water freezes where it -falls on your uncarpeted bedroom floor, bathing in a canvas basin has -its drawbacks; but if, just as your precious canful of hot water has -been splashed in and you "mit nodings on" prepare to get as close -to godliness as it is possible for erring mortal to do, the syren's -long, lugubrious note throbs on the air, well, you float away from -godliness fairly rapidly on the wings of language that would have -shocked the most condemnatory Psalmist of them all. I really believe -those Zeppelins KNEW when our bath-water boiled. We went to bed at -ten-thirty or we waited till midnight. "Let's get the beastly thing -over, it is such a bore dressing again." We dodged in at odd hours of -the evening, it was just the same. Venus was always surprised. In the -end, and when in spite of nightly and daily warnings, nothing happened, -our faith in French airmen became as the rock that moveth not and -is never dismayed. Though syrens hooted and bugles blew, though the -town guard turning out marched under our windows, the unclothed soaped -and lathered and splashed with unemotional vigour, while the clothed -chastely wondered what would happen if a bomb struck the house and -Venus.... Oh, well, the French rise magnificently to any situation. - -Once I confess to rage. We had a visitor. We had all worked hard all -day at the market, we had come home after ten, and, wearied out, had -tucked ourselves into bed, aching in every limb. The visitor and the -smallest member of the coterie returned even later. Slumber had just -sealed my eyelids when a voice said in my ear, "Miss Day, I'm so sorry, -there's a Zeppelin." Just as though it were sitting on the roof, you -know, preparing to lay an egg. - -"Call me when the bombs begin to fall." Slumber seized me once more. -Again the voice. "I think you must get up; Visitor says it is not safe." - -"Oh, go to--the Common-room." - -It was no use. I was dragged out. There are moments when one could -cheerfully boil one's fellow-creatures in a sausage-pot. - -At the market when danger threatened every one was ruthlessly hunted to -the cellar. And French cellars are the coldest things on earth. Even -on the hottest day in summer they are cool, in the winter they would -freeze a polar bear. Indeed, we were sometimes tempted to declare that -the cellars did more harm than Zeppelin or Taube. - -Air-raids affect different people differently. One woman said -they--well, she said, "Ça fait sauter (to jump) l'estomac," which -must have been sufficiently disagreeable; another declared, "Ça -fait trop de bile." Nearly all developed nerve troubles, and Madame -Phillipot--who succeeded Madame Drouet as our _femme de ménage_, -refused to undress at night. In vain we reasoned with her. She slept -armed _cap-à-pie_, ready for immediate flight, and not until a slight -indisposition gave us a weapon, which we used with unscrupulous skill -and energy, did we wring from her a promise to go to bed like a -respectable Christian. Madame Albert died trembling in the darkness -one night: an old woman, affected by bronchial trouble, flying from -Death, found him in the icy cellar; many a case of bronchitis and lung -trouble was reported as an outcome of these nightly raids, children -especially began to suffer, their nerves breaking down, their little -faces becoming pinched, dark shadows lying under their eyes. - -In the War Zone people don't write letters to the Press discussing the -advisability of taking refuge in a raid, nor do they talk of "women -and children cowering in cellars." No one suggests that the well-to-do -"should set an example or show the German they are not afraid." France -is too logical for nonsense of that kind. It knows that soldiers do -not sit on the parapet of a trench when strafing is going on--it would -call them harsh names if they did, and so would we. It believes in -reasonable precautions. After all, the German object is to kill as many -civilians as possible--why gratify him by running up the casualty rate? -Why occupy ambulances that might be put to better use? Why occupy the -time of doctors and nurses who are more urgently wanted in the military -wards? Why put your relatives to the expense of a funeral? Why indeed? -Why court suicide for the sake of a stupid sentiment? Logic echoes -why? Logic goes calmly to its cellar or to that of its neighbour, if -it happens to be out and away from its own when trouble begins. Logic -comes up again and goes serenely about its business when trouble is -over. - -Only the nerve-wrecks, people who have sustained long bombardment by -shell-fire for the most part, really lose presence of mind. And for -them there is every excuse. Let no one who has not suffered as they -have presume to judge them. - -Once--it was downright wicked, I admit--two of us, both, be it -confessed, wild Irishwomen, with all the native and national love of -a row boiling in our veins, hearing the syren one evening, somewhere -about nine o'clock, put on our hats and coats, and kilting our skirts, -set off up the hill. We left consternation behind us, but then we did -so want to see a Zeppelin! - -The valley was bathed in soft fitful light. The moon was almost full, -but misty clouds flitted across the sky, fugitives flying before a -wooing wind. Below us the town lay in darkness. Not a lamp showing. -About us rose the old town, the rue Chavé looming cliff-like high above -our heads. We pressed on, pierced the shadows of that narrow street and -gained the rue des Grangettes, there to be met with a sight so weird, -so suggestive of tragedy I wish I could have painted it. From the tall, -grim houses men and women had poured out. Children sat huddled beside -them, others slept in their mother's arms. On the ground lay bags and -bundles. Whispers hissed on the air. It was alive with sibilant sound. -No one talked aloud. They were as people that watch in an ante-room -when Death has touched one who relinquishes life reluctantly in a room -beyond. In the rue Tribel were more groups. In the rue des Ducs de -Bar still more. We thought the population of those old ghost-haunted -houses must all have come forth from a shelter in which they no longer -trusted. A Zeppelin bomb, it is said, will crash through six storeys -and break the roof of the cellar beneath. Here in the street there -was no safety. But in the woods beyond the town, in the woods high on -the hill.... Many and many a poor family spent long night hours in -the cold, the wet and the storm, their little all gathered in bundles -beside them during those intense months of early spring. We felt--or at -least I know that I felt--as we walked through this world of whispering -shadow, utterly unreal. I ceased to believe in Zeppelins; earth, -material things slid away, in the cloud-veiled moonlight values became -distorted; I felt like a spectator at a play, but a play where only -shadows act behind a dim, semi-transparent screen. - -Then we came to the Place Tribel, and the world enclosed us again. A -soldier with a telescope swept the heavens, others gazed anxiously -out over the hills towards St Mihiel. The night was very still and -beautiful; strange that out there, somewhere in the void, Death should -be riding, coming perhaps near to our own souls, with his message -written already upon our hearts. In the streets below a bugle call rang -out clear and sweet, the _Alerte_, the danger signal.... We thought of -the hurried wretches making their way to the woods.... Odd that one -should want to see a Zeppelin! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AIR RAIDS - - -I - -Where the grey gas-bags failed, Taubes often succeeded. At first they -came "in single spies," but later "in battalions." And after one of -the early and abortive raids which did no damage--a mere bagatelle of -three bombs and one soldier with a cut over his eye--posters of such -exquisite import were plastered over the walls that I must tell you -about them. - -They emanated from the Mayor, kind father to his people, who told -us--we thrilled to hear it--"that in these tragic hours--of war--we had -known how to meet the dangers that menaced us with unfailing calmness -and courage" (I translate literally), and that "our presence of mind -in the face of such sterile manifestations would always direct our -moral force." Very flattering. We preened feathers quite unjustifiably, -since admittedly the occasion had called for no emotion save that of a -limited, feminine, and quite reasonable curiosity. - -Then, still glowing, we read on. Mayoral praise is sweet, but mayoral -instructions hard to follow. The wisest course to pursue when hostile -aviators aviate is, it seems, to take refuge in the nearest house and -not to gaze at the sky--surely that Mayor had never been born of -woman!--or, should there be no house, "to distance oneself rapidly and -laterally." - -We ceased to glow. We remembered we were but dust. Distance oneself -laterally? Good, but suppose one was walking by the Canal? With an -impenetrable hedge on one side, were we to spring to the other? I have -seen the Canal in all its moods. I have never felt the smallest desire -to bathe in it. I have still less desire to drown--suffocate!--in -it. And if one doesn't know in which direction the bomb is going to -fall?... How be lateral and rapid before it arrives? Suppose one jumped -right under it? Suppose one waits till it comes? "Too late. Too late; -ye cannot _distance_ now." - -Some one suggests that we ought to practise being rapid and lateral. -"My dear woman, I don't know what being lateral means." Thus the -unenlightened of the party. - -"Study the habits of that which can be lateral to all points of the -compass at once when you try to catch it," was the frivolous reply. -Well, opportunities were not wanting. We decided to take lessons. And -then promptly forgot all about Taubes. That is one of the unintentional -blessings incidental to their career. When they are not showering bombs -on you, you eliminate them from consciousness. Perhaps, in spite of -all the damage they have done, they are still too new, too unnatural -to be accepted. A raid is just an evil nightmare--for those who suffer -no bodily harm. It brings you as a nightmare does to the very edge of -some desperate enterprise; you feel the cold, awful fear; you are held -in the grip of some deadly unimagined thing that holds you, forces you -down, something you cannot see, something you do not understand, but -that you know is hideous, terrible in its happening. The noise breaks -on your brain, the noise that is only the symptom of the ill.... Then -silence shuts down ... and you awake.... - -Once, at least for us, the awakening was a tragic one. Ascension Day. -A clear, warm summer sky, windless, perfect. Dinner just over in the -town. Shops opening again. Life stirring in the streets. An ideal -moment for those who are quick to take advantage of such. There was -no signal to warn us of what was coming, no time for pedestrians to -distance themselves laterally or otherwise. Death found them as they -walked through the streets, or gossiped in the station yard. The Place -de la Gare became a shambles. Women--why dilate on the horror? Forty -people were killed outright, over a hundred were wounded, and of these -many subsequently died. In our cellar we listened to the storm, then -when it was over we went through the town seeking out our people, -anxious to help. We saw horses, mangled and bleeding, lying on the -quay-side, a tree riven near the Pont Nôtre Dame, blood flowing in -the gutters, telegraph wires lying in grotesque loops and coils on -the roadway or hanging in festoons from the façades of houses. (An -underground wire was laid down after this.) Glass--we walked on a -carpet of glass, and in the houses we saw things that "God nor man ever -should look upon." - -Saw too, then and in subsequent raids, how Death, if he has marked you -for his own, will claim you even though you hide, even though you seek -the "safe" shelter you trust in so implicitly, but which plays the -traitor and opens the gate to the Enemy who knocks. Madame Albert; the -old sick woman. Now the eldest Savard girl, a tall, graceful, handsome -creature, just twenty years of age. With a number of others including -her mother, younger sister, and several soldiers (oh, yes, soldiers -"cower" too, and are not always the last to dive to shelter), she fled -to the nearest cellar when the raid began, but the entrance was not -properly closed, and when a bomb burst in the yard outside, splinters -killed five of the soldiers, and wounded her so cruelly she died that -night. - -Then there was Madame Bertrand, pursued by a malignant spirit of evil. -Twice a refugee, she came to Bar in February, drifting from the market -to the Maison Blanpain, where within six weeks of her arrival two of -her three children had died. (Her husband was a soldier, of course.) -One contracted diphtheria, the other was struck down by some virulent -and never-diagnosed complaint which lasted just twenty-four hours. -Expecting shortly to become a mother again, Madame was standing at her -house door that sunny June day when a bomb fell in the street. She was -killed instantly. - -A fortnight later the little boy who brought parcels from the -_épicerie_ died. He, like Mademoiselle Savard, was in a cellar, but -a fragment of shell came through the tiny _soupirail_ (ventilation -grating).... - - -II - -In June, the town looked as if it were preparing for a siege. The stage -direction, "Excursions and alarums," was interpolated extravagantly -over all the drama of our life. If we had been rabbits we might have -enjoyed it, there being something slightly facetious, not to say -hilarious, in the flirt of the white bob as it scurries to cover, but -as actors in the said drama we soon ceased to find it amusing. It -interfered so confoundedly with our work! Worst of all, it unsettled -our people. - -The sang-froid of some of the shopkeepers, however, was magnificent. -They simply put their shutters up, pinned a label on the door and went -south or west, to wait till the _rafale_ blew over. Before going, -Monsieur was always at pains to inform us that he, for his part, was -indifferent, but Madame, alas, Madame! Nerves.... An eloquent shrug -that in no way dimmed the brilliance of Madame's smile as she gazed -at us from behind his unconscious back. We, for our part, blushed for -our sex. Then he asked us if we, too, had not fear? Saying no, we felt -unaccountably bombastic. We read braggart in his eye, we scarcely dared -to hope he would not read _froussard_ in ours. Politely he hoped that -when he returned our valuable custom would again be his? Reassured, he -stretched a more or less grimy hand over the counter, we laid ours upon -it, suspicions vanished! With the word _devouée_ gleaming like a halo -round our unworthy heads, we stepped again into the street, there to -admire a vista of shutters. - -(It may be of interest to psychologists that shopkeepers without wives, -and shopkeepers without husbands, generally elected to remain in the -town. They kept, however, their shutters down. Monsieur X., running out -to close his during a raid, was blown to atoms. One learns wisdom--by -experience--in the War Zone.) - -Stepped out to admire, too, a fantastic collection of boxes and bags -ranged close against the walls at irregular intervals. Since the -affair of the _soupirail_ gratings were no longer left unguarded. Tiny -though they were, almost unnoticeable specks just where the house wall -touched the pavement, they could be dangerous. Consequently, bags of -sand, boxes of sand, and big rockery stones were propped against them -to be a snare to the unwary at night, and, as the hot summer sped -by, to testify (as our shy member cogently remarked) to the visiting -proclivities of the dogs of the town. The bags burst, they added to -that composite Ess Bouquet that rose so penetratingly in warm weather, -but the sand and the stones remained. In the winter, snow buried them. -Then the snow froze. Coming round the corner of the Rue Lapique one -dark Laplandish night, I trod on the edge of a heap of frozen snow.... -There are six hundred and seventy-three ways of falling on frozen snow, -and I practised most of them that winter, but, as an accomplishment, -am bound to admit that they seem to be devoid of any artistic merit -whatever. - -Following the sandbags came _affiches_. Every cellared house--and -nearly every house had its cellar--blazed the information abroad. -"Cave voutée" (vaulted cellar), 20 _personnes_, 50 _personnes_, 200 -_personnes_, even 500 _personnes_, indicated shelter in an emergency. -In a raid every man's cellar is his neighbour's. Once we harboured some -refugees, and that night at dinner the shy member (perhaps I ought to -say that the adjective was entirely self-bestowed), gurgled suddenly. -We looked at her expectantly. - -"I was only thinking that Miss ---- (No. I shall not betray her!) is -not supposed to smoke when the refugees are about, but in the middle of -the raid she came swanking down to the cellar to-day with a cigarette -in her mouth." - -As one not unremotely connected with the incident I take leave to -disqualify "swank." Professional smokers never swank, it is the -attribute of the mere amateur. - -So many precautions were taken, it would seem that any one who got -hurt during a raid had only himself to blame, and for those who may -think warnings superfluous, I may add that never again was the casualty -list as high as on that unwarned Ascension Day. Indeed, in subsequent -raids--while I was in Bar, at least--it decreased in the most arresting -manner. True, the day and night were rendered hideous with noise. To -the _sirène_ was added the steam-whistle at the gas-works, but these -being deemed insufficient, a loud tocsin clanged from the old Horloge -on the hill. I have known people to sleep through them all, but their -names will never be divulged by so discreet a historian. - -Though the danger was lessened, the nerve-strain unfortunately -remained. Mothers with children found life intolerable. It was bad -enough to spend one's days like a Jack-in-the-box jumping in and out -of the cellar, but infinitely worse to spend the night doing it. -Flight was--I was going to say in the air! It was at least on many -lips. People were poised, as it were, hesitant, unwilling to haul up -anchor, afraid to face out upon the unknown sea, yet still more afraid -to remain. Then, as I have told you, eight warnings and two raids in -twenty-four hours robbed over-taxed nerves of their last ounce of -endurance. The Prefecture was besieged, and in one day alone three -hundred people left the town. Those who had friends or relatives in -other districts were, as is usual in all such cases, allowed to join -them, others were herded like sheep, and like sheep were driven where -shepherd and sheep-dog willed. Nearly all the Basket-makers fled. The -Maison Blanpain turned its unsavoury contents out of doors. Many of our -fastest and firmest friends came to say good-bye with tears in their -eyes; it was a heartrending time, and one which, if continued, would -have seen an end to all our labour. This fear was happily not realised, -for as fast as one lot of refugees went away another lot drifted in, -and the following winter was the busiest we were to know. - -To all who came to say good-bye, clothes were given, and especially -boots, America having come again to our rescue with some consignments -which, if they added to our grey hairs--I would "rather be a dog and -bay the moon" than assistant in a boot-shop--added in far larger -measure to the contentment and happiness of the fugitives. - -Boots were, and no doubt still are, almost unobtainable luxuries, for -those who try to make both ends of an _allocation_ meet. As a garment, -it may be said that the allocation (I change my metaphor, you notice) -just falls below the waist-line, it never reaches down to the feet. -How could it when even a child's pair of shoes cost as much as twelve -francs? and are _du papier_ at that. - -Our boot-shop was a dark, damp, refrigerating closet at the end of the -hall where boots of all sizes were of necessity piled, or slung over -lines that stretched across the room. What you needed was never on a -line. But the line's adornments beat you about the head as you stooped -to burrow in the heaps underneath. - -To add to your enjoyment of the situation, you were aware that the -difference between French feet and American feet is as wide as the -Atlantic that rolls between. - -Nevertheless, those that came were shod. I personally can take no -credit for it. My plunges into the refrigerator only served as a rule -to send the temperature up! The miracles of compression and expansion -were performed by the Directrice of the establishment, who will, I -hope, forgive me if I say that I deplore an excellent sportswoman lost -in her. She had the divine instinct of the chase, and when she ran her -quarry to earth her eyes bubbled. At other times, she tried to hide the -softest heart that ever betrayed a woman under a grim exterior, that -only deceived those who saw no further than her protecting pince-nez. - - -III - -Yes, they were going. Old friends of over a year's standing, many of -whom we had visited again and again, and of whom we shall carry glad -memories till the final exodus of all carries us beyond the Eternal -Shadows. Madame Drouet, our _femme de ménage_, was wavering; pressure, -steadily applied, was slowly driving her to the thing she dreaded and -disliked. Then, as you know, the blow fell. - -She was gone, and we gazed at one another in consternation. Where would -we find such another? Hastily we ran over a list of names, and then, -Eureka! we had it. Madame Phillipot, of course. On with our hats, and -hot foot at top speed to the rue de Véel. An agitated half-hour--Madame -was diffident, she was no cook, she could never please Les Anglaises--a -triumphant return, all her scruples overruled, and the inauguration -of a reign of peace and plenty such as we shall not see again. There -is only one Madame Phillipot in this grey old world. Only one, and -we loved her. Loved her? Why, we could not help it! Picture a little -robin-redbreast of a woman, short and plump, with pretty dark eyes and -clear skin, and the chirpiest voice that ever made music on a summer -day. I can hear her now lilting her "Bon Soir, Mesdemoiselles," as she -came to bid us good-night. The little ceremony was never forgotten, -nor was the morning greeting. She rarely talked, she chirped, and -she chirped the long day through. The coming of every new face was -an adventure. No longer did the uninterested "C'est une dame," hurl -us from our peace. No. In five minutes, in five seconds Madame, -interviewing the new-comer, had grasped all the salient points of her -history, and we went forth armed, ready to smite or succour as occasion -demanded. And dearly she loved her bit of gossip. What greetings the -old stone staircase witnessed! What ah's and oh's of delight! We would -hear the voluble tide rising, rising, and groan over rooms undusted, -and beds blushing naked at midday. But it was impossible to be angry -with Madame. The work was done sooner or later, generally later, -and when we sat down to her _ragoût_, or her _bœuf mode_, or her -_blanquette de veau_ in the evening her sins put on the wings of virtue -and fluttered, silver plumed, to heaven. - -Now, I am a mild woman, but there are hours in which I yearn to murder -M. Phillipot, and Pappa, and Mademoiselle Clémence, for they hold -Madame to the soil of France. If she was a widowed orphan, perhaps we -might console our lonely old age together, but no one could be really -lonely when Madame was by. Is one lonely in woods when birds are -singing? - -It was the ambition of her life to be a milliner, but Pappa--you shall -hear about him presently--said No. So she married M. Phillipot instead, -and became the wife of a _commis-voyageur_ who did not deserve to get -her. For he had as mother an old harridan who insisted on living with -him, and who, bitterly jealous of Madame, made her life a burden to -her. The _commis-voyageur_ having a soul like his bag of samples, all -bits and scraps, always sided with his mother. - -Once Madame asked me to guess her age. I hazarded thirty-eight quite -honestly, and she flushed like a girl. "Ah, mais non. She was older -than that. She was...." (I shan't "give her away." Am not I, too, a -woman?) - -"You don't look it, Madame," I answered truthfully. - -"Ah, but if only Mademoiselle had seen me before the war. When I was -dressed in my pretty Sunday clothes. Ah, que j'étais belle! And fresh -and young. One would have given me thirty." - -Her speech was the most picturesque thing, a source of unfailing -delight. Once in that awful frost, when for six weeks there was ice -on the bedroom floor and a phylactery of ice adorned my sponge-bag, -when the moisture that exuded from the walls became _crystallisé_, -and neither blankets, nor fur coat, nor hot water bottle kept one -warm at night, Madame, seeing me huddle a miserable half-dead thing -over the stove, cried, "It is under a _cloche_ we should put you, -Mademoiselle Day." And the three villains who shared my misery with -ten times my fortitude chuckled with delight. My five-foot seven and -ample proportions being "forced" like a salad under the bell-glass of -intensive culture! No wonder we laughed. But I longed for the _cloche_ -all the same. - -As for her good humour it was indestructible. When people came, as -people inconsiderately will come, from other work-centres demanding -food at impossible hours, Madame sympathised with the agonies of the -housekeeper and evolved meals out of nothingness, out of a leek and a -lump of butter, or out of three sticks of macaroni, one _gousse d'ail_ -and a pinch of salt. The clove of garlic went into every pot--was it -that which made her dishes so savoury? When the gas was shut off at -five o'clock just as dinner was under way, she didn't tear her hair and -blaspheme her gods; she cooked. Don't ask me how she did it. I can only -state the fact. On two gas-rings, with a tiny hot-plate in between, she -cooked a soup, a meat dish, two vegetables and a pudding every night, -and served them all piping hot whether the gas "marched" or whether it -did not. - -If we wanted to send her into the seventh heaven we gave her a -"commission" in the town, or asked her to trim a hat. We would meet -her trotting up the Boulevard, her basket on her arm, her smile -irradiating the greyest day, and know that when she returned every -rumour--and Bar seethed with rumours--every scrap of gossip--it was a -hotbed of gossip--on the wing that day would be ours for the asking. -She never held herself aloof as Madame Drouet did. She became one of -the household, and it would have done your heart good to see her on -Sunday morning trotting (she always trotted) first from one room and -then to another with trays of coffee and rolls, keeping us like naughty -children in bed, ostensibly because we must be tired, we worked so hard -(O Madame! Madame!), but actually we believed to keep us out of the way -while she scuttled through her work in time for Mass. - -Her dusting was even sketchier than Madame Drouet's, and when she -washed out a room she always left one corner dry, but whether in -pursuance of a sacred rite or as a concession to temperament, I cannot -say. - -Meantime she lived in one room in the rue de Véel, sharing it with her -father and Mademoiselle Clémence. M. Phillipot, his existence once -acknowledged, faded more and more surely from our ken. He was not in -Bar-le-Duc, he was in a misty, nebulous somewhere with his virago of a -mother. We felt that wherever he was he deserved it, and speedily put -him out of our existence. But he occurred later. Husbands do, it seems, -in France. - -Frankly, I believe that Madame forgot him too. She never spoke of him, -and she was devoted to M. Godard and Clémence, who are of the stock -and breeding that keep one's faith in humanity alive. Monsieur was a -carpenter, an old retainer of the château near his home. A well-to-do -man, we gathered, of some education and magnificent spirit. When -the Germans captured his village they seized him, buffeted him and -threatened to shoot him. Well, he just defied them. Flung back his old -head and dared them to do their worst. Even when he was kneeling in -the village square waiting the order to fire he defied them. He told -me the story more than once, but the details escaped me. Heaven having -deprived him of teeth, he had a quaint trick of substituting nails, -with his mouth full of which he waxed eloquent. Now, toothless French -causes the foreigner to pour ashes on her head and squirm in the very -dust, but French garnished with "des points" ...! - -Of course I ought to have mastered it, as opportunities were not -lacking, but Monsieur, who worked regularly for us, was unhappily -slightly deaf. So what with the difficulty of making him understand me, -and the difficulty of making me understand him, our intimacy, though at -all times of the most affectionate nature, rested rather on goodwill -than on soul to soul intercourse. - -A scheme for providing the refugees with chests in which to keep their -scanty belongings having been set afoot, Monsieur was established in -the wood-shed with planes, hammer and nails, and there he became a -fixture. We simply could not get on without him. We flew to him in -every crisis, flying back occasionally in laughter and indignation, -with the storm of his disapproval still whistling in our ears. He -could be as obstinate as a mule, and oh, how he could chasten us for -our good! In the intervals he made chests out of packing-cases, which -he adorned with hinges and a loop for a padlock, while we painted the -owner's initials in heavy lettering on the top. So highly were they -prized and sought after, our stock of packing-cases ran out, and those -who wanted them had to bring their own. It was then that Monsieur's -gift of invective showed itself in all its razor-like keenness. For, -grievous to relate, there are people in the world who presume upon -generosity--mean people who will not play the game. Every packing-case -in process of transformation made serious inroads on Monsieur's time, -and upon the small supply of wood at his disposal, so their cost was -not small. But if you had seen some of the boxes brought to our door! - -"That?" Monsieur wagged a contemptuous finger at the overgrown -match-box one despicable creature planted under his enraged eyes. -"That? A chest to hold linen? Take it away. It will do to carry your -prayer book in when you go to Mass." - -Or, "It is a chest that you want me to make out of that? That? Look at -it. C'est du papier à cigarette. Your husband can roll his tobacco in -it." - -We chuckled as we blessed him. No doubt we were often imposed upon, and -Monsieur had an eye like a needle for the impostor. - -In process of manufacture, marks of ownership sometimes became erased, -and then there was woe in Israel. - -"That my caisse? Mais je vous assure Mademoiselle the caisse that I -brought was large, grande comme ça"--a gesture suggested a mausoleum. -"Yes, and I wrote my name on it with the pencil of Monsieur, there, -dans le couloir. He saw me write it, Vannier-Lefeuvre. Monsieur will -testify." - -We gazed at Monsieur. "Vannier-Lefeuvre? Bon. Regardez la liste. C'est -le numero twenty-two." - -"But there is NO number twenty-two, Monsieur." - -"Eh bien, il faut chercher." - -This to a demented philanthropist who had already wasted a good hour -in the search. (The hall was piled ceiling high with the wretched -cases, you know.) Madame Vannier-Lefeuvre lifted up a strident voice -and sang in minor key a dirge in memory of the lost treasure. Its size, -its beauty, its strength, the twenty-five sous she had paid for it at -the _épicerie_.... No, it was not that, nor that. We dragged out the -best, even some special treasures bigger and better than anything she -could have produced. All in vain. "Monsieur." We appealed to Cæsar. - -Boom, bang, boom. With his mouth full of nails, humming a stifled song, -Cæsar drove a huge nail into the case of Madame Poiret-Blanc. Five -minutes later Madame Lefeuvre-Vannier--"or Vannier-Lefeuvre ça ne fait -rien," marched off with our finest _caisse_ on her _brouette_, woe -on her wily old face and devilish glee in her heart. And we, turning -to pulverise Monsieur, whose business it was to mark every case in -order to prevent confusion, found ourselves dumb. We might rage in the -Common-room, but in the wood-shed we were as lambs that baa'ed. - -And we forgave him all his sins the day he, with a look of ineffable -dignity just sufficiently tinged with contempt, brushed aside a huge -gendarme at the station. Some one was going away, and Monsieur had -wheeled her luggage over on the _brouette_. - -"It is forbidden to go on the platform." Thus the arm of military law, -an _Avis_ threatening pains and penalties hanging over his head. - -"Forbidden? Do you not know that I am the valet de ces dames?" - -Have you ever seen a gendarme crumple? - - -IV - -Twenty degrees, twenty-two degrees, twenty-five degrees of frost. A -clear blue sky, brilliant sunshine, a snow-bound world. - -"Pas chaud," people would declare as they came shivering into our room. -Not hot! Are the French never positive? I think only when it rains, and -then they do commit themselves to a "quel vilain temps." - -The ice on the windows, even at the sunny side of the house, refused -to thaw; the water pipes froze. Not a drop of water in the house, -everything solid. Madame put a little coke stove under the tap, and -King Frost laughed aloud. The tap thawed languidly, then froze again, -and remained frozen. A week, two, three weeks went by. Happily there -was water in the cellar. - -It was _ennuyant_, certainly, to be obliged to fetch all the water in -pails across the small garden, through the hall and up the stairs, but -Madame endured it, as she endured the chilblains that tortured her -feet, and the nipping cold of her kitchen. Even the frost could not -harden her bubbling good humour. - -King Frost gripped the world in firmer fingers, the sun grew more -brilliant, the sky more blue. The Canal froze, the lock gates were -ice palaces, the streets and roads invitations to death or permanent -disablement. Still Madame endured. A morning came when the cold -stripped the flesh from our bones, and we shook as with an ague. The -Common-room door opened, desolation was upon us. Madame staggered -in, fell upon a chair and, lifting up her voice, wept aloud. She was -_désolée_. For two hours she had laboured in the cellar, she had -lighted the _réchaud_ (the little stove), she had poured boiling water -over the tap, she had prayed, she had invoked the Saints and Pappa, -but the water would not come. _Pas une goutte!_ And every pipe in the -Quartier was frozen, there was no water left in all the ice-bound world. - -Madame in tears! Madame in a _crise de nerfs_! She who had coped with -disasters that left us gibbering imbeciles, and had laughed her way -through vicissitudes that reduced me, at least, to the intelligent -level of a nerveless jelly-fish! We nearly had a _crise de nerfs_ -ourselves, but happily some hot tea was forthcoming, hot tea which -in France is not a beverage, but an _infusion_--like _tilleul_, you -know--and with that we pulled ourselves together. We also resuscitated -Madame, whose long vigil in the cellar had frozen her as nearly -solid as the pipes. Later on, she complained of feeling ill, _un -peu souffrante_. Asked to describe her symptoms, she said she had -"l'estomac embarrassé." Before so mysterious a disease we wilted. But -the loan of a huge _marmite_ from the Canteen restored her; there was -water in the deep well in the Park, Pappa would take the _marmite_ on -the _brouette_ and bring back supplies for the house. He brought them. -As the _marmite_ made its heavy way up the stairs, some one asked where -the queer smell came from. - -"That? It is from the water," he replied simply. - -Sanitary authorities, take note. We survived it. And we kept ourselves -as clean as we could. When we couldn't we consoled ourselves by -remembering that the washed are less warm than the unwashed. M. l'Abbé -told me that he dropped baths out of his scheme of things while the -frost lasted. Were we not afraid to bathe? We confessed to a reasonable -fear of being found one morning sitting in my square of green canvas, -a pillar like Lot's wife, but of ice, not salt. He brooded on the -picture I called up, I slid like a bag of coal down the hill. - -Having administered comfort to "l'estomac embarrassé," we rationed our -supply of water, we prayed for a thaw, Madame began to chirp again, -the world was not altogether given over to the devil. But peace had -forsaken our borders. Going into the kitchen one morning I found Madame -in tears. M. Phillipot had occurred. The deluge was upon us. - -Wearying of life in the South, he had come back to Révigny, his mother, -of course, as always, upon his arm, and there, possessed of a thousand -devils, he had bought a wooden house, and there his mother, with all -the maddening malice of a perverse, inconsiderate animal, had been -seized with an illness and was preparing to die. - -And she had sent for Madame. No wonder the heavens fell. - -"All my life she has ill-treated me," the poor little woman sobbed, -"and now when I am si heureuse avec vous, when I earn good money, she -sends for me. Quel malheur! What cruelty! You do not know what a rude -enfer (hell) I have suffered with that woman. And chez nous, one was so -happy. With Pappa and Clémence all was so peaceful, never a cross word, -never a temper. Ah, what sufferings! Did not the contemplation of them -turn Clémence from marriage for ever? Because of my so grande misère -never would she marry. La belle-mère, she hated me. It was that she was -jealous. But now when she is ill she sends for me. But I will not go. -No, I will not." - -"But, Madame, if she is ill? We could manage for a few days." She was -riven with emotion, then the storm passed. Again we reasoned with her. -She must go. After all, if the old woman was dying.... - -Madame did not believe in the possible dissolution of anything so -entirely undesirable as her _belle-mère_, but in the end humanity -prevailed. She would go, but for one night. She would come back early -on the morrow. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai voyage de sacrifice that I make." She -put on her Sunday clothes, she took Clémence with her, she came back -that night. Two days later a letter, then a telegram urged her forth -again. We had almost to turn her out of the house. Was not one voyage -of sacrifice enough in a lifetime of sorrow? And the _belle-mère_ would -not die. She, Madame, knew it. Protesting, weeping, she set out, to -come back annoyed, sobered, enraged, _bouleversée_. _La belle-mère_ had -died. What else could one expect from such an ingrate? - -And now there was M. Phillipot all alone in the _maudite petite maison_ -at Révigny. "Is it that he can live alone? Pensez donc, Mademoiselle! -I, moi qui vous parle, must give up my good place with my friends whom -I love, to whom I have accustomed myself, and live in that desert of -a Révigny. Is it that I shall earn good money there? Monsieur? Il ne -gagne rien, mais rien du tout. Pas ça." She clicked a nail against a -front tooth and shot an expressive finger into the air. - -"Then he must come to Bar-le-Duc." - -But--ah, if Mademoiselle only knew what she suffered--Monsieur was -possessed of goats--deux chèvres, that he loved. They had followed him -in all his journeyings; when they were tired the soldiers gave them -rides in the _camions_. To the South they had gone with him, back to -Révigny they had come with him. To part with them would be death. You -do not know how he loves them. But could one keep goats in the rue de -Véel? - -One could certainly not. We looked at Madame. Physical force might get -her to Révigny, no other power could. Assuredly we who knew her value -could not persuade her. The _impasse_ seemed insurmountable. Then light -broke over it, showing the way. If Monsieur wanted his wife he must -abandon his goats. It was a choice. Let him make it. _Rien de plus -simple._ - -He chose the goats. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -M. LE POILU - - -I - -If you had ventured into Bar-le-Duc during the stormy days of 1916, -when the waves of the German ocean beat in vain against the gates -of Verdun, you might have thought that the entire French army was -quartered there. Soldiers were everywhere. The station-yard was a -wilderness of soldiers. In faded horizon-blue, muddy, inconceivably -dirty, with that air of _je ne sais quoi de fagoté_ which distinguishes -them, they simply took possession of the town. The _pâtisseries_ -were packed--how they love cakes, _choux-à-la-crême_, _brioches_, -_madeleines_, tarts!--the Magasins Réunis was a tin in which all the -sardines were blue and all had been galvanised into life; fruit-shops -belched forth clouds that met, mingled and strove with clouds that -sought to envelop the vacated space; in the groceries we, who were -women and mere civilians at that, stood as suppliants, "with bated -breath and whispering humbleness," and generally stood in vain. But -for Madame I verily believe we would have starved. Orderlies from -officers' messes away up on the Front drove, rode or trained down -with lists as long as the mileage they covered, lists that embraced -every human need, from flagons of costly scent to tins of herrings or -_pâté-de-foie-gras_, or _Petit Beurre_, _Lulu_ (the most insinuating -_Petit Beurre_ in the world), from pencils and notepaper to soap, from -asparagus and chickens--twelve francs each and as large as a fair-sized -snipe--to dried prunes and hair-oil. We even heard of one _popotte_ -which pooled resources and paid twenty-five francs for a lobster, but -perhaps that tale was merely offered as a tax upon our credulity. - -Bar-le-Duc was delirious. Never had it known such a reaping, never had -it heard of such prices. It rose dizzily to an occasion which would -have been sublime but for the inhumanity of the _Petite Vitesse_ which, -lacking true appreciation of the situation, sat down upon its wheels -and ceased to run. - -Not that the _Petite Vitesse_ was really to blame. It yearned to -indulge in itinerant action, but there was Verdun, with its gargantuan -mouths wide open, all waiting to be fed, and all clamouring for men, -munitions and _ravitaillement_ of every kind. In those days all roads -led to Verdun--all except one, and that the Germans were hysterically -treading. - -However, we wasted no sympathy on the shopkeepers. Their complete -indifference to our needs drove every melting tenderness from our -hearts, or, to be quite accurate, drove it in another direction--that -of the poor _poilu_ who had no list and no fat wallet bulging with -hundred-franc notes. And I think he richly deserved all the sympathy -we could give him. Think of the streets as I have described them -when talking of the Marché Couvert, call to mind every discomfort -that weather can impose, add to them, multiply them exceedingly, and -then extend them beyond the farthest bounds of reason, and you have -Bar in the spring of 1916. Cold, wet, snow, sleet, slush, wind, mud, -rain--interminable rain--did their worst with us, and in them all -and under most soldiers lived in the streets. The _débitants_ and -café-restaurants were closed during a great part of the day, there -was literally nowhere for them to go. They huddled like flocks of -draggled birds in the station-yard, some in groups, some in serried -mass before the barrier, some stamping up and down, some sitting on -the kerb or on the low stone parapet from which the railings spring, -and while some, pillowing their heads on their kits, went exhaustedly -to sleep, others crouched with their backs against the wall. They ate -their bread, opened their tins of _conserve_--generally potted meat or -sardines--sliced their cheese with a pocket-knife, or absorbed needed -comfort from bottles which, for all their original dedication, were -rarely destined to hold water! On the Canal bank they sat or lay in the -snow, on ground holding the seeds of a dozen chilly diseases in its -breast; on the river banks they sprang up like weeds, on the Boulevard -every seat had its quota, and we have known them to have it for the -night. In all the town there was not a canteen or a _foyer_, not a hut -nor a camp, not a place of amusement (except a spasmodic cinema), not a -room set apart for their service. They might have been Ishmaels; they -must have been profoundly uncomfortable. - -Yet no one seemed to realise it. That was the outstanding explosive -feature of the case. Late in the spring, towards the end of April or -in May, buffets were opened in the station-yard under the ægis of the -Croix Rouge. At one of these ham, sardines, bread, post cards, tobacco, -chocolate, cakes, matches, _pâté_, cheese, etc., could be bought; -at the other wine, and possibly beer. The space between was not even -roofed over, and, their small purchases made, the men had to consume -them--when eatable--in the open. But of real solicitude, in the British -sense of the word, for their comfort there was none. - -France has shown herself mighty in many ways during the war, but--with -the utmost diffidence I suggest it--not in her care for the men who -are waging it. Our Tommies, with their Y.M.C.A. huts and Church Army -and Salvation huts, with their hot baths, their sing-songs in every -rest-camp, their clouds of ministering angels, their constellations of -adoring satellites waiting on them hand and foot, are pampered minions -compared with the French soldier. For him there is neither Y.M.C.A., -Church Army nor Salvation Army. He comes, some three thousand of him, -_en repos_ to a tiny village, such as Fains or Saudrupt, Trémont or -Bazincourt, he is crowded into barns, granges, stables and lofts, he is -route-marched by day, he is neglected by evening. No one worries about -him. Amusement, distraction there is none. No club-room where he may -foregather comfortably, no cheery canteen with billiards and games, -no shops in which if he has money he can spend it. Blank, cheerless, -uncared-for nothingness. He gets into mischief--what can you expect? -He goes back to the trenches, and shamed eyes are averted and hearts -weighed with care hide behind bravado as he goes. - -Sometimes you hear, "The men are so weary and so dispirited they do no -harm." They are like dream people, moving through a world of shadows. -Those who go down into hell do not come back easily to the things of -earth. Sometimes you hear tales that make you wince. The pity of it! -And sometimes you meet young girls who, tempted beyond their strength, -are paying the price of a sin whose responsibility should rest on other -shoulders. - -"My friend the Aumonier at F---- does not know what to do with his -men," said the Abbé B. to me one day. "They are utterly discouraged, -he cannot rouse them; they vow they will not go back to the trenches." -And then he talked of agitators who tried to stir up disaffection in -the ranks, Socialist leaders and the like. (France has her Bolos to -meet even in the humblest places.) But I could not help thinking that -the good Aumonier's task would have been a lighter one had plenty of -wholesome recreation been provided for his men in that super-stupid, -dull and uninteresting village of F----.[11] - - [11] It must be remembered that there is no one in such villages or - their immediate neighbourhood capable of initiating such recreation. - The inhabitants are of the small farmer class for the most part, the - mayor a working man, the parish priest old (priests of military age - serve with the colours), and all are often very poor. - -The migratory soldier going to or from leave, or changing from one -part of the Front to another, might, as we have seen, wait hours -at a junction, cold and friendless, without where to lay his head. -And just why it was not particularly easy to discover. We divined a -psychological problem, we never really resolved it. - -Does logic, carried to its ultimate conclusion, leave humanity limping -behind it on the road? - -Or are the French the victims of their own history? Did not the -Revolution sow the seeds of deep distrust between aristocracy and -bourgeoisie and, more than that, sow an even deeper distrust between -bourgeois and bourgeois? During the Reign of Terror the man who dined -with you to-night all too often betrayed you on the morrow, neighbour -feared neighbour, and with terrible justification, the home became a -fortress round which ran a moat of silence and reserve, the family -circle became the family horizon, people learned to live to themselves, -to mind their own business and let the devil or who would mind that of -their neighbours. - -When England was blossoming in a springtime of altruism, when -great-minded men and women were learning that the burden of the poor, -the sick, the suffering was their burden to be shouldered and carried -and passed from hand to hand, France was still maimed and battered by -blows from which she has scarcely yet recovered. - -Even to-day French women tell me of the isolation of their upbringing. -"Our father discouraged intercourse with the families about us." - -But that narrow individualism--or, more properly, tribalism--is, -I think, dying out, and the present war bids fair to give it its -death-stroke. - -Behind the Revolution lay no fine feudal instinct, no traditions save -those of bitter hatred and of resentment on the one hand, of contempt -and oppression on the other. Not, it will be acknowledged, the best -material out of which to reconstitute a broken world. And so what might -be called collective sympathy was a feeble plant, struggling pitifully -in unfavourable soil. The great upper class which has made England so -peculiarly what she is scarcely existed in France. The old aristocracy -passed away, the new sprang from the Napoleonic knapsack; Demos in a -gilt frame, a Demos who had much to forget and infinitely more to -learn. - -Some philanthropic societies, of course, existed before the war, but, -so far as my knowledge of them goes, they were run by the State or by -its delegates, the iron hand of officialdom closed down upon them, they -made little if any claim upon the heart of the people. Perhaps in a -nation of such indomitable independence no more was necessary, but what -was necessary--if I may dare to say so--was large-hearted sympathy and -understanding between class and class--a common meeting-ground, in fact. - -So, at least, I read the problem, and offer you my solution for what it -is worth, uncomfortably aware that wiser heads than mine may laugh me -out of court and sentence me to eternal derision. - -One thing, at least, I do not wish, and that is to bring in a verdict -of general inhumanity and hard-heartedness against the French nation. -A certain imperceptiveness, lack of intuition, of insight, of the -sympathetic imagination--call it what you will--is, perhaps, theirs in -a measure; but, on the other hand, the individual responds quickly, -even emotionally, to an appeal to his softer side. Only he has not -acquired the habit of exposing his soft side to view and asking the -needy to lean upon it! Nor has he acquired the habit of going forth to -look for people ready to lean. He accepts the _status quo_. But prove -to him that it needs altering, and he is with you heart and hand. His -is an attitude of mind, not of heart. When the heart is touched the -mind becomes its staunchest ally. The feeding of the refugees done on -lavish scale, the installation of a hostel for the relatives of men -dying in hospital are instances of what I mean. For months, years, -poor women, wives and mothers coming to take their last farewell of -those who gave their lives for France, had no welcome in Bar. All too -often they were unable to find a bed, they wandered the streets when -the hospitals were closed against them, they slept in the station. -Then a _Médicin-Chef_, with a big heart and reforming mind, suggested -that the refugee dormitories in the market should be converted into a -hostel. No sooner suggested than done. The "Maison des Parents" sprang -into life, a tiny charge was made for _le gîte et la table_, voluntary -helpers served the meals, organised, catered, kept the accounts. -France only needs to be shown the way. One day she will seek it out -for herself. Every day she is finding new roads. And this I am sure -every one who has worked as our Society has done will endorse, no -appeal has ever been made in vain to those who, like our friends in -Bar-le-Duc and elsewhere, gave with unstinting generosity and without -self-advertisement. - - -II - -Think, too, of the hospitals. The call of the wounded was answered -magnificently. Remember that before the war French hospitals were very -much where ours were in the days of Mrs. Gamp, and before Florence -Nightingale carried her lamp through their dark and noisome places. -It is said that the nursing used to be done by nuns for the most -part, a fact of which the Government took no cognisance when it drove -the religious orders from the country, and when they went away it -fell into the hands of riff-raff. Women of no character, imported by -students as worthless as themselves, masqueraded as ministering angels, -and it is safe to assume that they neither ministered nor were angelic. -Gentlewomen, even the _petit bourgeoisie_, drew their skirts aside -from such creatures. The woman of good birth and education who became -a nurse, not only violated her code by earning her living, but cut her -social cables and drifted out upon an almost uncharted sea. Only the -few who were brave enough to attempt it trained (if my authorities are -reliable) in England, and no doubt it was owing in large measure to -them that a movement for re-organising the hospitals was set on foot. -But before the project could mature the church bells, ringing out their -call to arms, rang out a call to French women too, and gathered them -into the nursing profession. - -Perhaps that is why the hale, hearty, often dirty, and by no means -always respectful _poilu_ has been neglected. Woman seeing him wounded -had no eye for him whole. Besides, he is rather a bewildering thing; -his gods are not her gods, his standards not her standards, she -is--dare I whisper it?--just a little afraid of him, as we are apt to -be of the thing we do not understand. All her instinct has bidden her -banish him from her orbit, but insensibly, inevitably he is beginning -to move in it, to worm himself in. Wounded, she has him at her mercy, -and when, repaired, patched and nursed into the semblance of a man -again, he goes back to the trenches surely she can never think of -him in the old way, or look at him from the old angle? As your true -democrat is at heart a complete snob, the poor _poilu_ used to be, and -is probably to a large extent still, looked down upon as an inferior -being. Conscription rubbed the hero from him, but the human being is -beginning to emerge. - -It is possible that in the hospitals another revolution is taking place -which, if unseen and unguessed at, may be scarcely less far-reaching -in its effects than the old. It has at least drawn the women outside -the charmed circle of the home, it is bringing them hourly into contact -with a side of life which, but for the war, might have remained a -closed book whose pages they would always have shrunk from turning. -Such close contact with human agony, endurance and death cannot leave -them unmoved, and though they have not yet thoroughly mastered the -knack of making hospitals HOMES, though many little comforts, graces -and refinements that we think essential are missing, still, when one -remembers the overwhelming ignorance with which they began and the -difficulties they had to contend with, we must concede that they -have done wonders. For, unlike our V.A.D.s, they did not step into -up-to-date, well-appointed wards with lynx-eyed sisters, steeped in -the best traditions, waiting to instruct them. Experience was their -teacher. They were amateurs doing professional work, and without -discredit to them we may sympathise with the soldiers who, transferred -from a hospital under British management to one run by their own -compatriots, wept like children. Which shows that though we may deny -him the quality, the _poilu_ appreciates and is grateful for a good -dose of judicious petting. - - -III - -Yes! The _poilu_ deserves our sympathy. He is, to my mind, one of -the most tragic figures of the war. He is pursued by a fatalism -as relentless as it is hopeless, and whether he is ill or well is -subjected to much unnecessary discomfort. He hates war, he hates the -trenches, he loathes the life of the trenches, he wants nothing so -much in the world as his own hearthstone. He is often despairing, and -convinced of defeat. ("Mademoiselle, never can we drive the Boche -from his trenches, _never_!") and yet he goes on. There lies the hero -in him--he goes on. Not one in a hundred of him has Tommy's cheery -optimism, unfailing good-humour, cheerful grumble and certainty of -victory. And yet he goes on! He sings _L'Internationale_, he vows in -regiments that "on ne marchera plus. C'est fini"--but he goes on. He is -really rather wonderful, for he has borne the brunt of heavy fighting -for more than three years, and behind him is no warm barrage of -organised care, of solicitude for his welfare, or public ministration -to shield him from the devils of depression and despair. His wife, his -sister, his mother may pinch and starve to send him little comforts, -but he is conscious of the pinching, he has not yet got the great -warm heart of a generous nation at his back. Think of his pay, of his -separation allowances (those of the refugees, one franc twenty-five per -day per adult, fifty centimes per day per child), and then picture him -fighting against heavy odds, standing up to and defying the might of -Germany at Verdun. Isn't he wonderful? - -He seems to have no hope of coming through the war alive. In canteen, -in the train, in the kitchens of the refugees you may hear him say, -"At Verdun or on the Somme, what matter? It will come some time, and -best for those to whom it comes quickly." - -"Ceux qui cherchent la mort ne la trouve jamais." The speaker was a -quick, vivid thing, obviously not of the working classes. He had been -_cité_ (mentioned) more than once, and offered his stripes with a view -to a commission several times, but had always refused them. "For me, -I do not mind, but think of the responsibility ... to know that the -lives of others hung upon you, your coolness, quickness, readiness -of decision. _Impossible!_ And it is the sergeants who die. The -mortality among them is higher than in any other rank. They must expose -themselves more, you see.... Oh yes, there are men who are afraid, and -there are men who try to die." It was then he added, "But those who -seek death never find it. The man who hesitates, who peers over the top -of the trench, who looks this way and that, wondering if the moment is -good, he gets killed; but the man who is not afraid, the man who wants -to die, he rushes straight out, he rushes straight up to the Boche ... -he is never hurt." - -And then he and his companion talked of men who longed to die, who -courted death but in vain. Both expressed a quiet, unemotional -conviction that Death would come to them before long. And both wore the -Croix de Guerre. - -Old Madame Leblan--you remember her?--had a nephew whom she loved as -a son. He and her own boys had grown up together, and she would talk -to me of Paul by the hour. He saw all the Verdun fighting, and before -that much that was almost as fierce; he visited her during every leave, -he brought her and her family gifts, napkin-rings, pen-handles, -paper-cutters, finger-rings, all sorts of odds and ends made in -the trenches from shell-cases and the like. He was always cheery, -always sure he would come again. Paul was like a breeze of sunny -wind, he never lost heart, he never lost hope--until they gave him -his commission. He refused it over and over again. Then his Colonel, -taxing him with want of patriotism, forced him to accept it. That -week he wrote to Madame. He told her of his promotion, adding, "In a -fortnight I shall get leave, so I am looking forward to seeing you all, -unless...." - -She showed me the letter. She pointed to that significant "unless...." - -"Never have I known Paul to write like that. Always he said I will -come." Her heart was full of foreboding, and next time I saw her she -took out the letter with shaking hands. Paul was dead. - -"He knew," she said, as she wept bitterly; "he knew when he took his -commission." - -A reconnaissance from which all his men got back safely, Paul last of -all, crawling on hands and knees ... raises himself to take a necessary -observation ... a sniper ... a swift bullet ... a merciful death ... -and an old heart bleeding from a wound that will never heal. - -"If we see Death in front of us we care no more for it than we do -for that." A Zouave held a glass of lemonade high above the canteen -counter. "For that is the honour of the regiment. Death?" he shrugged. -"One will die, _sans doute_. At Verdun, on the Somme, _n'importe_! My -_copain_ here has been wounded twice. And I? I had two brothers, they -are both in your cemetery here. Yes, killed at Verdun, M'amzelle; I -was wounded. Some day I suppose that we, _nous aussi_...." Again he -shrugged. "Will you give me another lemonade?" - -He and his companion wore the _fourragère_, the cord of honour, given -to regiments for exceptional gallantry in the field. They had been -at Vaux. And what marvels of endurance and sheer pluck the Zouaves -exhibited there are matters now of common knowledge. Personally, -I nourish a calm conviction that but for them and their whirlwind -sacrifice Verdun must have fallen. - - -IV - -Fatalists? Yes. But a thousand other things besides. It is useless to -try and offer you the _poilu_ in tabloid form, he refuses to be reduced -to a formula. The pessimist of to-day is the inconsequent child of -to-morrow. You pity him for his misfortunes, and straightway he makes -you yearn to chastise him for his impertinence. His manners--especially -in the street--like the Artless Bahdar's, "are not always nice." He -can be, and all too often is, frankly indecent; indeed there are -hours when you ask yourself wildly whether indecency is not just a -question of opinion, and whether standards must shift when frontiers -are crossed, and a new outlook on life be acquired as diligently and as -open-mindedly as one acquires--or strives to!--a Parisian accent. - -It is, of course, in the canteen that he can be studied most easily. -There you see him in all his moods, and there you need all your wits -about you if you are not to be put out of court a hundred times a day. -Canteens are, as we have seen, accidental luxuries on the French front. -They took root in most inhospitable soil. As happy hunting-grounds for -the pacifists and anti-war agitators they were feared, their value -as restoratives (I speak temperamentally, not gastronomically) being -practically unknown. But once known it was recognised. The canteen at -Bar-le-Duc, for instance, has been the means of opening up at least two -others, though the opinion of one General, forcibly expressed when it -was in process of installation, filled its promoters with darkest gloom. - -"There will not be an unsmashed bowl, cup or plate in a week. The men -will destroy everything." And therein proved himself a false prophet, -for the men destroyed nothing--except our faith in that General's -knowledge of them! - -Once, indeed, we did see them in unbridled mood, and many and deep -were the complications that followed it. It was New Year's Eve, and -as I crossed the station yard I could hear wild revelry ascending to -the night. (Perhaps at this point it would be as well to say that the -canteen was not run by or connected in any way with our Society, and -that I and two members of the _coterie_ worked there as supernumeraries -in the evenings when other work was done. The fourth and by no means -last member was one of the fairy godmothers whose magic wand had waved -it into being.) Going in, I found it as usual in a fog of smoke, and -thronged with men. Now precisely what befell it would take too long to -relate, but I admit you to some esoteric knowledge. The evening, for -me, began with songs sung in chorus, passed swiftly to solos which -blistered the air, and which would have been promptly silenced had not -Authority warned us "to leave the men alone, they are in dangerous -mood to-night." (A warning with which one helper, at least, had no -sympathy.) It may safely be assumed that there was much in those songs -which we did not understand, but, judging by what we did, ignorance was -more than bliss, it was the topmost pinnacle of discretion. - -The soloist hoarse (he should have had a megaphone, so terrific was -the din), his place was taken by a creature so picturesque that all my -hearts went out to him at once. (It is as well to take a few hundred -with you when you go to France, they have such a trick of mislaying -themselves.) He was tall and slender, finely made, splendidly poised, -well-knit, a graceful thing with finished gestures, and he wore a -red fez, wide mustard-coloured trousers and a Zouave coat. He was -singularly handsome with chiselled features and eyes of that deep soft -brown that one associates with the South. Furthermore, he possessed no -mean gift of oratory. - -He stood on the bench that did duty as a platform. Jan Van Steen might -have painted the canteen then, or would he have vulgarised it? In spite -of everything, in some indefinable way it was not vulgar, and yet we -instinctively felt that it ought to have been. What saved it? Ah, that -I cannot tell. Perhaps the dim light, or the faint blueish haze of -tobacco smoke, the stacked arms, trench-helmets hanging on the walls. -Or else that wonderful horizon-blue, a colour that is capable of every -artistic _nuance_, that lures the imagination, that offers a hundred -beauties to the eye, and can resolve itself as exquisitely against -the dark boarding of a canteen as against the first delicate green of -spring, or against autumn woods a riot of colour. - -Now the speech of that graceless creature, swaying lightly above the -crowd, was everything that a canteen or war-time speech ought not -to be. It began with abuse of capitalists--well, they deserved it, -perhaps. It taxed them with all responsibility for the war, it yearned -passionately to see them in the trenches. There, at least, we were in -accord. We know a few.... But when it went on to say that the masses -who fought were fools, that they should "down tools," that the German -is too rich, too powerful, too well-organised, too supreme a militarist -ever to be defeated.... Then British pride arose in arms.... Just what -might have happened I cannot say, for French pride arose too, and as -it rose the orator descended, and holy calm fell for a moment upon the -raging tumult. - -It was indeed a hectic evening, and I, for one, was hoarse for two -days after it. Even "Monsieur désire?" or "Ça fait trente-trois sous, -Monsieur," was an exercise requiring vocal cords of steel or of wire in -such a hubbub, and mine, alas! are of neither. - -But the descent of the orator was not the end. Somehow, no matter how, -it came to certain ears that the canteen that night had been the scene -of an "orgy," the reputation of France was at stake, and so it befell -that one afternoon when the thermometer sympathetically registered -twenty-two degrees of frost, Colonel X. interviewed those of us who had -assisted at the revels, separately one by one, in the little office -behind the canteen. He wanted, it seems, to find out exactly what had -happened. Well, he found out! - -Put to the question, "Colonel X.," quoth I, not knowing the enormity I -was committing, "the men had drunk a little too much." - -"But, Mademoiselle," his dignity was admirable, reproof was in every -line of his exquisitely-fitting uniform, "soldiers of France are never -drunk." - -"Then"--this very sweetly--"can you tell me where they get the wine?" - -And he told me! He ought to have shot me, of course, and no doubt I -should richly have deserved it. But inadvertently I had touched upon -one of his pet grievances. The military authorities can close the -_débitants_ and restaurants, but they cannot close the _épiceries_. - -"Every grocer in France," he cried, "can get a license to sell wine. -He sends a small boy--_un vrai gosse_--to the Bureau, he stamps a -certificate, he pays a few francs, and that is all. A soldier can fill -his bottle at any grocer's in the town. Why," he went on, the original -cause of our interview forgotten and the delinquent turned confidante, -"not long ago I entrained a regiment here sober, Mademoiselle, I assure -you sober, but when they arrived at R---- they were drunk. And the -General was furious. 'What do you mean by sending me drunken soldiers?' -he thundered. They had filled their bottles, they were thirsty in the -train...." - -But officially, you understand, soldiers of France are never drunk. -Actually they seldom are. Coming home after six months in Bar, I saw -more soldiers under the influence of drink in a week (it included a -journey to Ireland in a train full of ultra-cheerful souls) than in all -my time in France. That men who were far from sober came occasionally -to the canteen cannot be denied, there are rapscallions in every army, -but the percentage was small, and with twenty-two degrees of frost -gnawing his vitals there is excuse for the man who solaces himself with -wine. - - -V - -It was characteristic of the French mind that Colonel X. could not -understand why we did not call the station guard and turn the rioters -into the street. To wander about in that bitter wind, to get perhaps -into all sorts of trouble! Better a rowdy canteen a hundred times over. - -We were frank enough--at least I know I was--on that aspect of the -episode, and, all honour to him, he conceded a point though he failed -to understand its necessity. But now, as at so many pulsating moments -of my career, the ill-luck that dogs me seized me in the person of the -Canteen-Chief and removed me from the room. She, poor ignorant dear, -thought I was being indiscreet, whereas I was merely being receptive. -I am sure I owe that Canteen-Chief a grudge, and I HOPE the Colonel -thinks he does, but on that point his discretion has been perfect. - -Only in the very direst extremity would we have called in the station -guard. We knew the deep-seated animosity with which the soldier views -the gendarme. I may be wrong, but my firm impression is that he hates -him even more than, or quite as much, as he hates the Boche. I suppose -because he does not fight. There must be something intensely irritating -to a war-scarred soldier in the sight of a strapping, well-fed, -comfortable policeman. You know the story of the wounded Tommy making -his way back from the lines and being accosted by a red-cap? - -"'Some' fight, eh?" he inquired blandly. - -"Some don't," retorted Tommy, and that sums the situation up more -neatly than a volume of explanation. - -Once, after the Walpurgis Night, a man chose to be noisy and slightly -offensive in the canteen. It was a thing that rarely happened, and -could always be dealt with, but, smarting possibly under a reprimand, -the guard rushed in, seized a quiet, inoffensive, rather elderly man -who was meekly drinking his coffee, and in spite of remonstrances and -protestations in which the canteen-workers joined, dragged him off, -cutting his throat rather badly with a bayonet in the scuffle. A little -incident which in no way inclined us to lean for support, moral or -otherwise, upon the guardians of military law. But we gave them their -coffee or chocolate piping hot just the same. - -And there were weeks when hot drinks were more acceptable than would -have been promise of salvation. - -"Bien chaud" ("Very hot") they would cry, coming in with icicles on -their moustaches and snow thick on their shoulders. Once an officer -asked for coffee. - -"Very hot, please." - -"It is boiling, Monsieur." He gulped it down. - -"It is the first hot food I have tasted for fourteen days." - -"From Vaux?" we asked. - -"Yes, front line trenches. Everything frozen, the wine in the -wine-casks solid. Yes, another bowl, please." - -Once another officer came in accompanied by an older man whom we -thought must be his father. He begged for water. - -"It comes straight from the main tap, it is neither filtered nor -boiled," we told him. - -"_N'importe._" No, he would not have tea nor coffee. Water, cold water. -He had a raging, a devouring thirst. A glass was filled and given him. - -"Suppose Monsieur gets typhoid?" - -"He has it now," the elderly man replied. "His temperature is high, -that is why he has so great thirst." The patient drank another glass. -Then they both went away. We often wondered whether he recovered. - -Once, at least, our hearts went out to another sick man. He leaned -against the counter with pallid face, over which the sweat of physical -weakness was breaking. Questioned, he told us he had just been -discharged from hospital, he was going back to the trenches, to Verdun, -in the morning. He looked as if he ought to have been in his bed. I -wonder if any society exists in France with the object of helping such -men? We never heard of one (which by no means proves that it does not -exist), but oh, how useful it might have been in Bar! One morning, for -instance, a man tottered into the canteen, ordered a cup of coffee, -drank, laid his head down on the table and fell into a stupefied doze. -So long did he remain the canteeners became anxious. Presently he -stirred, and told them that he had come there straight from a hospital, -that he was going home on leave, that his home was far--perhaps two -days' journey--away, and he had not a sou in his pocket. He was by no -means an isolated case. As a packet of food was being made up for him, -a soldier, obviously a stranger to the sick man, ordered _deux œufs -sur-le-plat_." - -"They are not for myself," he said, "but for the pal here." A little -act of good comradeship that was by no means the only one of its kind. - -The moment which always thrilled was that in which a regimental -Rothschild treated his companions to the best of our store. How eagerly -and exhaustively the list of _boissons_ was studied! - -"Un café? C'est combien? Deux sous? ce n'est pas cher ça." Then to a -friend, "Qu'est-ce-que-tu-prends?" - -"Moi? je veux bien un café." - -"No, non, un chocolat. C'est très bon le chocolat." The coffee lover -wavers. - -"Soit. Un chocolat alors." Then some one else cannot make up his mind. -A bearded man pouring _bouillon_ down his throat recommends that. It -is excellent. The merits of soup are discussed. Then back they go to -coffee again, and all the time as seriously as if the issue of the -war depended upon their deliberations. At length, however, a decision -is made--not without much pleading for _gniolle_ (rum) on the part -of Rothschild. "A drop? Just a tiny drop, Mad'm'zelle. Eh, there is -none? _Mais comment ça?_ How can one drink a _jus_ (coffee) without -_gniolle_? Mad'm'zelle is not kind." He would wheedle a bird from the -bushes, but happily for our strength of mind there is no drink stronger -than _jus_ in the canteen, a fact he finds it exceedingly difficult to -believe. We know that when at last he accepts defeat he is convinced -that fat bottles lie hidden under the counter to be brought forth for -one whose powers of persuasion are greater than his. He loads his -bowls on a tray, carries them by some occult means unbroken through the -throng, and has his reward when the never-failing ceremony of clinking -bowls or glasses with _Bonne chance!_ or _Bonne Santé!_ or _À vous_, -prefaces the feast. - -A pretty rite that of the French. Never did two comrades drink together -in the canteen without doing it reverence. Never did I, visiting a -refugee, swallow, for my sins, _vin ordinaire rouge_ in which a lump of -sugar had been dissolved without first clinking glasses with my hosts -and murmuring a "Good health," or "Good luck," and feeling strangely -and newly in sympathy with them as I did so. The little rite invested -commonplace hospitality with grace and spiritual meaning. - - -VI - -However, you must not think that the canteen kept us in a state of -soppy sentiment, or even of perfervid sympathy. Sanity was the mood -that suited it best. Presence of mind the quality that made for -success. A sense of humour the saving grace that made both the former -possible. When a thin, dark individual leans upon the counter for half -an hour or more, silent, ruminative, pondering--it is a quiet night, no -rush--gather your forces together. His eyes follow you wherever you go, -you see revelations hovering on his lips. You become absorbed in ham or -sausage (horse-sausage is incredibly revolting), but your absorption -cannot last. Even sausages fail to charm, and then the dark one sees -his opportunity. He leans towards you ... His faith in himself must -be immense.... Does he really think that a journey to Paris at 2 a.m. -in an omnibus train and a snowstorm can tempt you? If we had consoled -all the lonely _poilus_ who offered us--temporarily--their hands, their -hearts and their five sous a day we should now be confirmed bigamists. - -Or it may be that you are busy and contemplation of sausage -unnecessary. Then he sets up a maddening _Dîtes, dîtes, dîtes, -Mad'm'zelle_, that drives you to distraction. To silence him is -impossible. Indifference leaves him unmoved. He is like a clock in a -nightmare that goes on striking ONE! - -That he has an eye for beauty goes without saying. "Voilà, une jolie -petite brune! Vas-y." So two vagabonds catching sight of a decorative -canteener, and off they go to discuss the price of ham, for only by -such prosaic means can Sentiment leap over the counter. He addresses -you by any and every name that comes into his head. "La mère," "la -patronne" (these before he grasped the fact that the canteen was an -_œuvre_ and not a commercial enterprise), "la petite," "la belle," "la -belle Marguerite," "la Frisée," "la Dame aux Lunettes," "la petite -Rose," and many others I have forgotten. - -Indeed, the French aptitude for nicknames based on physical -attributes was constantly thrust on us. The refugees, finding our -own names uncomfortable upon the tongue, fell back on descriptive -nomenclature. "La Blonde," "la Blanche," for the fair-haired. "La -Grande," "la Belle," "la belle Dame au Lunettes," "la petite bleue," -"la Directrice," "la grande dame maigre." And once when a bill was in -dispute in a shop the proprietress exclaimed, "Is it that you wish to -know who bought the goods? It was la petite qui court toujours et qui -est toujours si pressée" (the little lady who always runs and is always -in such a hurry). As a verbal snapshot it has never been equalled. It -would have carried conviction in any court in the country. - -But most of all the heart of the soldier rejoices when he can call you -his _marraine_ (godmother). That we, mere English, pursued by ardent -souls, should sometimes be compelled to send out S.O.S. messages to our -comrades; that, feeling the mantle of our dignity slipping perilously -from our shoulders, we should cast aside our remote isolation and -engage the worker in the "next department" in animated conversation, -was only to be expected. But our hearts rejoiced and the imps in us -danced ecstatically when Madame D. was discovered one day hiding in the -office. She, splendid ally that she always was, volunteered to sit at -the receipt of custom on certain afternoons each week, and, clad in her -impenetrable panoply, at once suavely polite, gracious but infinitely -aloof, to sell _tickés_ with subdued but inextinguishable enjoyment. -But a lonely _poilu_ strayed by who badly needed a _marraine_, and so -persistent was he in his demands, so irresistible in his pleadings, so -embarrassing in his attentions, Madame, the panoply melting and dignity -snatched by the winds, fled to the office, from whence no persuasions -could lure her till the lonely one had gone his unsatisfied way. - -It is the man from the _pays envahi_ who, most of all, needs a -_marraine_, e. g. a sympathetic, sensible woman who will write to him, -send him little gifts and take an interest in his welfare. Because all -too often he stands friendless and alone. His relatives, his family -having remained in their homes, between him and them lies silence -more awful than death. He is a prey to torturing fears, he endures -much agony of mind, dark forebodings hang about him like a miasma -poisoning all his days. No news! And his loved ones, in the hands of -a merciless foe, may be in the very village the French or the British -are shelling so heavily! From his place in the trenches he may see the -tall chimneys, the church spire in the distance. He has been gazing -yearningly at them for two years, has seen landmarks crumble and -steeples totter as the guns searched out first one, then another.... -A _marraine_ may well save the reason of such men as these. She can -assuredly rob life of much of its bitterness, and inspire it with hope -and courage to endure. - -One of these men who came from Stenay told us of his misery. He had -done well in the army, had been promoted, might have been commissioned, -but his loneliness, the vultures of conjecture that tugged at his -heart, his longing and his grief overwhelmed him one night, and seeking -distraction in unwise ways he fell into dire trouble, and was reduced -to the ranks.... - -And yet, though I write of these poor derelicts, it is the gay and -gallant who holds my imagination. The thing of the "glad eye," and the -swagger, the jest, "Going _en permission_, Mad'm'zelle," the happiest -thing in France! It is he, the irrepressible, who carries gaiety -through the streets as he rolls by in his _camions_; he sings, he plays -discordant instruments, he buys _couronnes_ of bread, he shouts to -the women. "Ah, la belle fille!" "Mad'm'zelle, on aura un rendez-vous -là-bas." Sometimes he is more explicit:--intermittent deafness is an -infirmity of psychological value in the War Zone! And he thoroughly -enjoys the canteen. He likes "ploom-cak," he likes being waited on by -_Les Anglaises_, he likes the small refinements (though now and then -he "borrows" the forks), he appreciates generosity, he is by no means -ungrateful (see him pushing a few coppers across the counter with a -shamefaced "C'est pour l'œuvre"), and at his worst, least controlled, -most objectionable, he can be shamed into silence or an apology by a -few firm or tactful words. - -A bewildering thing! If I wrote of him for ever I should not be able to -explain him. - - - - -ENVOI - - -And so the tale is written, and the story told in strange halting -numbers that can but catch here and there at the great melody of the -human symphony. - -Just for one moment one may lay one's finger on the pulse of a great -nation, feel its heart beat, feel the quivering, throbbing life that -flows through its veins, but more than that who dare hope to gain? Not -in one phase, nor in one era, not in one great crisis nor even in a -myriad does the heart of a people express itself fully. From birth to -death, from its first feeble primitive struggles as it emerges from -the Womb of Time to its last death-throe as it sinks back again into -the Nothingness from which it came, it gathers to itself new forces, -new aspirations, new voices, new gods, new altars, new preachers, -new goals, new Heavens, new Hells, new readings of the Riddle that -only Eternity will solve. It is in perpetual solution, and the -composite atoms that compose it are in a state of unending change and -transmutation; it dies but to live again in other forms, is silent -only to express itself through new and--may we not hope it?--more -finely-tuned instruments. - -Summarising it to-day you may say of your summary, This is Truth. But -to-morrow it is already falsehood, for the Nation, bound upon the Wheel -of Evolution, has passed on, leaving you bewildered by the way. And -since the war has thrown the nations of the world into the crucible, -until they come forth again, and not till then, may we say, with -finality, "This is gold, or that alloy." - -France is being subjected to a severe test; her burden is almost more -than she can bear, but as she shoulders it we see the gold shining, -we believe that the dross is falling away. No defeat in the field--if -such an end were possible--can rob her of her glory, just as no victory -could save Germany from shame. "What shall it profit a Nation if it -gain the whole world, and lose its own soul?" The soul of Germany is -withered and dead. She has sacrificed it on the Altar of Militarism, -and has set up the galvanic battery of a relentless despotism and crude -materialism in its place. - -But the Soul of France lives on, strengthened and purified, the Soul of -a Nation that seeks the Light and surely one day shall find it. - - - THE END - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, BRUNSWICK - ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. - - - - - Skeffington's Early Spring Novels. - - - ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT NOVELS OF THE SPRING. - - =Captain Dieppe=: By ANTHONY HOPE, Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda," - "Rupert of Hentzau," etc., etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. net. - -In this novel, Anthony Hope, after a long interval, returns again to -similar scenes that formed the background of his famous novel "The -Prisoner of Zenda." - -Captain Dieppe, adventurer, servant of fortune, and, if not a fugitive, -still a man to whom recognition would be inconvenient and perhaps -dangerous, with only fifty francs in his pocket and a wardrobe in -a knapsack might be seen marching up a long steep hill on a stormy -evening. Later he finds himself before a castle bordering on a river -and his curiosity is roused by finding only one half of the house -lighted up. He meets the Count of Fieramondi, hears from him a strange -story, and of course takes an active interest in his affairs. - -The story, which has a powerful love interest running through it, tells -of his many adventures. - - - =The Test=: By SYBIL SPOTTISWOODE, Author of "Her Husband's Country," - "Marcia in Germany," etc. Cloth, 6s. net. - -This delightful novel can be thoroughly recommended. It gives a very -true impression of a bit of English life in and about a provincial town -in War time. The story concerns three daughters of a Colonel, of whom -the eldest is the central figure. These and the other characters who -are interwoven into the story are absolutely natural, convincing and -typical, and will be found most interesting company. - -All the Author's Profits are to be devoted to Italian Refugees. - - - =The Chronicles of St. Tid=: By EDEN PHILLPOTTS. Cloth, and with an - attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -The scenes in this volume, which contains nearly 100,000 words, are -laid in the West Country, the most popular setting of this famous -author. It shows Eden Phillpotts at his best. - - - A FINE NOVEL OF THE SOUTH SEAS BY A NEW AUTHOR. - - =Rotorua Rex=: By J. ALLEN DUNN. Cloth, and with an attractive - coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -Everybody is on the look-out for a good strong story of love and -adventure. Here is an exceptionally fine one, on the South Seas, which -all lovers of Stevenson's and Stacpoole's novels will thoroughly enjoy. -Each page grips the attention of the reader, and few will put the book -down till the last page is reached. - - =Simpson of Snell's=: By WILLIAM HEWLETT, Author of "The Child at the - Window," "Introducing William Allison," "The Plot Maker," etc. Cloth, - with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -This is a story, or rather study, of a young clerk, the type of clerk -that the modern commercial machine turns out by the hundred thousand as -a by-product of our civilization. Simpson, invoicing clerk at Snell's, -the celebrated patent-food people, had always seen life through the -medium of thirty shillings a week, and the only oasis in his dreary -desert of existence was his annual fortnight at Margate, where -flannels, cheap excitements and "girls" abounded. - -Why did not Mr. William Hewlett leave Simpson in this humble obscurity? -Well, because Destiny had a great and moving part for him in the comedy -of life! I don't think Simpson ever realized it was a "part" he was -playing. It was certainly not the part he planned for himself, and -throughout the period in which, at Mr. Hewlett's bidding he appears as -a public character, he is seen almost invariably doing the thing he -dislikes. - -Simpson would have pursued the customary course of clerking and -philandering to the end of his days, had it not been for an -enterprising hosier, an unenterprising actor and the egregious -Ottley--the public-school "Spark" dropped into Snell's like a meteor -from the skies. The hosier and the actor introduced poor Simpson to -"temperament," and temperament is a restive horse in a needy clerk's -stable. But Ottley introduced him to Winnie. Winnie was there before, -of course, a typist in his own office. But it was not until Ottley wove -his evil web for Nancy that Winnie wove her innocent spell for Simpson. -And because Winnie held Simpson securely and loved her friend's honour -better than her own happiness, he rose to the full height of manhood, -and to make the supreme sacrifice which turned him, an avowed enemy of -heroics, into the greatest and most unexpected of heroes. - -The story has a strong love-interest running through it with a most -dramatic ending. It cannot fail to increase Mr. William Hewlett's -popularity, and the publishers wish to draw special attention to it. - - - A LADY "SHERLOCK HOLMES." - - A FINE NOVEL BY A NEW AUTHOR. - - =The Green Jacket=: By JENNETTE LEE. A thrilling story of a Lady - Detective who unravels a great Jewel Mystery. Cloth, and with an - attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -Millicent Newberry, a small, inconspicuous woman in grey, is a clever -lady detective. - -She keeps green wool by her and knits a kind of pattern of her case -into the article she is making at the time. When the story opens, she -is asked to employ her wits to the loss of the Mason Emeralds. The -Green Jacket is the bit of knitting she has in hand. Her condition of -undertaking a case is permission to deal privately with the criminal as -she thinks best--reforming treatment rather than legal punishment--and -she makes it work. - -This detective story can be thoroughly recommended. The Author combines -an exciting story with the charm of real literary art; the mystery -is so impenetrable as to baffle the cleverest readers until the very -sentence in which the secret is revealed. - - - A REMARKABLE FIRST HISTORICAL NOVEL. - - =Claymore!=: By ARTHUR HOWDEN SMITH. A Story of the '45 Rebellion. - Cloth, and with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -Here is a first novel which, we believe, will bring to the Author -immediate popularity. It is an attractive story of the Stuart Rebellion -of the '45, full of love and adventure and with a good ending. The -hero, young Chisholm, of English birth, joins Prince Charlie and the -Stuart cause. How he meets and loves Sheila, the young girl chieftain -of the Mac Ross Clan, and their many perils and adventures with rival -claimants and traitors, together with happenings of many historical -persons and incidents appearing throughout the story, make "Claymore" -one of the best and arresting historical novels published for many a -year. - - - =Tales that are Told=: By ALICE PERRIN, Author of "The Anglo-Indians," - etc. Cloth, and with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. - -This volume consists of a short novel of about 25,000 words and several -fine Anglo-Indian and other stories. - - EARLY REVIEWS. - -"Ten of her very clever tales."--_The Globe._ - -"This attractive book."--_Observer._ - -"We can cordially recommend this book."--_Western Mail._ - -"An admirable and distinguished bit of writing. Mrs. Perrin at her -best."--_Punch._ - -"I can recommend these stories."--_Evening News._ - - - =Sunny Slopes=: By ETHEL HUESTON. Author of "Prudence of the - Parsonage." 6s. net. with an attractive 3-colour wrapper. - -This story is an inspiration to cheerful living. Not the impossible, -sentimental, goody-goody kind, but the sane, sensible, human and -humorous. Take it up if you are down-cast and learn how to keep the -sunny slopes in sight, even if the way seems to lead into the dark -valley. - -Its appeal is to all who love clean, wholesome, amusing fiction. Both -young and those not so young will glory in Carrol's fight for her -husband's life, and laugh over Connie's hopeless struggle to keep from -acquiring a lord and master. The quotations below will show you that -Ethel Hueston has something to say and knows how to say it. - -"If one can be pretty as well as sensible I think it's a Christian duty -to do it." - -"He is as good as an angel and as innocent as a baby. Two very good -traits, but dangerous when you take them both together." - -"The wickedest fires in the world would die out if there were not some -idle hands to fan them." - -"The only way to keep your husband out of danger is to tackle it -yourself." - -"Read Chapter IV and see how Carol does it." - - - TWO ENTIRELY NEW NOVELS, 3s. 6d. NET EACH. - - =The Cabinet Minister=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX. Cloth, and with an - attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net. - -Mr. Le Queux's famous detective novels need no introduction to readers; -they sell by the tens of thousands. The "Cabinet Minister" is a new -novel with a weird and fascinating plot which holds the reader from -the first page to the last. His Majesty's Cabinet Minister, Mr. George -Chesham, has disappeared in very mysterious circumstances, and in his -place is a dead stranger, who let himself into the house with Mr. -Chesham's own latch-key. This is the problem set for the public and -readers to unravel. The story is full of highly exciting incidents -of love and adventure, with a strong detective interest--the Covers -unravelling the mystery--in the true Le Queux style. - - - =The Secret Monitor=: By GUY THORNE. Author of "The Secret Submarine." - Cloth, with an attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net. - -A remarkable, thrilling and swiftly-moving story of love, adventure and -mystery woven round about half a dozen characters on the Atlantic coast -of Ireland, Liverpool and elsewhere, in connection with the invention -of a new material made from papier mâché (destined to take the place of -steel), and the building of a wonderful new ship from it. Finally, when -launched, "The Secret Monitor" goes on a mission to destroy a German -base, and a succession of breathless adventures follow. This novel -ought to considerably increase the popularity which has been gradually -and consistently growing for Mr. Guy Thorne's mystery novels. No one, -after picking up the book, will want to put it down until the last page -is read. - - - SKEFFINGTON'S 1s. 6d. NOVELS. - - BOUND, AND WITH ATTRACTIVE PICTORIAL WRAPPERS. - - =Sir Nigel=: By A. CONAN DOYLE. - - =Spragge's Canyon=: By H. A. VACHELL (Author of "Quinneys"). - - =The Great Plot=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, "The Master of Mystery." - - =The Mysterious Mr. Miller=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, "The Master of - Mystery." - - =The Leavenworth Case=: By ANNA KATHERINE GREEN. - - _Also uniform with the above_: - - =A Woman Spy=: Further confessions and experiences of Germany's - principal Secret Service woman, Olga von Kopf, edited by HENRY DE - HALSALLE. - - -London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., Publishers, 34, Southampton Street, -Strand, W.C.2. - - -_Any of the Books in this List can be posted on receipt of a -Remittance._ - - - [Illustration: S&S monogram] - - TELEGRAMS; - LANGUAGE-RAND, - LONDON. - - TELEPHONE NO. - 7435 GERRARD. - - To the Clergy: - Lent, 1918. - - _34, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, - STRAND, LONDON, W.C.2._ - - _PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE V._ - - - SKEFFINGTON'S NEW LIST - -Including New Sermons for +Lent, Good Friday+ and +Easter,+ -many of them with special reference to the +Three Years of War,+ -and the special conditions of the times in which we live. Manuals for -+Confirmation, Easter Communion.+ - -[Illustration; line of decorative crosses to divide page] - - =Thoughts for Dark Days=: By the Rev. H. L. GOUDGE, D.D., Canon of - Ely. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -The purpose of these excellent sermons is to bring out the value of the -Epistle of St. James in this present time of strain and difficulty. The -writer believes that St. James wrote in circumstances very similar to -our own, and that his teaching is in many instances exactly that which -we require. The sermons are arranged as a course for Lent and Easter, -and contain an exposition of almost every important passage in the -Epistle. - - - =Lenten Teaching in War Time=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A., - Author of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War - Time," etc. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net. - -These Addresses are eminently practicable. The effects of the War on -the earthly life are closely followed as illustrations of what takes -place in the Spiritual life. Thus, a comparison is drawn between the -present enforced abstinence occasioned by the War and the Church's -command to self-denial during Lent. - -They contain many new thoughts, and the subjects dealt with are treated -in new ways. The subjects chosen for Ash Wednesday, the Sundays -in Lent, Good Friday, Easter Eve and Easter Day, are singularly -appropriate, viz.: "Self-Denial," "Conflict," "Help," "Perseverance," -"Relief," "Sacrifice." "Triumph," "Suffering," "The Body of Jesus," -"The Conqueror of the Grave." - -Many of the thoughts are illustrated by similes and anecdotes very -touching and appropriate. - -It will be difficult to find Lenten Sermons better suited to country -congregations and to others who appreciate plain teaching. - -They are likely to prove the more palatable because some reference to -the War is contained in each (postage 2d.). - - _Postages to the Colonies are about 25% in excess of Inland Postages._ - - =Fruits of the Passion=: A Daily Watch with Jesus through the - Mysteries of His Sorrow unto the Joy of His Resurrection. By HILDA - PARHAM. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -A work of beauty, ability and intense earnestness. It is full of -beautiful thoughts, and presents a new way of regarding the Season of -Lent. There are no "drybones" in this work. It is therefore interesting -as well as devotional. It supplies a very excellent and necessary -meditation on our want of any real sense of sin. It also presents -excellent teaching in the sinfulness of little sins. - -The book contains brief meditations for Lent upon the Five Sorrowful -Mysteries, impressing the Father's love as shown forth in the life of -Christ and tracing the Fruit of the Holy Spirit in the Passion. - -There is one main thought throughout each week (with illustrative -poem). In simple devotional tone _each day_ strikes its clear note of -Catholic teaching. The Publishers wish to draw very special attention -to this beautiful book. - - - =Life in Christ=, or What It Is to be a Christian: By the REV. CANON - KEYMER, Missioner in the Diocese of Southwell, and formerly Rector - of Headon, Notts. Author of "Salvation in Christ Jesus," "The Holy - Eucharist in Typeland Shadow," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage - 3d.). - -The Author of this book was for many years engaged in preaching -Missions, and in giving Courses of Instructions. The teachings then -given have been arranged and connected under the general heading of -"Life in Christ." - -The book will be specially useful to those who desire to have, or to -give to others, consecutive and plain teaching. - - - =At God's Gate=: By the Venerable JOHN WAKEFORD, B.D., Precentor of - Lincoln. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Addresses suitable for "A Retreat," "A Quiet Day," or for -private reading with many entirely new thoughts and the expressions of -thought. The book is written with marked ability and can be thoroughly -recommended. - -It contains eight chapters suggesting thought, and stimulating the -praise and worship of God. In these days of emotion and spiritual -disquiet it is a wholesome thing to be drawn to think about the -relation of body and spirit in the harmony of the life of grace. The -mistaken distinctions of natural and spiritual are here put away, and -man is shown in his common life as the Child of God, intent upon doing -his Father's business. - - - =Triplicates of Holy Writ=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A. Author - of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War Time," etc. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This book contains fine Addresses for the Sundays in Lent, Good Friday -and Easter Day applicable to the War. - -The Publishers cannot do better than give the chapter headings of the -book which is written in this popular writer's best vein: - -_Ash Wednesday_: The Three Primary Duties--Prayer, Fasting and -Alms-giving. _Lent I._: The Three Temptations. _Lent II._: The Three -Favoured Disciples. _Lent III._: The Three Hebrew Martyrs. _Refreshment -Sunday_: The Three Witnesses. _Passion Sunday_: The Three-One God. -_Palm Sunday_: The Three Burdens. _Good Friday_: The Three Crosses. -_Easter Sunday_: The Threefold Benediction. - - - =Some Penitents of Scripture=: By the late Rev. G. A. COBBOLD. Author - of "Tempted Like as We are." Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. (postage 3d.). - -This book, showing as it does various aspects of that wide subject, -"Repentance," should prove especially useful to the Clergy during the -Season of Lent. - -The first address is a powerful appeal and a clear setting forth of the -meaning of a true repentance. - -In the other six addresses the author dwells in a very original and -practical way on various notable repentances recorded in Holy Scripture. - - - =Piety and Power=: By the Rev. H. CONGREVE HORNE, Author of "The Mind - of Christ crucified." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net. - -An exposition of "My Duty towards God," as defined in the Catechism, -and of the Eucharist as the means whereby we are empowered to perform -that duty. - -A contribution towards the wider appreciation of the Holy Eucharist as -the grand corporate act of redeemed humanity, bending in lowly homage -before the Sovereign Ruler of the Universe and Father of all mankind. - -Contents: Introduction--Faith, Fear and Love--Worship and -Thanksgiving--Trustfulness and Prayer--God's Holy Name and Word--True -Service--An Epilogue for Holy Week. - -Each chapter is divided into six sections. Those with the four which -form the Introduction will provide a short reading for each week day -of Lent. The Epilogue for Holy Week reviews the leading ideas of the -book by means of outline Meditations on one of the events of each day. -(Postage 2d.). - - - =The Language of the Cross=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A. Author - of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War Time," etc. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This excellent book contains plain addresses written on new lines of -thought, on "The Seven Last Words." - -They have copious reference to the War and are likely to prove useful -for the Three Hours' Service, or as Addresses during Lent and Passion. - -The subjects include: "The Word of Intercession," "The Word of Kingly -Majesty," "The Word of Filial Affection," "The Word of Desertion," "The -Word of Agonized Humanity," "The Word of Victory," "The Word of Death." - - - =God's Love and Man's Perplexity=: By the Rev. A. V. MAGEE, Vicar of - St. Mark's, Hamilton Terrace. Author of "The Message of the Guest - Chamber" (3rd edition), etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -This book, which deals with various aspects of the love of God, will -be specially useful for Retreats and Quiet Days, or for courses of -Sermons. It is also a message of Hope in war time, for all who feel -unable to reconcile the love of God with the horrors of war. - -The chapters deal with "The Prodigality of Love," "The Claim and -Response of Love," "The Quality of Divine Love," "The Joy of Love," -"The Timeliness of Love," "The Tardiness of Love, the Power and -Patience of Love," "Love's Reward of Obedience," "Love's Perplexity." - -It is excellent in every way, and can be thoroughly recommended. - -Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to say that she will -be pleased to accept a copy of this book on publication. - - - =Prayer the Sign-Post of Victory=: Addresses written for January 6th, - 1918, but eminently suitable for general use. By the REV. CANON C. LL. - IVENS, H. CONGREVE HORNE and J. H. WILLIAMS. 2s. 6d. net. - -This book contains five addresses, the chapter headings being: -"A Time Call to Prayer and Thanksgiving," "The King's Command," -"Prayerfulness," "Clearsightedness," "What the Crib reveals in Time of -War," and an "Appendix of Prayers." - - - =Religion and Reconstruction.= Cloth, crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net (postage - 3d.). - -If the War has taught us anything at all, it has most certainly -taught us that many of our national institutions and many phases of -our social life need urgent reform. Men's minds are turning towards -reconstruction. The whole fabric of Church and State is quickly -coming under the ken of an impatient public, and there is a danger -that they will be guided more by the heart than the head. Problems of -Reconstruction call for the consideration of men of stability and high -character. As the Church's contribution to this momentous discussion, -the forthcoming book on "RELIGION AND RECONSTRUCTION" is one that -everybody will find extremely valuable. - -It has been written by: - - The RT. REV. C. J. RIDGEWAY, D.D., Bishop of Chichester. - The RT. REV. J. A. KEMPTHORNE, D.D., Bishop of Lichfield. - The RT. REV. B. POLLOCK, C.V.O., D.D., Bishop of Norwich. - The RT. REV. W. W. PERRIN, D.D., M.A., Bishop of Willesden. - The RT. REV. J. E. C. WELLDON, D.D., Dean of Manchester. - The VERY REV. W. M. EDE, D.D., M.A., Dean of Worcester. - The RT. REV. G. H. FRODSHAM, D.D., Canon of Gloucester. - The HON. and REV. CANON JAMES ADDERLEY, M.A. - The VEN. JOHN WAKEFORD, Precentor of Lincoln, B.D. - MONSIGNOR POOCK, D.D. - The REV. W. E. ORCHARD, D.D. (Presbyterian). - The REV. F. B. MEYER, B.A., D.D. (Baptist). - F. C. SPURR (Baptist). - -leaders of religious thought, who are something more than students of -social questions. - -The book covers a very wide field, from questions of Education and -Imperial Politics to those of Family and Domestic Interest. It is the -book every parish priest, in fact every minister of religion, should -read and discuss with his parishioners and adult classes. - - - =Faith and the War=: By ARTHUR MACHEN, Author of "The Bowmen: and - other Legends of the War." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This very ably written book contains excellent doctrine which ought to -prove helpful to any Christian of any religious persuasion. The errors -of Infidelity and the absurdities of Spiritualism are exposed in a -courteous manner. The subjects include: "The Contradictions of Life," -"Faith," "The Freethinker," "The Religion of the Plain Man," etc. - - - =The Round of the Church's Clock=: By the Rev. JOHN SINKER, Vicar of - Lytham, and Rural Dean of the Fylde. Author of "Into the Church's - Service," "The Prayer Book in the Pulpit," "The War; Its Deeds and - Lessons," etc. With an introduction by the Right Rev. G. H. S. - Walpole, D.D., Lord Bishop of Edinburgh. Recently published. Crown - 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d). - -An entirely new series of Addresses, including one Sermon for each of -the Church's Seasons from Advent to Trinity. - -These addresses are popular in style, and abound in illustrations -and other matter calculated to arrest and hold the attention of any -congregation. Messrs. Skeffington consider them among the very best -they have ever published. - -=Dr. Walpole, Bishop of Edinburgh=, writes: "I have no hesitation in -commending these simple addresses to the Clergy, and all those who -have the responsibility of expounding the teaching of the Church's -seasons. 'The Round of the Church's Clock' contains not only clear and -definite teaching, but it also abounds in stories, poems, experiences -and analogies, which not only enable the listener to understand what -is preached, but to be interested. While Mr. Sinker never belittles -the sacredness of the high subjects he treats, he makes them easily -understood." - - - =God and His Children=: By the Rev. F. W. WORSEY, M.A., Vicar of - Bodenham. Author of "Praying Always," "Under the War Cloud," "War - and the Easter Hope," etc. Just out. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -An entirely new series of simple practical Sermons, including: Six for -Lent on The Child of God, three for Good Friday and Easter, four for -Advent on the Godhead, three for Christmas and New Year on the Divine -Son, and two for Epiphany. - -It will be seen that this new volume provides a complete course of -preaching from Advent to Easter, and will be found in all respects -equal to its author's previous volumes. - - -SIXTH IMPRESSION OF THIS REMARKABLE BOOK, WITH AN ENTIRELY NEW CHAPTER. - - =Prophecy and the War:= By the Rev. E. J. NURSE, Rector of Windermere. - Price 3s. net (postage 2½d.). - -Seven Remarkable Prophecies on the War. This volume, which has proved -so unusually striking and interesting, includes The Divine Potter -Moulding the Nations--The Return of the Jews to Palestine--The -Four World-Empires foretold by Daniel--The Downfall of the Turkish -Empire--The Desolation and Restoration of Jerusalem--The Second -Coming--The Millennium. Also an entirely New Chapter, entitled, -"Armageddon; or, The Coming of Antichrist." - - - =Tennyson's "In Memoriam:"= Its Message to the Bereaved and Sorrowful. - By the Rev. T. A. MOXON, M.A., Editor of "St. Chrysostom, on the - Priesthood," etc. Assistant Master of Shrewsbury School, formerly - Vicar and Rural Dean of Alfreton. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 2½d.). - -Six Addresses on the subject of Tennyson's Poem in relation to the -present War. The "In Memoriam" is a record of the poet's gradual -struggle from despair to faith, after the blow of the sudden death -of his friend, A. H. Hallam. These addresses are specially composed -to help the bereaved and sorrowful; they deal with the problems of -Suffering, Death, Communion with the Departed, Faith and Hope, and -the Message of Christ, as expressed by the late Lord Tennyson. This -volume may be given to the bereaved; it may also be found useful for -preachers, and those who minister to the sorrowful. - - - =Our Lenten Warfare=: For Lent. By the Rev. H. L. GOUDGE, D.D., Canon - of Ely, with Special Foreword by the Bishop of London. Crown 8vo, - cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). Third Impression. - -Nine entirely new Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, -Good Friday and Easter Day. These most valuable and specially written -Addresses deal with the Lenten Warfare of the Soul against Sin, in -connection with the lessons of the Great War. - -=The Bishop of London= says: "This excellent little book will commend -itself by its own merit. The whole idea of the new Christian soldier -as we understand him in the light of the war is so clearly worked out, -without one superfluous word, that 'he who runs may read.' If I may, -however, pick out one chapter out of the rest, I would choose that on -'The New Army.' The teaching of this chapter is VITAL." - - - =The Fellowship of the Holy Eucharist=: For Lent. By the Rev. G. LACEY - MAY, M.A., Author of "What is The National Mission?" Crown 8vo, cloth, - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Forty entirely new Devotional Readings on the Sacrament of Love, -specially suitable for the Forty Days of Lent, and most valuable in -connection with the recent Mission Preaching and Teaching on the -Subject. Among the subjects are: Fellowship with Our Lord--with -The Holy Spirit--with The Angels--with Our Fellow-men--with The -Suffering--with The Departed--with Nature. Full of material for -Eucharistic Sermons. - - - =The Love of our Lord=: By the Rev. JOHN BERESFORD-PEIRSE, with - Preface by the Bishop of Bloemfontein. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -An entirely new Set of Addresses to Boys and Young Men, which will -be found invaluable for Teaching and for Mission Work. Among the -twenty-one subjects are Prayer, Thanksgiving, Confirmation, The Holy -Eucharist, Faith, Hope, Love, Service, Friendship, Purity, etc. - - - =Christ's Message in Times of Crisis=: By the Rev. E. C. DEWICK, some - time Vice-Principal of St. Aidan's, Birkenhead Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. - 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Twenty Sermons originally preached at St. Aidan's College. A singularly -interesting set of Addresses, twelve of which are on subjects connected -with THE WAR. They will be found very useful and valuable at the -present time. - - - =Short Village Homilies=: By the Rev. F. L. H. MILLARD, M.A., Vicar of - St. Aidan's, Carlisle. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A new Series of short and simple Sermons, specially adapted during -these times for Villages and Evening Addresses in large towns. They -include Six Sundays in Lent, Mourners and Bereaved, a Memorial Sermon, -and several specially for use during War. - -N.B.--These Sermons are prepared to give practical help until Trinity. -The volume includes special Sermons on the War; To Mourners; Memorial -Sermon; a complete course for Lent; also Good Friday, Easter, etc., -etc. They are thoroughly interesting, practical sermons of a Mission -type for villagers and for evening services in large towns. - - - =In the Hand of God=: By GERTRUDE HOLLIS. 2s. 6d. net. (postage 2d.). - -In Memory of the Departed. This new and beautiful little volume -contains thirty Short Chapters, full of comfort and hope for the -Bereaved in this War. There is a space for the names of the Departed, -and the Meditations on Paradise and the Resurrection are full of -consolation. - - - =Praying Always (Eph. vi.--18). Ash Wednesday to Easter in War Time=: - By the Rev. F. W. WORSEY, Vicar of Bodenham, Author of "Under the War - Cloud," Nine Sermons, etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 3d.). Published 1916. - -Nine Plain Sermons for Ash Wednesday, each Sunday in Lent, Good -Friday, and Easter Day. These Sermons deal largely with Lenten Prayer -during the War: "The Call--The Object--The Difficulties, The Effect -of Prayer--The Prayers from the Cross--The Easter Triumph of Prayer." -=The Church Times= said of Mr. Worsey's former volume: "We should like -to think that in every Country Church the War has found Parish Priests -ready to give such admirable counsel to their people." - - - =The Discipline of War=: For Lent. By the Rev. Canon J. HASLOCH - POTTER, M.A. 2s. net (postage 2d.). Second Impression. Published 1915. - -Nine Addresses, including Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, Good -Friday and Easter Day. - - - =Lenten Thoughts in War Time=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A., - Author of "Village Sermons." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). Published 1916. - -Nine Plain Addresses, specially written for the Lenten Season in -connection with the War. They include Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the -six Sundays in Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day. These addresses -embrace the duties which we owe to God, to ourselves, to the nation, -and to the Church. - - - =The Greatest War=: For Lent. By the Rev. A. C. BUCKELL, of St. - Saviour's, Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -This most interesting course of Six Lent Sermons will be found valuable -at the present time. Among the subjects most strikingly treated are: -The War--Its Author--Its Cause--The Equipment--The Trial--The End--and -the Glory of the War. - - - =The Prayer of the Lord and the Lord of the Prayer=: For Lent. By the - Rev. T. A. SEDGWICK, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Six Addresses on the Lord's Prayer, and also a complete Set of -Addresses on the Seven Last Words. A striking volume for Lent and Holy -Week. - - - =The World's Destiny=: By a LAYMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -A challenge by a Layman to the Clergy of the Church of England. The -writer deals with the question of Our Lord's Return. In a catholic -spirit, he asks whether the clergy are not seriously neglecting an -important part of Catholic Truth in failing to teach the literal -fulfilment of prophecy. The book is scholarly and arresting; the -arguments are marshalled clearly and with legal fairness and acumen; -the challenge is one which demands attention and an answer. - - - =With the C.L.B. Battalion in France=: By the Rev. JAMES DUNCAN, - Chaplain to the 16th K.R.R. (C.L.B.). With Frontispiece and a most - interesting Preface by the Rev. EDGAR ROGERS. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -This intensely interesting book gives an account of the doings of the -Battalion raised from the Church Lads' Brigade. Among the vivid and -striking chapters are Going to the Front--In France--In Billets--In the -Firing Line--The Trenches--The Red Harvest of War, etc. - - -TO MEET THE NEEDS OF THE TIME NEW AND CHEAP EDITIONS HAVE BEEN ISSUED -OF THE FOLLOWING SIX VALUABLE AND INTERESTING VOLUMES. - - =1. Mission Preaching for a Year=: 86 Original Mission Sermons. Two - Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. net (postage 7d.) The whole work probably - constitutes the most complete Manual of Mission Preaching ever - published. - - VOL. I., containing forty-one Sermons, from Advent to Whit Sunday, - separately. 5s. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., containing forty-five Sermons, for all the - Sundays in Trinity and many occasional (_e.g._, All - Saints--Holy Communion--Sunday Observance--Opening of an - Organ--Harvest--Flower Service--Service for Men--Service for - Women--Missions--Temperance--Funeral--Social Clubs--Empire Sermon, - etc.), separately. 5s. net (postage 5d.). - -These Sermons are by the most practical and experienced Mission -Preachers of the day, including amongst many others the Archbishop of -York, Bishops of London, Manchester, Chichester, Birmingham, Bishop -Ingham, Deans of Bristol and Bangor, Canons Hay, Aitken, Atherton, -Barnett, Body, Scott Holland, Lester, Archdeacons Sinclair, Madden -and Taylor, The Revs. W. Black, F. M. Blakiston, H. J. Wilmot-Buxton, -Robert Catterall, W. H. Hunt, A. V. Magee, A. H. Stanton, P. N. -Waggett, John Wakeford, Paul Bull, A. J. Waldron, Cyril Bickersteth, -etc., etc. - - - =2. The Sunday Round=: By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD, M.A., Author of - "Village Preaching." Two Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. net (postage 6d.). - - VOL. I., Advent to Fifth after Easter. 3s. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., Ascensiontide to the end of Trinity, etc. 3s. net (postage - 5d.). - -Being a Plain Village Sermon for each Sunday and some Chief Festivals -of the Christian Year, after the style and model of the same Author's -first series of "Village Preaching for a Year." Printed in Large Clear -Type, and brimful of original thoughts, ideas and illustrations, which -will prove a mine of help in the preparation of Sermons, whether -written or extempore. - -"From beginning to end these simple, forcible and intensely practical -sermons will give pleasure and instruction. They are written with -scholarly freshness and vigour, and teem with homely illustrations -appealing equally to the educated and the honest labourer."--_Guardian._ - -NOTE.--The above series of Village Sermons forms a perfect storehouse -of Teaching, Illustration, and Anecdote, for the Sundays of the whole -Year and will be found invaluable to the Preacher in Country Towns and -Villages. - - - =3. The Church's Lessons for the Christian Year=: By the Rev. Dr. A. - G. MORTIMER. Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, cloth, 9s. net (postage 7d.). - - VOL. I., Advent to Fifth Sunday after Easter (60 Sermons, being two - sermons for every Sunday) separately. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., Ascension Day to Advent. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Sixty Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Holy Days, on Texts from -the OLD Testament Lessons, and Sixty Sermons on Texts from the NEW -Testament, appropriate to the occasion, thus forming a complete Year's -Sermons, 120 in number, for Mattins and Evensong. - -=The Church Times= says: "We like these Sermons very much. They are -full of wholesome thought and teaching, and very practical. Quite as -good, spiritual and suggestive, as his 'Helps to Meditation.'" - -=The Guardian= says: "We do not often notice a volume of Sermons we can -praise with so few reservations." - - - =4.Sorrow, Hope and Prayer=: By the Rev. Dr. A. G. MORTIMER. THIRD - THOUSAND. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -This beautiful book forms a companion volume to the same Author's most -popular work, "It Ringeth to Evensong." It will be found a great help -and comfort to the bereaved, and to those in sorrow and suffering. - -N.B.--An edition of this book, most handsomely bound in rich leather, -with rounded corners and gold over red edges, lettered in gold, forming -a really beautiful Gift-book. 7s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -"Many books exist with similar aim, but this seems exactly what is -wanted."--_Church Times._ - - - =5.Bible Object-Lessons=: By the late Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, - M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Thirty Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Six for Lent, -Christmas, Easter, etc., etc., and many General Sermons. - -"These Sermons have sound doctrine, copious illustrations, and -excellent moral teaching. They are particularly suited for Village -Congregations."--_Church Times._ - -"These Sermons on divine object-lessons are justly published, for -they are infused with a spirit of sensible as well as devotional -churchmanship, with simple practical teaching. Mr. Buxton is a -recognized master of the simple and devotional."--_Guardian._ - - - =6.Till the Night is Gone=: By the late Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY. - SECOND IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A volume of Thirty Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six -for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, and many General Sermons. - - OPINIONS OF MR. MURPHY'S SERMONS. - -"Sermons of a very straightforward and forcible kind, much wanted in -the present day."--_National Church._ - -=A Rector in the Midlands= writes: "_These are perfect Sermons for -Villagers_, and calculated to do an enormous amount of good. A -congregation that listens to such sermons is to be envied indeed." - -"Can be heartily praised. Never uninstructive and never dull. The -sermons have force, directness, actuality, with simplicity of style. -Full of brightness and vivacity. Nobody could go to sleep where such -sermons are delivered."--_Guardian._ - - -TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS ON HYMNS. - - =Popular Hymns: their Authors and Teachers=: By the late CANON DUNCAN, - Vicar of St. Stephen's, Newcastle-on-Tyne. CHEAP Edition. Crown 8vo, - cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A Series of thirty-six Sermons on popular hymns. Most attractive and -instructive Sermons. - -"We can bear very strong personal testimony to the great delight and -usefulness of Canon Duncan's beautiful and impressive work."--_Record._ - -"A deeply interesting and helpful book."--_Church Family Newspaper._ - - - =Hymns and their Singers=: By the late Rev. M. H. JAMES, LL.D., Vicar - of St. Thomas', Hull. SECOND IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-one Sermons on popular Hymns. These very original Sermons deal -not only with the meaning of the words, but are full of interesting -information as to the Authorship and History of the various Hymns. - -=The Church of Ireland Gazette= says: "The writer is to be -congratulated. There are twenty-one extremely interesting and -attractive Sermons." - - - =On the Way Home=: By the Rev. W. H. JONES. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown - 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Sixty Sermons for Life's Travellers, for all the Sundays and Chief Holy -Days in the Christian Year. - -"We believe that everyone on reading these short Addresses will agree -with us in the high opinion we have formed of them. They are replete -with anecdotes drawn from life, and such as are calculated to fix the -attention of homely folk for whom especially they are intended. Written -as they are by a Priest of the Diocese of Lincoln, they breathe much -of that spirit of love which one has learned to associate with that -favoured See."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Country Pulpit=: By the Rev. J. A. CRAIGIE, M.A., Vicar of - Otterford. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -This excellent volume of Village Sermons includes Advent, Christmas, -Epiphany, and the Sundays from Septuagesima to Easter, besides General -Sermons. - -"We feel convinced that these sermons were listened to, and that their -author will be heard again."--_National Church._ - - - =The Good Shepherd=: The last book by the late Rev. Canon GEORGE BODY. - SECOND IMPRESSION. Cloth, boards, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Meditations. (The Pastorate of Jesus--The Fold--Personal -Knowledge of Jesus--Guidance--Sustenance--Healing--Paradise, etc.). - - -BOOKS FOR THE FORTY DAYS OF LENT - - =New and Contrite Hearts=: By the late Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. - EIGHTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Forty brief Meditations, one for every day in Lent, from Ash Wednesday -to Easter Eve. A new and cheaper Edition of these most popular -Readings, which include a Set of Seven Short Addresses on the Seven -Last Words. - -"Just such readings as will help the devout soul to realize the -blessing which follows a well observed Lent."--_Church Family -Newspaper._ - - - =Lenten Lights and Shadows=: By the Author of "The Six Maries," etc. - Fcap. 8vo, cloth, bevelled boards, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Meditations for the Forty Days of Lent, with additional readings for -the Sundays in Lent and Easter Day. This book of Short and Beautiful -Readings for the days of Lent is strongly recommended. - - - =The Last Discourses of Our Lord=: By the Rev. DR. A. G. MORTIMER. NEW - AND CHEAPER EDITION. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 5d.). - -In Forty Addresses or Readings for the Forty Days of Lent. - -A New Edition of this valuable book, which is now published at 3s. 6d. -net instead of 5s. net. - - - =The Halo of Life=: By Rev. HARRY WILSON, formerly Vicar of St. - Augustine's, Stepney. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage - 2d.). - -Forty Little Readings on Humility, specially suitable for the Forty -Days of Lent. Suited for general distribution. - -"This is a valuable little book, which we most highly recommend. How -many thousand families might be blessed by this invaluable work if its -noble rules were applied to daily life."--_Church Review._ - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =Catholic Teaching=; or, Our Life and His Love. A Series of Fifty-six - Simple Instructions in the Christian Life. FOURTEENTH IMPRESSION. - Cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -=The Church Review= says: "Has the true ring of Catholic Teaching, -persuasively and eloquently put in the plainest English. This valuable -little book is as good as any we can recommend." - - - =A Treasury of Meditation=, or Suggestions, as Aids to those Who - Desire to Lead a Devout Life. By the REV. CANON KNOX LITTLE. - THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. Printed throughout in red and black, on - specially made paper, and bound in crimson cloth, bevelled boards, - with burnished red edges, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Manual of brief Meditations on various subjects, _e.g._, On Sin--On -the World--On Things of Ordinary Life--On Nearness to God--On the -Perfect Life--On the Life and Offices of Christ--On the Cross of -Christ--On the Holy Ghost--On Saints and Angels--On the Blessed -Sacrament--On Life, Death, and Eternity, etc. - -N.B.--Each one includes brief Directions, Meditation, Question, -Resolve, Prayer, Work of Christ, Verse of Hymn. This Manual is -invaluable for the whole Christian Year. - - - =The Guided Life=; or, Life Lived under the Guidance of the Holy - Spirit. By the late Rev. CANON GEORGE BODY. EIGHTH IMPRESSION. Fcap. - 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage 1½d.). - -The Way of Contrition; The Way of Sanctity; The Way of Patience; The -Way of Ministry, etc. - -"Of very great value."--_Guardian._ - -"Very bright, cheering, helpful, and valuable meditations."--_Church -Review._ - - - =The Mystery of Suffering=: By Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. A NEW AND CHEAP - EDITION FOR LENT (the Tenth). 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Course of Lent Lectures: 1. The Mystery of Suffering. 2. The Occasion -of Suffering. 3. The Capacity for Suffering. 4. Suffering Educative. 5. -Suffering Evidential. 6. Suffering Sacrificial. - -"This is the very poetry of Theology; it is a very difficult subject -very beautifully handled."--_Church Quarterly._ - - - =The Mountain of Blessedness=: By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of - Chichester. FIFTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Plain Lent Addresses on the Beatitudes. - - - FOR CHILDREN'S SERVICES. - - =The King and His Soldiers=: By M. E. CLEMENTS, Author of "Missionary - Stories." Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-six Talks with Boys and Girls, from Advent to Whit Sunday. These -Addresses will be found of the greatest possible interest for Children, -and will be invaluable for Addresses in Church, in School, or for Home -Reading for the Sundays in Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, -and up to Whit Sunday. They cannot fail to seize and hold the attention -of young people. - - - =The Children's Law=: By Rev. G. R. OAKLEY, M.A., B.D. 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Plain Talks to Children on the Commandments, the Sacramental -Ordinances, and on Rules of Life and Worship, of the greatest value in -instructing and helping the Young; for use in Church, Sunday School, or -at Home. - -_A strikingly beautiful little book._ - - - =Missionary Stories of the Olden Time=: By MARY E. CLEMENTS. 2s. net - (postage 3d.). - -A Series of deeply interesting Stories specially suited for -Young People, full of picturesque incidents in the Story of the -Evangelization of the British Isles. Among the contents are the Stories -of St. Alban--St. Patrick--The Boys in the Slave Market--Of Gregory -and the Young Angles--The Conversion of Kent--Sussex--Wessex, etc. A -delightful book for children and others. - - - TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN. - - =Sermons to Children=: First Series. By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. - THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Including a set of Six on Children's Duties and Faults -(Tidiness--Idleness--Wilfulness--Obedience--Perseverance--Idle Talk, -etc.), and also a set of Four on the Seasons of the Year. - -=The Church Quarterly= says: "These are really Sermons suited _for_ -Children, alike in mode of thought, simplicity of language, and lessons -conveyed, and they are very beautiful. No mere critical description -can do justice to the charm with which spiritual and moral lessons are -made to flow (not merely are drawn) out of natural facts or objects. -Stories, too, are made use of with admirable taste, and the lessons -taught are, without exception, sound and admirable. We cannot doubt -that the volume will be, and will remain, a standard favourite." - - - =Sermons to Children=: Second Series. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-four Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, -Whitsunday, Trinity, and many General Sermons. - -The immense success of Mr. BARING-GOULD'S former Series of Sermons to -Children, of which thirteen editions have already been sold, will make -this new volume doubly welcome. - -=The Church Times= says: "There will be a run on this volume. The -stories are most cleverly told, and the lessons are all that they -should be. No child who reads or hears these Addresses will be left in -doubt as to what he ought to believe and do." - - - TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN. - - =Led by a Little Child=: (Isaiah xi. 6). By the late H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON. SIXTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -A Series of Fifteen Short Addresses or Readings for Children. Among -the Subjects and Titles of the Addresses are "The Lion and the Lamb," -"The Serpent and the Dove," "Wolves," "Foxes," "The Sparrow and the -Swallow," "Eagles' Wings," "Sermons in Stones," "Four Feeble Things" -(Prov. xxx. 24), "What the Cedar Beam Saw," etc., etc. - -"Bright, simply-worded homilies for children, with plenty of -anecdotes and illustrations, which are not dragged in, but really -do help the lesson to be enforced. Very useful for reading aloud to -children."--_Guardian._ - -"Models of what children's sermons should be."--_Ecclesiastical -Gazette._ - - - =Parable Sermons for Children=: A Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. - 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -These beautiful Sermons generally begin with a Story or Parable, and -cannot fail to arrest and hold the attention of children. The original -Edition was published at 3s. 6d. It is now reduced to 2s. 6d. net. - - - =The Boys and Girls of the Bible=: By Rev. CANON J. HAMMOND. Two - Vols., 12s. net (postage 5d.). - -Two Volumes of Sermons on Old and New Testament Characters. - - VOL. I., Old Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - VOL. II., New Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - - - =The Church Catechism in Anecdote=: Collected and Arranged by the late - Rev. L. M. DALTON, M.A. FOURTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). - -Providing one or more anecdotes illustrating each clause of the Church -Catechism, the teacher being left to apply the materials thus provided. -An endeavour has been made to find good anecdotes which have not been -used in other well-known books on the Church Catechism, and the volume -cannot fail to delight and interest the children who are being taught. - - - CHURCH MUSIC FOR LENT AND EASTER. - - =The Benedicite, for Septuagesima and Lent=: (Shortened Form.) Six - simple chant settings, the second half of each verse being repeated - after every third verse only, thus repeating it _eleven_ instead of - thirty-two times. - -NO. 1, in D, by MARTIN S. SKEFFINGTON. NO. 2, in G, by MARTIN S. -SKEFFINGTON.--NO. 3, in B Flat, by MARTIN S. SKEFFINGTON.--NO. 1, in -E Flat, by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES.--NO. 2, in A Flat, by H. HAMILTON -JEFFERIES.--NO. 3, in G, by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. - -The price of each of the above, Words and Music complete, is 2d., or 25 -Copies of any one setting for 3s. net (postage 2d.). One Copy of each -of these Six Settings post free for 1s. - - - MUSIC BY H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. - - =Vesper Hymn=: "Part in Peace," to be sung kneeling, after the - Benediction. The Words by SARAH F. ADAMS, author of "Nearer, my God, - to Thee," and the Music by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. Complete with Music, - 1d., or Twenty-five Copies for 1s. 9d. net (postage 1d.). The Words - separately, price ½d., or 1s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 2d.). - - - =The Morning Service in Chant Form= in D Major, including Kyrie. Price - 2d., or Twenty-five Copies for 3s. net (postage 4d.). - -A simple Service in Chant Form for Village and Parish Choirs, including -chants for the Venite, quadruple for the Te Deum (the Words printed in -full), for the Benedictus or Jubilate, and a Kyrie. A melodious and -attractive Service for congregational use. - - - =The Story of the Cross=: A beautiful setting for Parish Choirs, by - H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. Price 1d., or Twenty-five Copies for 1s. 9d. - net (postage 2d.). The Words separately, ½d., or 1s. 6d. net per 100 - (postage 2d.). - -This devotional and lovely setting, both in compass and simplicity, is -perfectly suited for Choirs in Towns or Villages. - -=A Midland Vicar writes=:--"I have tried nearly all the settings used, -but yours is the most tuneful of all." - - - =An Easter Service of Song=: Complete with Music. Price 4d. The Words - separately, price ½., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -A complete Order of Service, short and simple, for Eastertide, with -Hymns and Carols. Special tunes by Sir J. F. BRIDGE, etc. - - - =The Late Canon Woodward's Children's Service Book=: 394th Thousand. - Services, Prayers, Hymns, Litanies, Carols, etc. - -The Complete Words Edition, stitched, price 3d. net. Strong limp cloth, -6d. net. Handsome cloth boards, 8d. net. Complete Musical Edition, 3s. -6d. net (Inland postage 5d.). - - Clergymen desirous of making CHILDREN'S SERVICES REALLY POPULAR and - THOROUGHLY ATTRACTIVE both to children and their elders should send - for Specimen Copy. Post free, 3-½d. - - - VOLUMES OF SERMONS, ADDRESSES OR READINGS ESPECIALLY SUITABLE FOR LENT - AND EASTER, MANY CONTAINING COMPLETE COURSES. - - =The Prodigal Son=: By Rev. A. C. BUCKELL, M.A. of St. Saviour's, - Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -Six new and most picturesque Sermons for Lent and Easter, the various -events being vividly described in six scenes. - -Act I. The Two Sons. Scene. A Home.--Act II. The Far Country. Scene. -A Hotel.--Act III. The Awakening. Scene. A Pigsty.--Act IV. The -Reconciliation. Scene. A Garden.--Act V. The Feast. Scene 1. A Dining -Room. Scene 2. A Study. - - - =The Men of the Passion=: By T. W. CRAFER, D.D. Author of "The Women - of the Passion." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -A Series of Holy Week Addresses. (The Friends--The Enemies--The -Betrayer--The Judges--The Friends in Death--The Friends after -Death--The Men of the Resurrection.) These Addresses form a complete -course for use during the Sundays in Lent or the Days of Holy Week. - - - =The Women of the Passion=: By the Rev. T. W. CRAFER, D.D., Vicar of - All Saints, Cambridge. SECOND IMPRESSION. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -Holy Week Addresses, including: "The Blessed Virgin--Mary of -Bethany--The Daughters of Jerusalem--Pilate's Wife--Mary Magdalene and -her Companions," etc. - -"Marked by great freshness, point, and originality of conception, and -are eminently practical. We highly commend them."--_Church of Ireland -Gazette._ - - - =Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion=: By the Rev. H. LILIENTHAL. NEW - AND CHEAPER EDITION. SIXTH IMPRESSION. 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Course of very beautiful and striking Lent Addresses or Readings -(Judas--Peter--Caiaphas--Pontius Pilate--Herod--Barabbas), together -with two special additional Sermons, viz.: "The Meaning of the Cross," -for Good Friday, and "Christ's Resurrection," for Easter. - -=Bishop Clark= writes: "The characters stand before us with wondrous -vividness.... I wish that these discourses might be read in every -Parish during Lent, for they have touched me more deeply than any -sermons I have ever read. They must appeal to the young, as well as to -the mature mind." - -"Excellent Sermons--dramatic in treatment--and well fitted to hold the -attention."--_Church Times._ - - - =Lenten Preaching=: Lent Sermons by the Rev. DR. A. G. MORTIMER, - Author of "Helps to Meditation." FOURTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, - 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Three Courses of Sermons for Lent and Holy Week, viz.: 1st--Six -Addresses on the Sunday Epistles for Lent. 2nd--Six Sermons on the -Example of Our Lord. 3rd--Eight Addresses on the Seven Last Words. - -"A series of Sermons, all of which are admirable."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Highway of the Holy Cross=: By the Author of "The Six Maries." - 1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -The Path of Self-Surrender, The Path of Sorrow, The Path of Prayer, The -Path of Service, The Path of Suffering, The Path of Hope. - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =The Six Maries.= THIRD IMPRESSION. Foolscap 8vo, Cloth, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -This beautiful little book includes Six Devotional Readings, viz.: -Mary the Virgin--Mary of Bethany--Mary Magdalene--Mary the Wife of -Cleophas--Mary the Mother of James and Joses--Mary the Mother of Mark. - -"Tender, sympathetic and helpful."--_Church Family Newspaper._ - - - =The Message of the Guest Chamber=; or, The Last Words of Christ. By - the Rev. A. V. MAGEE, Vicar of St. Mark's, Hamilton Terrace. 2s. 6d. - net (postage 4d.). THIRD IMPRESSION. - -These beautiful Meditations on St. John, Chapters xiii and xiv, include -Fourteen Chapters which can be subdivided into Sections so as to -provide for their daily use during Lent. - - - =The Seven Parables of the Kingdom=: By the Very Rev. PROVOST H. - ERSKINE HILL. 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -These most attractive Sermons are especially suitable for Lent. They -include Sermons on the Parable of the Sower, The Tares, The Mustard -Seed, The Leaven, The Hidden Treasure, The Pearl of Great Price, The -Draw Net. - - - TEARS: By the Rev. J. H. FRY, M.A., Vicar of Osgathorpe. Foolscap 8vo, - cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -Ten Sermons for Lent and Easter Day: The Tears of the Penitent -Woman; of Esau; of St. Peter; of Jesus at the Grave of Lazarus, over -Jerusalem, in Gethsemane; of Mary Magdalene at the Sepulchre; No more -Tears, etc. - -"These Sermons possess the threefold merit of brevity, strength and -originality."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Chain of our Sins=: By the late Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY, M.A. FIFTH - IMPRESSION. 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Nine Sermons for Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day: The Chains of -Habit, of Selfishness, of Indifference, of Pride, of Intemperance, of -Worldliness, etc. The Bands of Love. - - - =The Parables of Redemption=: By the Very Rev. HENRY ERSKINE HILL, - M.A., Provost of the Cathedral, Aberdeen, Author of "The Seven - Parables of the Kingdom." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Thirteen Sermons for Lent and Easter, including Six on the Prodigal -Son, also The Lost Sheep--The Lost Coin--The Procession to Calvary--The -Three Crosses--The Resurrection--The Groups Round Jesus. - - - FIVE VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO MEN. - (SOLDIERS, SAILORS, BOYS, ETC.) - - =The Service of the King=: Addresses to Soldiers and Sailors. By A. - DEBENHAM. 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -The vivid and picturesque style of these stirring Addresses to Men will -at once arrest and keep the interest of their hearers. They include -Church Seasons, etc. - - - =Plain-Spoken Sermons=: Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY'S Sermons, originally - ADDRESSED TO SOLDIERS. FOURTH IMPRESSION. 6s. net (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-eight Sermons--Gambling; Manliness; Sorry Jesting; -Neighbourliness; Gossip, and so on. - -=The Church Review= says: "Some of these Sermons are simply -magnificent." - - - =Addresses to Men=: By the Rev. C. LL. IVENS, M.A., Hon. Canon of - Wakefield. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -They include such subjects as Courtesy--The Gambling -Spirit--Intemperance--"The Training of Character"--"Life and some of -its Meaning"--and similarly practical subjects. - -=Bishop Eden= says: "Canon Ivens' simple, outspoken and direct -addresses, are specimens of those which he is in the habit of giving -at his well-known Men's Services. They will be found valuable both -to young clergy who are learning how to address men, and to men of -all degrees who are trying to fight Christ's battles in a world of -increasingly subtle temptations." - - - =Our Ideals=: By the Rev. V. R. LENNARD. Price 3s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). - -Sermons to Men, including Sermons on Instability, Cowardice, Profanity, -Ability, Concentration, Faith, Friendship, Manliness, Independence, -Ambition, etc., etc. - - - =Addresses to Boys and Boy Scouts=: By Right Rev. G. F. CECIL DE - CARTERET, Assistant Bishop of Jamaica. Price 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - - - SKEFFINGTON'S SERMON LIBRARY. - Each Price 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -The whole Series of Twelve Volumes can be sent carriage paid through -any bookseller, or direct from the publishers, for 31s., and they -contain a complete and varied Library of some 400 Sermons, not only for -Sundays and Church Seasons, but for very many special occasions. - - 1.--=The Seed and the Soil.= By the late REV. J. B. C. - MURPHY.--Twenty-eight Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, - Christmas Day, Six for Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, etc. - - 2.--=Sermons to Children=; also =Bought with a Price=. By the late - REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. (Two vols. in one.) Twenty-three - Sermons to Children, including Advent, Lent, Good Friday, etc., etc. - "Bought with a Price" includes Nine Sermons from Ash Wednesday to - Easter. - - 3.--=Village Sermons.= By the late CANON R. B. D. RAWNSLEY. Third - Series. Plain Village Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, New Year, - Epiphany, Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, and General Sermons. - - 4.--=Twenty-two Harvest Sermons by various Authors.= - - 5.--=Helps and Hindrances to the Christian Life.= By the late REV. - FRANCIS E. PAGET (2 vols). Vol. I. Thirty Plain Village Sermons, - including Four for Advent, Christmas, Last Sunday in the Year, - New Year, Epiphany, Septuagesima, Sexagesima, Quinquagesima, Ash - Wednesday, Six for Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day (2) etc., etc. - - 6.--=Helps and Hindrances to Christian Life.= Vol. II. Thirty-two - Plain Village Sermons, including Trinity Sunday, Trinity-tide, - Harvest, Friendly Society Schools, etc. - - 7.--=God's Heroes.= By the late REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. A - Series of Plain Sermons, including Advent, Lent, and many General - Sermons. - - 8.--=Mission Sermons.= (Second Series). By the late REV. H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. Contains Advent, Christmas, End of Year, Epiphany, - Lent, Good Friday, Easter, also Harvest, Autumn, and a large number of - General Sermons. - - 9.--=The Journey of the Soul.= By the late REV. J. B. C. MURPHY. - Thirty-four Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six - for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, Whitsunday, Trinity - Sunday, Schools, and many General. - - 10.--=The Parson's Perplexity.= By the late REV. DR. W. J. HARDMAN. - Sixty short, suggestive Sermons for the hard-working and hurried, - including all the Sundays and chief Holy Days of the Christian Year. - - 11.--=The Lord's Song.= By the late REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. - Twenty-two Plain Sermons on the best known and most popular Hymns, - including Lent, Easter, Whitsuntide, etc.; also Children's Services. - - 12.--=Sunday Sermonettes for a Year.= By the late REV. H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. Fifty-seven Short Sermons for the Church Year. - - - ADDRESSES ON THE SEVEN LAST WORDS. - LEAFLET FOR DISTRIBUTION BEFORE GOOD FRIDAY. - - =An Invitation to the Three Hours' Service=: ½d., or 2s. 6d. net. - per 100 (postage 4d.). 150th Thousand. - -This excellent four-page leaflet is intended for wide distribution in -Church and Parish before Good Friday. - - - =A Form of Service for the Three Hours=: By the Right REV. C. J. - RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. ½d., or 4s. net per 100 (postage - 5d.). - -Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc., for the use of the Congregation. 360th -Thousand. - - - =Devotions for the Good Friday Three Hours' Service=: ½d., or 4s. - net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -In connection with addresses on The Seven Last Words, Versicles, -Prayers, Suggested Hymns, etc., for the use of the Congregation at the -Service. - - - =The Mind of Christ Crucified=: By the Rev. H. CONGREVE HORNE. Crown - 8vo. cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A consideration of _The Seven Last Words_, and their special -significance in time of War. These beautiful Addresses will be -invaluable during the coming Lent and Holy Week. - - - =Meditations on the Seven Last Words=: By the Right Rev. C. J. - RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. FOURTH IMPRESSION. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -A Set of Addresses for the Three Hours' Service, with Complete Forms of -Service, Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc. - - - =Seven Times He Spake=: By the Rev. H. LILIENTHAL. Author of "Some - Actors in Our Lord's Passion," "Sundays and Seasons." 2s. net (postage - 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -A Set of Addresses on the Seven Last Words. These powerful and original -Addresses will indeed be welcomed by those who know the Author's -previous book, "Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion." - - - =The Seven Last Words from the Cross=: By the late REV. CANON WATSON. - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -A Striking Course of Meditations for Lent, Holy Week, or Good Friday. - -"These sermons contain suggestive thoughts, many noble and -heart-searching utterances. =The Fourth and Sixth Meditations are -most striking--the latter part of the first is very terrible and -heart-searching.="--_The Guardian._ - - - =The Spiritual Life in the Seven Last Words=: By the REV. DR. A. G. - MORTIMER. 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -A Set of simple Addresses for Lent, and The Three Hours' Service, on -The Words from the Cross. - -"These plain sermons are very admirable."--_Churchwoman._ - - - =The Seven Last Words=: By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. 2s. 6d. net - (postage 3d.). EIGHTH IMPRESSION. - -Seven Plain Sermons for the Sundays in Lent, The Days of Holy Week, or -for Good Friday. - -"Vigorous, forcible, with illustrations plentifully but freely and -wisely introduced."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Seven Words from the Cross=: By the Rev. H. E. BURDER, Vicar of - St. Oswald, Chester. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -An eminently practical set of simple Addresses on the Seven Words. - -"Preachers may find some freshening thought in this little -volume."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Longer Lent=: By the Rev. VIVIAN R. LENNARD, M.A., 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Fourteen Addresses from Septuagesima to Easter, including two for -Easter Day and one for St. Matthias. - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =Passiontide and Easter=: Thirteen Addresses, including Palm Sunday, - Holy Week, Good Friday, Eastertide and Low Sunday. Crown 8vo, cloth, - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -"They are simple, direct, helpful."--_The Church Family Newspaper._ - -"Plain, but practical and vigorously expressed, they are to be -commended."--_The National Church._ - - - "=One Hour=" (St. Matt. xxvi. 40). A SHORT SERVICE FOR GOOD FRIDAY, - with Hymns, Versicles, Psalm and Prayers, complete for the use of the - Congregation. ½d., or 2s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -This Service, when a Short Address is given, will occupy ONE HOUR, and -may be used as an alternative to the Three Hours' Service where the -latter for various reasons cannot be adopted. Or it will form an early -or late service _in addition_ to that of the Three Hours', for those -who are unable to attend the longer Office. FOR GOOD FRIDAY. - - - =Good Friday Addresses=: By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester; - THE VERY REV. PROVOST HENRY ERSKINE HILL; the REV. CANON C. LL. IVENS, - and the REV. C. E. NEWMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -These Four Short Addresses are specially written either for use with -the above Service, or at any other Good Friday Service; two of them -include very brief, but complete Meditations on the Seven Last Words, -and will be invaluable for Holy Week and Good Friday. - - - =Easter Offerings.= To Help the Clergy. By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop - of Chichester. ½d.; 2s. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -A Four-page Leaflet clearly explaining their character, antiquity, -authority, value and duty; to be placed in the seats before Easter. -Commended to Churchwardens and Clergy by the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. - - - TWO NEW CHEAP EDITIONS. - - =1. The Old Road=: By Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON. Originally 5s. each. - Now 3s. 6d. net each (postage 4d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -Thirty Plain Sermons, including Six for Lent--Good -Friday--Easter--Whitsuntide--and many General Sermons. - -"Any congregation would welcome them.... We have read them with -interest, and the conviction that their power lies in their plain -outspokenness."--_Church of Ireland Gazette._ - - =2. Stories and Teaching on the Mattins and Evensong=: By DR. J. W. - HARDMAN. 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A book to make those Services plain to the old and interesting to -the young. This book contains an enormous amount of material for the -Preacher, the Teacher, and the Catechist. - -"It teems with a rich fund of pithy and pointed illustrations and -anecdotes."--_National Church._ - -"A capital book for Catechists."--_Church Times._ - - - =Village Preaching for a Year=: Sermons by the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. - First Series. Sixty-five specially written Short Sermons for all the - Sundays and Chief Holy Days of the Christian Year, Missions, Schools, - Harvest, Club, etc., with a supplement of Twenty Sermon Sketches. - TENTH EDITION. 2 vols. Fcap. 8vo, 12s. net (postage 6d.). - - VOL. I., separately, Advent to Whit-Sunday, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net - (postage 4d.). - - VOL. II., separately, Trinity to Advent, Miscellaneous, also Twenty - Sermon Sketches, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - - - =Homely Words for Life's Wayfarers=: By the late J. B. C. MURPHY. - SEVENTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Twenty-five Plain Sermons, including Advent, Christmas Day, End of the -Year, Epiphany, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Good Friday, Ascension Day, Whit -Sunday, All Saints' Day, Hospital Sunday, etc. - - - =Words by the Way=: A Year's Sermons by the late H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Fifty-seven Short Plain Sermons for the whole Christian year. Only one -edition of these most excellent Sermons has ever been published. It is -one of the very best of all Mr. Buxton's Volumes of Sermons and will be -found of real practical value for the whole year. The original edition -was published at 6s. - - - FOR THE EASTER OR FIRST COMMUNION. - - =Short Preparation Service for Holy Communion=: H. C. Manuals by DR. - C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. SIXTH IMPRESSION. 2d., or 14s. - net per 100 (postage 5d.). - -To be used in Church after Evensong on Sunday, or at other convenient -times. - - - =Easter Communion.= A four-page Leaflet. 1200th thousand. For - Distribution in Church or Parish, before any of the great Church - Festivals. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -Tastefully printed in red and black: Why shall I come?--What -is H.C.?--What are the Benefits?--In what spirit?--How shall I -Prepare?--When shall I come?--How live afterwards? etc. - - - =Instructions and Devotions for Holy Communion=; which includes - the Two Tracts, "How to Prepare" and "How to Give Thanks," with - extra Instructions and Devotions, also the Complete Office for Holy - Communion. 120th thousand. 24mo, cloth boards, 1s. 9d. net (postage - 2d.). Cloth limp, 1s. 3d. (postage 1d.). Crimson roan, round corners, - and gold over red edges, 3s. net (postage 2d.). - - =N.B.--How to Prepare for the Holy Communion.= Separately, 2d., or - 14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.). - - =How to Give Thanks after Holy Communion.= Separately, 2d., or 14s. - net per 100 (postage 5d.). - - =The late Bishop Walsham How= wrote: "Mr. Ridgeway's little manuals - will, I think, be found very generally and practically useful. They - are thoroughly sensible and excellent for their purpose." - - - =Holy Communion.= "How to Prepare," and "How to Give Thanks." Printed - in red and chocolate, on toned paper. Warmly commended by the late - Bishop Walsham How. It forms a beautiful little Confirmation Gift - Book, in Prayer Book size, bound in elegant cloth, lettered in gold. - In red silk cloth for boys, or white silk cloth for girls. 24mo, price - 1s. net. These two tracts may also be had separately, 2d. each, or - 14s. per 100 (postage 6d.). - -The following letter appeared in the _Church Times_: "Sir,--I have been -29 years Vicar of this large agricultural parish, and all the time I -have been in vain looking out for plain simple manuals for the Holy -Communion, suitable to the capacities of an agricultural population, -and have never been able to meet with any till now. I put into the -hands of my Candidates for Confirmation Ridgeway's Manual 'How to -Prepare for the Holy Communion,' with the satisfactory result that -every one of them came to the early Communion yesterday. I could never -before succeed in getting all the confirmed to communicate immediately -after Confirmation."--F. H. CHOPE, _Vicar, Hartland Vicarage, N. Devon_. - - - =Church Going.= A four-page Leaflet. 160th thousand. ½d., or 3s. 6d. - net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -Why?--When?--In what spirit should I go?--What shall I do there?--What -good shall I get?--Why do people stay away? etc. A most practical and -persuasive little Tract. - - - CONFIRMATION LIST. - - =Four Manuals= by the Right Rev. C. J. RIDGEWAY, D.D., Bishop of - Chichester. 405th THOUSAND. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage - 4d.). - - 1.--=Confirmation.= A four-page Leaflet, printed on toned paper in red - and black, forming a companion to the same author's leaflet, "Easter - Communion." Confirmation: What is it?--Its Nature--What does God - do?--What does man do?--Why should I be Confirmed?--At what age?--How - shall I prepare?--What good will it do? For distribution in Church and - Parish before a Confirmation. - - 2.--=How to Prepare for Confirmation.= TWENTY-SEVENTH THOUSAND. Fcap. - 8vo, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). A course of Preparatory Instructions - for Candidates, in Eight Plain Addresses, each followed by a few Plain - Questions. The Questions with suggested Prayers separately, 2d., or - 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). - - "Will be an invaluable help to the Clergy, who, in these days of - high pressure, have little time for preparation. The questions are - reprinted separately, so that each Paper may be easily detached and - given to the Candidate after each instruction."--_Church Times._ - - 3.--=Confirmation Questions= (=Plain=). SEVENTIETH THOUSAND. Sewn, - 2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). In Eight Papers, with - Suggested Prayers; taken from the same Author's book, "How to Prepare - for Confirmation." - - 4.--="My Confirmation Day," at Home and in Church=: including the - Confirmation Service itself, with Prayers, Thoughts, and Hymns for - use during the entire day, that is, morning and evening at Home, and - during the Service at Church. EIGHTIETH THOUSAND. A little gift for - Confirmation Candidates of a most helpful and valuable kind. 3d. net, - 48 pages. Also an Edition, elegantly bound in cloth, with the Hymns - printed in full, price 6d. net (postage 1d.). - - - =Catechism on Confirmation=: By the Rev. J. LESLIE, M.A., Incumbent - of St. James', Muthill. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. 2d., or 14s. net per 100 - (postage 4d.). - -Twelfth Edition of these admirably simple Confirmation Questions. - - - =Plain Instructions and Questions for Confirmation Candidates=: By - Rev. SPENCER JONES, Author of "Our Lord and His Lessons." In Seven - Papers. A set of absolutely simple Confirmation Papers. For VILLAGE - CANDIDATES. 1-½d., or 10s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). - - - =Thoughts for Confirmation Day=: By the late Hon. and REV. W. H. - LYTTELTON, M.A. NINETIETH THOUSAND. Sewn, 2d., or 14s. net per 100 - (postage 5d.). - -Adapted to the use of Candidates in Church during the intervals of the -Service on the day of Confirmation. Printed on thick-toned paper, with -blank space on outside page for Candidate's Name, Date of Confirmation, -etc. - - - CONFIRMATION GIFTS AND CERTIFICATES. - - "=I Will.=" "=I Do.=" By the late Rev. EDMUND FOWLE. The Rev. EDMUND - FOWLE'S most successful Confirmation Memento, of which more than - 80,000 copies have been sold, and which has been so highly commended - by many of the Bishops and Clergy. Stitched up in an elegant Cloth - Pocket Case, 9d. net. - -=Bishop King of Lincoln wrote=:--"I beg to thank you for your very -pretty-looking gift." - -=Rev. W. Muscroft, Thorner Vicarage Leeds, writes=:--"I am very much -obliged to you for the beautiful little Confirmation Memento. I don't -remember ever seeing anything of the kind that I admire so much." - - - =Confirmation Triptych.= 122nd thousand, 1d., or 7s. net 100 (postage - 6d.). - -A small folding Triptych Certificate Card, with blank spaces for Name -and Date, etc., of Confirmation and First Communion; elegantly printed -in mauve and red with Oxford lines, with appropriate verses and texts, -and special design of the Good Shepherd, on the reverse side, with the -words of the Bishop's Confirmation Prayer. This card is perhaps the -very best of the many Certificate Forms. - -"One of the best we have seen."--_Church Times._ - - - =Boys=: Their Work and Influence. Twelfth thousand. Bound in Elegant - cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.). - -Specially suitable for Parochial -Distribution. Home and School--Going to -Work--Religion--Courage--Money--Amusements--Self-Improvement--Chums ---Courtship--Husbands, etc. - - - =Girls=: Their Work and Influence. Fifteenth thousand. Bound in - elegant cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.). - -Specially suitable for Parochial Distribution. Home and School--The -Teens--Religion--Refinement--Dress--Amusement--Relations--Friendship--Youth -and Maiden--Service and Work--Courtship--Wives, etc. - -"There is so much that is sensible and instructive in these two -little works that we are glad to have the opportunity of cordially -recommending them. The manly, thoroughly practical tone of the advice -given to boys and the womanly unaffected remarks offered to the girls -can but find a welcome acceptance."--_Church Times._ - - - =A Little Book to Help Boys during School Life=: By the late REV. - EDMUND FOWLE. TWELFTH THOUSAND. Cloth, 1s. 3d. net (postage 1d.). - -This most useful and original little book is intended as a gift from -parents or friends to Boys. - -=The late Bishop Walsham How wrote=:--"Your little book is excellent. -I have already ordered a number to keep by me for presents to boys." -=Bishop Hole wrote=:--"Your little book seems excellent and is much -wanted." - - - =The Girl's Little Book=: By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. - Elegant cloth, 1s. 3d. net (postage 1d.). - -A Book of Help and Counsel for Everyday Life at Home or School. This -charming little volume forms a capital gift from the Parish Priest or -from parents or god-parents. - -=The Athenæum says=:--"A nice little volume full of good sense and real -feeling." - -=The Lady says=:--"Just the sort of little book to be taken up and -referred to in little matters of doubt and difficulty, for the advice -it contains is good, sensible, kindly, and Christian." - - -_Books in this List can only be posted on receipt of remittance. Books -are not sent on approval._ - - -London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., 34, Southampton St., Strand, W.C.2, -AND OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. - -Transcriber's Notes - - Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected and - variations in accents and hyphenation standardised. Other variations - in spelling and punctuation are as in the original. - - Chapter IX - The sentence "Then came a large dish of beans; we ate beans. We were - sending out wireless messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on - the horizon." appears to be missing a word after "this" (possibly time) - but has been left as printed. - - Repetition of the title on the first page has been removed. - - Italics are represented thus _italics_, bold thus =bold= and underline - thus +underline+. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Round about Bar-le-Duc, by Susanne R. Day - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC *** - -***** This file should be named 50071-0.txt or 50071-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/0/7/50071/ - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |