Menu, Merteler, Cantinier
Signed Note
Menu
Handwritten Note
Whilst at coffee after lunch the news came of the continued advance of the British troops. General Pétain turned to me and said: "You must indeed be proud inEngland of your new army. Please tell your English people of our admiration of the magnificent effort of England. The raising and equipping of your giant army in such a short time was indeed a colossal task. How well it was carried out all the world now knows, and we are reaping the harvest."
The General's Chief of Staff added: "Lord Kitchener was right when he said the war would last three years—the first year preparation, the second year defence, and the third year ...cela sera rigolo—it will be huge sport." He quoted the phrase as Lord Kitchener's own.
Before we left the General signed for me the menu of the lunch, pointing out to me, however, that if I were at any time to show the menu to the village policeman, I must assure him that the hare which figured thereon had been run over at night by amotor-car and lost its life owing to an accident, otherwise he might, he feared, be fined for killing game out of season!
I shall always remember the picture of General Pétain seeing us into our car with his parting words, "You are about to do the most dangerous thing you have ever done or will ever do in your life. As for Verdun, tell them in England that I am smiling, and I am sure that when you see General Nivelle you will find him smiling too. That is the best answer I can give you as to how things are going with us at Verdun." Then with a friendly wave of his hand we passed on our way.
After leaving the headquarters of General Pétain we were held up for some time at a level crossing and watched the busy little train puffing along, carrying towards Verdun stores, munitions, and men. Thislevel crossing had been the scene of active fighting; on each side were numerous graves, and the sentinels off duty were passing from one to the other picking a dead leaf or drawing a branch of trailing vine over the resting-places of their comrades.
Above our heads circleles guêpes, the wasps of the French Army. They had been aroused by the appearance of a Taube and were preparing to sting, had the Taube waited or made any further attempt to proceed over the French lines. However, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, it turned and fled. It is unwise, however, to stir up the "wasps of France"; they followed it, and later in the day we heard that it had been brought down near Verdun.
We were now in the centre of activity of the army defending Verdun. On everyhand we saw artillery-parks, ammunition-parks, and regiments resting, whilst along the road a long line ofcamionspassed unceasingly. During the whole length of my stay on the French front I only saw one regiment marching. Everywhere the men are conveyed in thecamions, and are thus spared the fatigue which would otherwise be caused by the intense heat and the white dust. There are perhaps only two things that can in any way upset the perfect indifference to difficulties of the French trooper: he hates to walk, and he refuses to be deprived of hispinard. The men of the French army have named their red winepinard, just as they call waterla flotte, always, however, being careful to add thatla flotteis excellent "for washing one's feet."
As we passed through the headquarters of General Nivelle, he sent down word to usnot to wait to call on him then, but to proceed at once to Verdun, as later the passage would become more difficult. He kindly sent down to us one of the officers of his staff to act as escort. The officer sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the dangerous spots in the road which the Germans had the habit of "watering" from time to time withmarmites, and ordering him to put on extra speed. Our speed along the road into Verdun averaged well over a mile a minute.
Within range of the German guns, probably not more than four or five kilometres from Verdun, we came on a line of men waiting their turn to go into the cinema. After all, there was no reasonde s'en faire, and if they were alive they decided they might as well be happy and amused. Just before entering the gate of Verdun wepassed a number of ambulances, some of them driven by the American volunteers. These young Americans have displayed splendid heroism in bringing in the wounded under difficult conditions. Many of them have been mentioned in dispatches, and have received from France the Croix de Guerre. I also saw an ambulance marked "Lloyd's."
It would be useless to pretend that one entered Verdun without emotion. Verdun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive by the indomitable soul of the soldiers of France, whilst her wounds are daily treated and healed by the skill of her Generals. A white city of desolation, scorched and battered, yet the brightest jewel in the crown of France's glory; a shining example to the world of the triumph of human resistance and the courage of men. A city of strangeand cruel sounds—the short, sharp bark of the '75's, the boom of the death-dealing enemy guns, the shrieks of the shells and the fall of masonry parting from houses to which it had been attached for centuries, whilst from the shattered window-frames the familiar sprite of the household looked ever for the children who came no longer across the thresholds of the homes. Verdun is no longer a refuge for all that is good and beautiful and tender, and so the sounds of the voices of children and of birds are heard no more. Both have flown; the children were evacuated with the civilians in the bitter months of February and March, and the birds, realising that there is no secure place in which to nest, have deserted not only Verdun but the whole of the surrounding district.
We proceeded to a terrace overlookingthe lower part of the town and witnessed a duel between the French and German artillery. The Germans were bombarding the barracks of Chevert, and from all around the French guns were replying. It was certainly a joy to note that for one boom of a German cannon there were certainly ten answers from the French guns. The French soldiers off duty should have been resting in the caves and dug-outs which have been prepared for them, but most of them were out on the terraces in different parts of the city, smoking and casually watching the effect of the German or of their own fire. I inquired of onepoiluwhether he would be glad to leave Verdun, and he laughingly replied: "One might be worse off than here. This is the time of year that in peace times I should have been staying in the country with my mother-in-law."
There is no talk of peace in Verdun. I asked one of the men when he thought the war would end. "Perfectly simple to reply to that, mademoiselle: the war will end the day that hostilities cease."
I believe that the Germans would not be sorry to abandon the siege of Verdun. In one of the trench newspapers I saw the following verse:
Boches, à l'univers votre zèle importunFait des 'communiqués' dont personne n'est dupe.Vous dites: "Nos soldats occuperont Verdun.Jusqu'ici c'est plutôt Verdun qui lesoccupe."(You say that you soon will hold Verdun,Whilst really Verdun holds you.)
We left the car and climbed through the ruined streets to the top of the citadel. No attempt has been made to remove any of the furniture or effects from the demolished houses. In those houses from which onlythe front had been blown away the spoons and forks were in some instances still on the table, set ready for the meal that had been interrupted.
From windows lace curtains and draperies hung out over the fronts of the houses. Everywhere shattered doors, broken cupboards, drawers thrown open where the inhabitants had thought to try to save some of their cherished belongings but had finally fled, leaving all to the care of the soldiers, who protect the property of the inhabitants as carefully as if it were their own.
It would be difficult to find finer custodians. I was told that at Bobigny-près-Bourget there is on one of the houses the following inscription worthy of classical times:
"The proprietor of this house has gone to the war. He leaves this dwelling to thecare of the French. Long live France." And he left the key in the lock.
The soldiers billeted in the house read the inscription, which met with their approval, and so far each regiment in passing had cleaned out the little dwelling and left it in perfect order.
From the citadel we went down into the trenches which led to the lines at Thiaumont. The heat in the city was excessive, but in the trenches it was delightfully cool, perhaps a little too cool. We heard the men make no complaints except that at times the life was a little "monotonous"! One man told me that he was once in a trench that was occupied at the same time by the French and the Germans. There was nothing between them but sandbags and a thick wall of clay, and day and night the French watched that wall. One day aslight scratching was heard. The men prepared to face the crumbling of the barrier when through a small hole popped out the head of a brown rabbit. Down into the trench hopped Mrs. Bunny, followed by two small bunnies, and although rabbit for lunch would have improved the menu, the men had not the heart to kill her. On the contrary, they fed her on their rations, and at night-fall she departed, followed by her progeny.
From all the dug-outs heads popped out, and the first movement of surprise at seeing a woman in the trenches turned to a smile of delight, since thepoiluis at all times a chivalrous gentleman. One man was telling me of the magnificent work that had been accomplished by his "compagnie." I congratulated him and told him he must be happy to be in such a company. Heswept off his iron casque, bowed almost to the ground, and answered: "Certainly I am happy in my company, mademoiselle, but I am far happier in yours."
The principal grief of thepoilusappeared to be that a shell two or three days before had destroyed the store of the greatdragée(sugared almond) manufactory of Verdun. Before leaving, the manufacturer had bequeathed his stock to the army, and they were all regretting that they had not been greedier and eaten up thedragéesquicker.
In the trenches near Verdun, as in the trenches in Flanders, you find the men talking little of war, but much of their homes and their families. I came once upon a group of Bretons. They had opened some tins of sardines and, sitting around a bucket of blazing coals, they were toasting the fish on the ends of small twigs. I askedthem why they were wasting their energies, since the fish were ready to be eaten straight from the tins. "We know," they replied; "but it smells like home." I suppose with the odour of the cooking fish, in the blue haze of the smoke, they saw visions of their cottages and the white-coiffed Bretonnes frying the fresh sardines that they had caught.
The dusk was now falling, and, entering the car, we proceeded towards the lower part of the town at a snail's pace in order not to draw the German fire. We were told that at the present time approximately one hundred shells a day still fall on Verdun, but at the time of the great attack the number was as high as eight hundred, whilst as many as two hundred thousand shells fell daily in and around Verdun.
Just before we reached the entrance to the citadel, the enemy began to shell the city, and one of the shells exploded within two hundred feet of the car. We knew that we were near the entrance to the vaults of the citadel and could take refuge, so we left the car and proceeded on foot. Without thinking, we walked in the centre of the road, and the sentinel at the door of the citadel began in somewhat emphatic French to recommend us to "longer les murs" (to hug the walls tightly). The Germans are well aware of the entrance to the citadel and daily shell the spot. If one meets a shell in the centre of the road it is obviously no use to argue, whilst in hugging the side of the wall there is a possibility of only receiving the fragments of the bursting shell.
The subterranean galleries of the citadelof Verdun were constructed by Vauban, and are now a hive of activity—barbers' shops, sweet shops, boot shops, hospitals, anything and everything which goes to make up a small city.
One of the young officers placed his "cell" at our disposal. The long galleries are all equipped with central heating and electric light, and some of them have been divided off by wooden partitions or curtains like the dormitories in a large school. In the "cell" allocated to us we could see the loving touch of a woman's hand. Around the pillow on the small camp-bed was a beautiful edging of Irish lace, and on the dressing-table a large bottle of eau-de-Cologne. There is no reason to be too uncomfortable in Verdun when one has a good little wife to think of one and to send presents from time to time.
Emerging from the galleries we met General Dubois, a great soldier and a kindly man, one who shares the daily perils of his men. The General invited us to remain and dine with him. He had that day received from General Nivelle hiscravateas Commander of the Legion of Honour, and his officers were giving him a dinner-party to celebrate the event. "See how kind fate is to me," he added. "Only one thing was missing from the feast—the presence of the ladies—and here you are."
It would need the brush of Rembrandt to paint the dining-hall in the citadel of Verdun. At one long table in the dimly lighted vault sat between eighty and ninety officers, who all rose, saluted, and cheered as we entered. The General sat at the head of the table surrounded by his staff, and behind him the faces of the cooks were litup by the fires of the stoves. Some short distance behind us was an air-shaft. It appears that about a week or a fortnight before our arrival a German shell, striking the top part of the citadel, dislodged some dust and gravel which fell down the air-shaft on to the General's head. He simply called the attendants to him and asked for his table to be moved forward a yard, as he did not feel inclined to sit at table with his helmet on.
An excellent dinner—soup, roast mutton, fresh beans, salade Russe, frangipane, dessert—and even champagne to celebrate the General'scravate—quite reassured us that people may die in Verdun of shells but not of hunger. We drank toasts to France, the Allies, and, silently, to the men of France who had died that we might live. I was asked to propose the health of theGeneral, and did it in English, knowing that he spoke English well. I told him that the defenders of Verdun would live in our hearts and memories, that on behalf of the whole British race I felt I might convey to him congratulations on the honour paid to him by France. I assured him that we had but one idea and one hope, the speedy victory of the Allied arms, and that personally my present desire was that every one of those present at table might live to see the flag of France waving over the whole of Alsace-Lorraine. They asked me to repeat a description of the flag of France which I gave first in Ottawa; so there, in the citadel of Verdun with a small French flag before me, I went back in spirit to Ottawa and remembered how I had spoken of the triumph of the flag of France: "The red, white, and blue—thered of the flag of France a little deeper hue than in time of peace, since it was dyed with the blood of her sons, the blood in which a new history of France is being written, volume on volume, page on page, of deeds of heroism, some pages completed and signed, others where the pen has dropped from the faltering hands and which posterity must needs finish. The white of the flag of France, not quite so white as in time of peace, since thousands of her sons had taken it in their hands and pressed it to their lips before they went forward to die for it, yet without stain, since in all the record of the war there is no blot on the escutcheon of France. And the blue of the flag of France, true blue, torn and tattered with the marks of the bullets and the shrapnel, yet unfurling proudly in the breeze whilst the very holes were patchedby the blue of the sky, since surely Heaven stands behind the flag of France."
The men of Verdun were full of admiration for the glorious Commander of the Fort de Vaux. They told me that the fort was held, or rather the ruins of the fort, until the Germans were actually on the top and firing on the French beneath.
I discussed with my neighbour the fact that the Germans had more hatred for us than for the French. He said the whole world would ridicule the Germans for the manner in which they had exploited the phrase "Gott strafe England," writing it even on the walls anywhere and everywhere. He added laughingly that it should not worry the English comrades. "When they read 'Gott strafe England,' all they needed to reply was 'Ypres, Ypres—Hurrah!'"
He told me that he had been stationedfor some time with his regiment near the English troops, and there had been loud lamentations among thepoilusbecause they had been obliged to say good-bye to their English comrades. He added that the affection was not entirely disinterested. The English comrades had excellent marmalade and jam and other good things which they shared with their French brothers, who, whilst excellently fed, do not indulge in these luxuries. He told me a delightful tale of a French cook who, seeing an English soldier standing by, began to question him as to his particular branch of the service, informing him that he himself had had an exceedingly busy morning peeling potatoes and cleaning up the pots and pans. After considerable conversation he inquired of the English comrade what he did for his living. "Oh," repliedthe Englishman, "I get my living fairly easily—nothing half so strenuous as peeling potatoes. I am just a colonel."
The clean-shaven Tommy is the beloved of all France. I remember seeing one gallant khaki knight carrying the market-basket of a French maiden and repaying himself out of her store of apples. I regret to say his pockets bulged suspiciously. Whilst at a level crossing near by, the old lady in charge of the gate had an escort of "Tommies" who urged her to let the train "rip." This was somewhat ironical in view of the fact that the top speed in that part of the war zone was probably never more than ten miles an hour.
Tommy is never alone. The children have learned that he loves their company, and he is always surrounded by an escort of youthful admirers. The children like torummage in his pockets for souvenirs. He must spend quite a good deal of his pay purchasing sweets, so that they may not be disappointed and that there may be something for his little friends to find. I remember seeing one Tommy, sitting in the dusty road with a large pot of marmalade between his legs, dealing out spoonfuls with perfect justice and impartiality to a circle of youngsters. He speaks to them of his own little "nippers" at home, and they in turn tell him of their father who is fighting, of their mother who now works in the fields, and of baby who is fearfully ignorant, does not know the difference between the French and the "Engleesch," and who insisted on calling the great English General who had stayed at their farm "papa." It matters little that they cannot understand each other, and it does not in the leastprevent them from holding lengthy conversations.
I told my companion at table that whilst visiting one of the hospitals in France I had heard how one Englishman had been sent into a far hospital in Provence by mistake. He was not seriously injured, and promptly constituted himself king of the ward. On arrival, he insisted on being shaved. As no shaving-brush was available, thepiou-piouin the next bed lathered him with his tooth-brush. The French cooking did not appeal to him, and he grumbled continuously. The directress of the hospital sent her own cook from her château to cater for Mr. Atkins. An elaborate menu was prepared. Tommy glanced through it, ordered everything to be removed, and commanded tea and toast. Toast-making is not a French art, and the château chefwas obliged to remain at the hospital and spend his time carefully preparing the toast and seeing that it was served in good condition. When Mr. Atkins felt so disposed, he would summon apiou-piouto give him a French lesson, or else request the various inmates of the ward to sing to him. He would in turn render that plaintive ditty "Down by the Old Bull and Bush." A nurse who spoke a little English translated his song to the French soldiers. Whilst not desiring to criticise therendez-vousselected by theircamarade anglais, they did not consider that "près d'un vieux taureau" (near an old bull) was a safe or desirable meeting-place. When I explained to the nurse that "The Bull and Bush" was a kind ofcabaret, she hastened from ward to ward to tell the men that after all the Englishman might have selected aworse spot to entertain his girl. He was at once the joy and the despair of the whole hospital, and the nurse had much trouble in consoling the patients when "our English" was removed.
When Tommy indulges in the use of the French language, he abbreviates it as much as possible.
One hot summer's day, driving from Boulogne to Fort Mahon, halfway down a steep hill we came upon two Tommies endeavouring to extract a motor-cycle and a side-car from a somewhat difficult position. They had side-slipped and run into a small tree. The cycle was on one side and the side-car on the other, and a steel rod between had been rammed right into the wood through the force of the collision.
My three companions and myself endeavoured to help the men to pull out therod, but the united efforts of the six of us proved unavailing. We hailed a passing cart and tied the reins around the motor-cycle, but immediately the horse commenced to pull the leather of the reins snapped. Behind the cart walked a peasant. Only one adjective can possibly describe him—he was decidedly "beery." He made no attempt to help, but passed from one Tommy to the other, patting them on their backs, assuring them "that with a little goodwill all would be well." There was a dangerous glint in the younger Tommy's eye, but in the presence of ladies he refrained from putting his thoughts into words. Finally, his patience evaporating, he suddenly turned on the peasant and shouted at him, "Ong, ong." It took me some time to grasp that this was Tommy's abbreviated version of "Allez-vous en"("Clear out"). In any event it proved quite useless, as he continued to pat the Tommies affectionately and to bombard them with impracticable suggestions.
We were joined later by three villagers, two gendarmes and a postman, and all pulling together we managed to extract the rod from the tree. A large lorry was passing, and on to it we heaved the wreckage. Up clambered the Tommies followed by their unwelcome friend, who managed to sit on the only unbroken portion of the side-car. This was too much for Messrs. Atkins' equanimity. Limp with laughter, we watched them pass from sight amidst a chorus of "Ong, ong," followed by flights of oratory in the English tongue which do not bear repeating, but which were received by the peasant as expressions of deep esteem and to which he replied by endeavouringto kiss the Tommies and shouting, "Vive l'Angleterre! Allright! Hoorah!"
Our guiding officer began to show some signs of anxiety to have us leave before ten o'clock, but the good-byes took some time. Presents were showered upon us—Germandragées(shell heads and pieces of shrapnel) and the real Frenchdragées, the famous sweet of Verdun.
We crept out of the city, but unfortunately at one of the dangerous cross-roads our chauffeur mistook the route. A heavy bombardment was taking place, and the French were replying. We were lucky enough to get on to the route and into safety before any shell fell near us. It appears that the Germans systematically bombard the roads at night, hoping to destroy thecamionsbringing up the food for the city, fresh munitions, and men.
We slept that night at Bar-le-Duc and next morning saw the various ambulances and hospitals which the Service de Santé had particularly requested me to visit. I was impressed by the splendid organisation of the Red Cross even quite close to the firing-line.
Passing through one tent hospital, an Algerian called out to me:
"Ohé, la blonde, viens ici! J'ai quelque chose de beau à te montrer" ("Come here, fair girl, I have something pretty to show you").
He was sitting up in bed, and, as I approached, unbuttoned his bed-jacket and insisted on my examining the tag of his vest, on which was written, "Leader, London." The vest had come in a parcel of goods from the London Committee of the French Red Cross, and I only wished that the angel of goodness and tendernesswho is the Presidente of the Croix Rouge,Mme.de la Panouse, and that Mr. D.H. Illingworth, Mr. Philip Wilkins, and all her able lieutenants, could have seen the pleasure on the face of this swarthy defender of France. In the next bed was a Senegalais who endeavoured to attract my attention by keeping up a running compliment to my compatriots, my King, and myself. He must have chanted fifty times: "Vive les English, Georges, et toi!" He continued even after I had rewarded him with some cigarettes. The Senegalais and the Algerians are really great children, especially when they are wounded. I have seen convalescent Senegalais and Algerians in Paris spend hours in the Champs Elysées watching the entertainment at the open-air marionette theatre. The antics of the dolls kept them amused. They are admitted tothe enclosure free, and there is no longer any room for the children who frequented the show in happier days. These latter form a disconsolate circle on the outside, whilst the younger ones, who do not suffer from colour prejudice, scramble on to the knees of the black soldiers.
The sister in charge was a true daughter of the "Lady of the Lamp." Provided they are really ill, she sympathises with all the grumblers, but scolds them if they have reached the convalescent stage. She carries a small book in which she enters imaginary good points to those who have the tables by their beds tidy, and she pinned an invisible medal on the chest of a convalescent who was helping to carry trays of food to his comrades. She is indeed a General, saving men for France.
Not a man escaped her attention, and aswe passed through the tents she gave to each of her "chers enfants"—black or white—a cheering smile or a kindly word. She did, however, whilst talking to us omit to salute a Senegalais. Before she passed out of the tent he commenced to call after her, "Toi pas gentille aujourd'hui—moi battre toi" ("You are not good to me to-day—me beat you"). This, it appears, is his little joke—he will never beat anyone again, since he lost both his arms when his trench was blown up by a land mine.
It was at Triancourt that I first saw in operation the motor-cars that had been sent out fitted with bath tubs for the troops, and also a very fine car fitted up by the London Committee of the French Red Cross as a moving dental hospital.
I regret to add that apoilunear by disrespectfully referred to it as "another of thehorrors of war," adding that in times of peace there was some kind of personal liberty, where as now "a man could not have toothache without being forced to have it ended, and that there was no possibility of escaping a dentist who hunted you down by motor."
It was suggested that, as I had had a touch of toothache the night before, I might take my place in the chair and give an example of British pluck to the assembledpoilus. I hastened to impress on the surgeon that I hated notoriety and would prefer to remain modestly in the background. I even pushed aside with scorn the proffered bribe of six "boche" buttons, assuring the man that "I would keep my toothache as a souvenir."
At one of the hospitals, beside the bed of a dying man, sat a little old man writingletters. They told me that before the war he had owned the most flourishing wine-shop in the village. He had fled before the approach of the German troops, but later returned to his village and installed himself in the hospital as scribe. He wrote from morning until night, and watching him stretching his lean old hands, I asked him if he suffered much pain from writer's cramp. He looked at me almost reproachfully before answering, "Mademoiselle, it is the least I can do for my country; besides my pain is so slight and that of the comrades is so great. I am proud, indeed proud, that at sixty-seven years of age I am not useless."
At one hospital I was shown a copy of the last letter dictated by a young French officer, and I asked to be allowed to copy it—it was indeed a letter of a "chic" type.
"Chers Parrain et Marraine,"Je vous écris à vous pour ne pas tuer Maman qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop."J'ai été blessé le ... devant.... J'ai deux blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. Les majors ne me le cachent même pas."Je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir."Prévenez donc mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne cherchent pas à venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps."Adieu vous tous que j'aimais."Vive la France!"
"Je vous écris à vous pour ne pas tuer Maman qu'un pareil coup surprendrait trop.
"J'ai été blessé le ... devant.... J'ai deux blessures hideuses et je n'en aurai pas pour bien longtemps. Les majors ne me le cachent même pas.
"Je pars sans regret avec la conscience d'avoir fait mon devoir.
"Prévenez donc mes parents le mieux que vous pourrez; qu'ils ne cherchent pas à venir, ils n'en auraient pas le temps.
"Adieu vous tous que j'aimais.
"Vive la France!"
"Dear Godfather and Godmother,"I am writing to you, so as not to kill mother, whom such a shock would surprise too much. I was wounded on the ... at.... I have two terrible wounds and Icannot last long. The surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this from me. I go without regret, with the consciousness of having done my duty. Kindly break the news to my parents the best way you can; they should not attempt to come because they would not have time to reach me before the end."Farewell to all you whom I have loved."Long live France!"
"I am writing to you, so as not to kill mother, whom such a shock would surprise too much. I was wounded on the ... at.... I have two terrible wounds and Icannot last long. The surgeons do not even attempt to conceal this from me. I go without regret, with the consciousness of having done my duty. Kindly break the news to my parents the best way you can; they should not attempt to come because they would not have time to reach me before the end.
"Farewell to all you whom I have loved.
"Long live France!"
Whilst loving his relatives tenderly, the last thought of the dying Frenchman is for his country. Each one dies as a hero, yet not one realises it. It would be impossible to show greater simplicity; they salute the flag for the last time, and that is all.
FromTriancourtwe went straight to the headquarters of General Nivelle. They had just brought him the maps rectified tomark the French advance. The advance had been made whilst we were standing on the terrace at Verdun the night before. We had seen the rockets sent up, requesting atir de barrage(curtain of fire). The '75's had replied at once and the French had been able to carry out the operation.
Good news had also come in from the Somme, and General Nivelle did not hesitate to express his admiration for the British soldiers.
He said that there was no need to praise the first troops sent by Britain to France—everyone knew their value; but it should be a great satisfaction to Britain to find that the new Army was living up to the traditions of the old Army.
He added: "We can describe the new army of Britain in two words: 'Ça mord'—it bites."
The Father of his own men, it is not surprising that General Nivelle finds a warm corner in his heart for the British Tommy, since his mother was an Englishwoman.
At lunch General Nivelle and the members of his staff asked many questions as to the work of the Scottish Women's Hospitals. I told them that what appealed to us most in our French patients was the perfect discipline and the gratitude of the men. We are all women in the hospitals, and the men might take advantage of this fact to show want of discipline, but we never had to complain of lack of obedience. These soldiers of France may some of them before the war have been just rough peasants, eating, drinking, and sleeping, even having thoughts not akin to knighthood; but now, through the ordeal of blood and fire, each one of them has won his spurs and comeout a chivalrous knight, and they bring their chivalry right into the hospitals with them. We had also learned to love them for their kindness to one another. When new wounded are brought in and the lights are low in the hospital wards, cautiously watching if the nurse is looking (luckily nurses have a way of not seeing everything), one of the convalescents will creep from his bed to the side of the new arrival and ask the inevitable question: "D'où viens-tu?" ("Where do you come from?"). "I come from Toulouse," replies the man. "Ah!" says the inquirer, "my wife's grandmother had a cousin who lived near Toulouse." That is quite a sufficient basis for a friendship; the convalescent sits by the bedside of his new comrade, holding the man's hand whilst his wounds are being dressed, telling him he knows of the pain—that he, too,has suffered, and that soon all will be well.
Menu, 27 Juillet
Note by General Nivelle
Lions to fight, ever ready to answer to the call of the defence of their country, yet these men of France are tender and gentle. In one hospital through which I passed there was a baby. It was a military hospital, and no civilian had any right there, but the medical officers who inspected the hospital were remarkably blind—none of them could ever see the baby. One of the soldiers passing through a bombarded village saw a little body lying in the mud, and although he believed the child to be dead, he stooped down and picked it up. At the evacuating station the baby and the soldier were sent to the hospital together; the doctors operated upon the baby and took a piece of shrapnel from its back, and once well and strong it constituted itselflord and master and king of all it surveyed. When it woke in the morning it would call "Papa," and twenty fathers answered to its call. All the pent-up love of the men for their own little ones from whom they had been parted for so long they lavished on the tiny stranger, but all his affection and his whole heart belonged to the rough miner-soldier who had brought him in. As the shadows fell one saw the man walking up and down the ward with the child in his arms, crooning the Marseillaise until the tired little eyes closed. He had obtained permission from the authorities to adopt the child, as the parents could not be found, and remarked humorously: "Mademoiselle, it is so convenient to have a family without the trouble of being married!"
What we must remember is that therough soldier, himself blinded with blood and mud, uncertain whether he could ever reach a point of safety, yet had time to stoop and pick that little flower of France and save it from being crushed beneath thecamionwheels. I told General Nivelle that the hospital staff intended to keep the child for the soldier until the end of the war, and we all hoped that he might grow up to the glory of France and to the eternal honour of the tender-hearted fighter who had rescued him.
After lunch we stood for some time watching the unending stream ofcamionsproceeding into Verdun. I believe it has been stated that on the average one passed through the village every fifteen seconds, and that there are something like twelve thousand motor vehicles used in the defence of Verdun. The splendid conditionof the roads and the absence of all confusion in the handling of this immense volume of traffic is a great tribute to the organising genius of the chiefs of the French Army.
We left General Nivelle, as General Pétain predicted we should find him—smiling.
We slept that night at Epernay, in the heart of the Champagne district. The soil of France is doing its best to keep the vines in perfect condition and to provide a good vintage to be drunk later to celebrate the victory of France and her Allies.
The keeping of the roads in good condition is necessary for the rapid carrying out of operations on the front, and a "marmite" hole is promptly filled if by a lucky shot the German batteries happen to tear up the roadway. We were proceeding casually along one road when a youngofficer rode up to us and told us to put on speed because we were under fire from a German battery which daily landed one or two shells in that particular portion of the roadway. It is wonderful how obedient one becomes at times! We promptly proceeded to hasten!
After visiting GeneralDebeneyand obtaining from him the necessary authorisation and an officer-escort, we entered Rheims.
The cathedral is now the home of pigeons, and as they fly in and out of the blackened window-frames, small pieces of the stained glass tinkle down on to the floor. The custodian of the cathedral told us that during the night of terror the German wounded, lying in the cathedral, not realising the strength and beauty of the French character under adversity, feared, seeing thecathedral in flames, that the populace might wreak vengeance on them, and it was exceedingly difficult to get them to leave the cathedral. Many of the prisoners fled into corners and hid, and some of them even penetrated into the palace of the Archbishop, which was in flames. All the world knows and admires the bravery of the curé of the cathedral, M. Landrieux, who took upon himself the defence of the prisoners, for fear insults might be hurled at them. He knowingly risked his life; but when, next day, some of his confrères endeavoured to praise him, he replied: "My friends, I never before realised how easy it is to die."
One of the churches in the city was heavily draped in black, and I asked the sacristan if they had prepared for the funeral of a prominent citizen. He toldme that they were that day bringing home the body of a young man of high birth of the neighbourhood, but that it was not for him that the church was decked in mourning. The draperies had hung there since August 1914—"Since every son of Rheims who is brought home is as noble as the one who comes to-day, and alas! nearly every day brings us one of our children."
We lunched in the hotel before the cathedral, where each shell-hole has an ordinary white label stuck beside it with the date. The landlord remarked: "If you sit here long enough, and have the good luck to be in some safe part of the building, you may be able to go and stick a label by a hole yourself."
After lunch we went out to the Château Polignac. To a stranger it would appear to be almost entirely destroyed, but whenM. de Polignac visited it recently he simply remarked that it was "less spoilt than he had imagined." This was just one other example of the thousands one meets daily of the spirit of noble and peasantde ne pas s'en faire, but to keep only before them the one idea, Victory for France, no matter what may be the cost.
We went later to call on the "'75,"chez elle. Madame was in a particularly comfortable home which had been prepared for her and where she was safe from the inquisitive eyes of the Taubes. The men of the battery were sitting round their guns, singing a somewhat lengthy ditty, each verse ending with a declamation and a description of the beauty of "la belle Suzanne." I asked them to whom Suzanne belonged and where the fair damsel resided. "Oh," they replied, "wehave no time to think of damsels called 'Suzanne' now. This is our Suzanne," and the speaker affectionately gave an extra rub with his coat-sleeve to the barrel of the "'75."
By a wonderful system of trench work it is possible for the gunners, in case of necessity, to take refuge in the champagne-vaults in the surrounding district, and it is in the champagne-vaults that the children go daily to school, with their little gas-masks hanging in bags on their arms. It appears that at first the tiny ones were frightened of the masks, but they soon asked to be also given a sack, like their elders, and now one and all have learnt at the least alarm to put on their masks. There is no need to tell the children to hurry home. They realise that it is not wise to loiter in the streets for fear of the whistling shells. They areremarkably plucky, these small men and women of France.
During one furious bombardment the children were safe in the vaults, but one small citizen began to cry bitterly. He was reproached by his comrades for cowardice, but he replied indignantly: "I fear nothing for myself—I am safe here; but there is no cellar to our house, and oh! what will happen to the little mother?" The teacher reassured him by telling him that his mother would certainly take refuge in somebody else's cellar.
On leaving Rheims we passed through various small hamlets where the houses had been entirely destroyed, and which now had the appearance of native villages, as the soldiers had managed to place thatched roofs on any building which had a semblance of walls standing.
At Villars Côterets the Garde Champêtre sounded the "Gare à Vous!" Four Taubes were passing overhead, so we took refuge in the hotel for tea. The enemy did no damage in that particular village, but in the next village of Crêpy-en-Valois a bomb killed one child and injured five women.
At his headquarters next morning I had the honour of being received by the Generalissimo Joffre, and telling him of the admiration and respect which we felt for him and for the magnificent fighting spirit of the troops under his able command. He replied modestly by speaking of the British Army. He referred to the offensive on the Somme, and said, "You may well be proud of your young soldiers—they are excellent soldiers, much superior to the Germans in every way, a most admirable infantry; they attack the Germans hand to handwith grenades or with the bayonet, and push them back everywhere; the Germans have been absolutelystupefiedto find such troops before them." The General then paid a tribute to the Canadian and Australian troops, and told me that that day the Australians had taken new territory, adding, "And not only have they taken it, but like their British and Canadian brothers, what they take they will hold."
I explained to General Joffre that, whilst I was not collecting autographs, I had with me the menu of the dinner in the citadel at Verdun, and that it would give me great pleasure to have his name added to the signatures already on that menu. All the signatures were on one side, so I turned the menu over in order to offer him a clear space, but he turned it back again, saying: "Please let me sign on this side; I findmyself in good company with the defenders of Verdun."
At departing he said to me: "We may all be happy now, since certainly we are on the right side of the hill" ("Nous sommes sur la bonne pente").
In case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who has spent her time working for the men at the front, I would like to tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter what they contain. Fraternity and Equality reign supreme in the trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of sharing his store of good things with his comrades. There is seldom a request made to the French behind the lines that they do not attempt to fulfil. I remember last winter,passing through a town in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared to be scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. It appeared that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul coats. Only those who are well acquainted with French provincial life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of opulence and commercial success.
It is perhaps in the post-offices that you find yourself nearest to the heart of "France behind the lines."
One morning I endeavoured to send a parcel to a French soldier; I took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same errand. A white-haired woman before me gave the post-office clerk infinite trouble. They are not renowned for theirpatience, and I marvelled at his gentleness, until he explained: "Her son died five weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels."
To another old lady he pointed out that she had written two numbers on the parcel. "You don't want two numbers, mother. Which is your boy's number?—tell me, and I will strike out the other."
"Leave them both," she answered. "Who knows whether my dear lad will be there to receive the parcel? If he is not, I want it to go to some other mother's son."
Affection means much to these men who are suffering, and they respond at once to any sympathy shown to them. One man informed us with pride that when he left his native village he was "decked like an altar of the Blessed Virgin on the first of May." In other words, covered with flowers.
There are but few lonely soldiers now, since those who have no families to write to them receive letters and parcels from the godmothers who have adopted them. The men anxiously await the news of their adopted relatives, and spend hours writing replies. They love to receive letters, but needless to say a parcel is even more welcome.
I remember seeing one man writing page after page. I suggested to him that he must have a particularly charming godmother. "Mademoiselle," he replied, "I have no time for a godmother since I myself am a godfather." He then explained that far away in his village there was a young assistant in his shop, "And God knows the boy loves France, but both his lungs are touched, so they won't take him, but I write and tell him that the good God hasgiven me strength for two, that I fight for him and for myself, and that we are both doing well for France." I went back in imagination to the village, I could see the glint in the boy's eyes, realised how the blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of, not the personal pronoun "I" in the singular, but the plural "We are doing well for France": for one glorious moment he was part of the hosts of France and in spirit serving his Motherland. It is that spirit of the French nation that their enemies will never understand.
On one occasion a young German officer, covered with mud from head to foot, was brought before one of the French Generals. He had been taken fighting cleanly, and the General was anxious to show him kindness. He asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse himself before examination. The young German drew himself up and replied: "Look at me, General; I am covered from head to foot with mud, and that mud is the soil of France. You will never possess as much soil in Germany." The General turned to him with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in France, and answered: "Monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in Germany; but there is something that you will never possess, and, until you conquer it, you cannot vanquish France, and that is the spirit of the French people."
The French find it difficult to understand the arrogance which appears ingrained in the German character, and which existed before the war.
I read once that in the Guest-book of a French hotel a Teutonic visitor wrote:
"L'Allemagne est la première nation du monde."
The next French visitor merely added:
"Yes, 'Allemagne' is the first country of the world—if we take them in alphabetical order."
I left the war-zone with an increased respect, if this were possible, for the men of France. They have altered their uniforms, but the spirit is unchanged. They are no longer in the red and blue of the old days, but in shades of green, grey, and blue, colours blending to form one mighty ocean—wave on wave of patriotism—beating against and wearing down the rocks of military preparedness of forty years, and as no man has yet been able to say to the ocean "Stop," so no man shall cry "Halt" to the armies of France.
I have spoken much of the men of France, but the women have also earned our respect—those splendid peasant-women who even in times of peace worked and now carry a double burden on their shoulders; the middle-class women, endeavouring to keep together the little business built up by the man with years of toil, stinting themselves to save five francs to send a parcel to the man at the front that he may not suspect that there is not still every comfort in the little homestead; the noble women of France, who in past years could not be seen before noon, since my lady was at her toilette, but who can be seen now, their hands scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the floors of the hospitals scrubbing, proud and happy to take their part in national service. The men owe much of their courage to the attitude of the womenwho stand behind them, turning their tears to smiles to urge their men to even greater deeds of heroism.
In one of our hospitals was a young lad of seventeen, who had managed to enlist as an "engagé volontaire" by lying as to his age. His old mother came to visit him, and she told me he was the last of her three sons—the two elder ones had died the first week of the war at Pont-Mousson, and her little home had been burned to the ground. The boy had spent his time inventing new and terrible methods of dealing with the enemy, but with his mother he became a child again, and tenderly patted the old face. Seeing the lad in his mother's arms, and forgetting for one moment the spirit of the French nation, I asked her if she would not be glad if her boy was so wounded that she might take him home. She wasonly an old peasant-woman, but her eyes flashed, her cheeks flushed with anger, and turning to me she said: "Mademoiselle, how dare you say such a thing to me? If all the mothers, wives, and sweethearts thought as you, what would happen to the country? Gustave has only one thing to do, get well quickly and fight for Mother France."
Because these women of France have sent their men forth to die, eyes dry, with stiff lips and head erect, do not think that they do not mourn for them. When night casts her kindly mantle of darkness over all, when they are hidden from the eyes of the world, it is then that the proud heads droop and are bent upon their arms, as the women cry out in the bitterness of their souls for the men who have gone from them. Yet they realise that behind them stands the greatestmother of all, Mother France, who sees coming towards her, from all frontiers, line on line of ambulances with their burden of suffering humanity, yet watches along other routes her sons going forth in thousands, laughter in their eyes, songs on their lips, ready and willing to die for her. France draws around her her tattered and blood-stained robe, yet what matters the outer raiment? Behind it shines forth her glorious, exultant soul, and she lifts up her head rejoicing and proclaims to the world that when she appealed, man, woman, and child—the whole of the French nation—answered to her Call.